Quite an experience to live in fear, isn't it? That's what it is to be a slave. I've...seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to d-
BRIDGET! Come inside before you get soaked!
It's been pouring all night and I love it. It's freezing cold. It's the perfect night for Rutger Hauer's final monologue in Blade Runner and yes I fell asleep during my third screening of the movie but not for any of his scenes, the last of which is a masterpiece of acting and reminds me of someone.
He was amazing. I cried. I hated every other part of it though and I went from being kind of sort of vaguely excited to see Blade Runner 2048 to thinking I hope something else is showing so I can skip it and go down the hall to watch something drippy and sad. Maybe Ghost Story will finally hit the theatres here. Not like it has yet, I am still waiting.
(Nevermind. I just checked and it went up on iTunes YESTERDAY. YESSSSS.)
I reluctantly sweep my eyes around the deck for tiny origami animals or Daryl Hannah in the throes of whatever and head back inside. Caleb hands me a newly-filled glass of red wine and leads me back down the hall. It's so dark. He turns back and I almost don't see him, bumping lightly into his arm. He takes my glass and continues forward. It's like he forgot who was with him. Little Miss Clumsy.
Little Miss Sub.
Little Miss Guarding Her Soul With Everything She Has In Case Last Week Was A Trick.
He hands the glass back when we reach his doorway.
I'll show you things people wouldn't believe. He grins.
Pretty sure you have already.
His face falls. It was a joke. I swung and missed.
Maybe we went too fast. Maybe you need to learn your lessons more slowly.
Maybe you aren't allowed to play those games anymore.
What if you want me to, Neamhchiontach?
Then I'm supposed to talk it out. With one of my proper counselors.
August isn't here. And I don't think Sam really wants to hear those kinds of things. Especially not now that he's moved that much closer to you. So distracting.
Claus on Skype. Joely. Lochlan if I have to.
You can't talk to them about this. We can just roll it back a little, just for old time's sake. Remember your words, Bridgie?
Gingerbread. Wenceslas. Toboggan. (He very purposefully chose three-syllable words so there would be no mistake, and holiday words so that I would remember them at such a young age. And then he chose to very purposefully never ever hear them.)
Don't you miss it? Don't you miss having such an easy, specific plan, having it all spelled out for you so all you had to do was show up and follow my rules?
Can the maker repair what he makes? I trace a raindrop down the window. I'm not going to answer him. I don't want to do this. He grabs my hair and wrenches my whole head back so I'm looking at him and I gasp at the familiar expression. I haven't seen it in ages.
If you don't stop quoting that fucking film I'll do more than just ignore your safe words, Bridget.
