I couldn't talk to Ben today. I didn't have any courage. I couldn't put on a happy face. I can't even think of him without bursting into tears and wondering why my loyalties only seem to ever extend to whatever is within arm's reach instead of what my heart has already mapped out without waiting to consult my brain, who logically went in a completely different direction and is now lost, stranded somewhere I can't easily see.
It isn't fair that I now count Sam as being more forthright with affection in Ben's absence. Making up the difference. Filling in the gaps. An incendiary device in thought, let alone in practice.
And yet still, Lochlan doesn't say a word.
When Matt comes home early I am handed off quietly. Back to PJ, or Duncan or Daniel until Loch comes inside and cleans up. I feel like I'm the national treasure to be guarded. I feel like meat. I feel spent and all cried out and here I was, such a brave little asshole telling Ben to go. Standing up to him as he looked for ways to tear me down, refusing to give in to his plea to say the word and he would stay.
I'm not going to be his regret, keeping him from doing what he lives for.
But maybe I already am.
He says that's insane and I nod because of course it is if it comes from me. He says if things stay this way then we'll be okay when he comes back. We tell ourselves these stupid reasonings so that we can sleep at night but really it's because we have no idea what we're doing here.
I don't see how tomorrow will be different. June wasn't. July won't be. August is over the garage biding his own time until I collapse from this weight and September is a lifetime away.
The Devil took the call in my place and probably told so many lies Ben will never bother coming back at all if it weren't for Daniel but that remains to be seen. Ben won't just accept whatever Caleb tells him but Caleb has a long history of promising to help Ben all the while twisting a knife in his back. I can't count on the Devil to smooth things over. I made this mess myself and I'm not mature or decisive enough to sort it out now so what do I do?
I pick up the phone and stare at Ben's picture. Five missed calls and eighty-one text messages and I press the button again to turn the screen off while I turn my face back in against Sam's blazer because it's better than trying to be brave.
