Wednesday 25 July 2018

Part I: Keep the car running.

He called me over for a drink, not liking my words, wanting to fix it, wanting to change things, his voice amused and yet clipped, wounded, dark, almost.

I can't resist so I promise him one drink and I show up at nine, the smoky blue night just beginning to settle over the point. I've seen the world and I want more but I also want to control everyone around me and I can only do it if I'm here. Joel always said that need comes from feeling as if my life is always out of control but I don't know why he says that. It isn't. It's fine. Everything's fine.

One drink turned to two and then three as blue deepened to black and he pulls me into his lap. I cup his face in my hands but I don't kiss him. I just stare into his eyes. I'm not supposed to be here. Not supposed to be like this. Not supposed to want this.

I'll make it twenty-five thousand. 

Now you sound like Caleb. 

Okay, I'll make it two-hundred and fifty thousand. 

He laughs at his own joke, taking a kiss I didn't offer him. I pull back but I can't get far enough away so I stick my lower lip out and extend the dare as far as I can. I don't believe you. 

I told you forever ago I could do whatever he could ten times over. 

He has no conditions. You have so many. 

You accepted my invitation. 

For one drink-

Bridget, it's never one drink and we both, hell, everyone knows it. That's code. That's the dance. The only condition here is timing. 

He doesn't want more than I can give him. 

I don't like your lies. They stain an otherwise beautiful face. Tell me the difference and I'll let you go. I don't think you can. 

He isn't cold, like you. 

Batman stares into my eyes for what feels like the remainder of the night as the heat burns off the hemlocks, settling into the ground, cool air rushing in to fill the holes we're blowing into the dusk, trying to force light in all around us. I stare back in return. Don't call me a liar or it's going to hurt even more. He takes my drink from me and slides me off his lap, standing up, standing me up and turning me away in the same motion. 

Lock the door when you leave, he says and he leaves the room. Just to make sure I was telling the truth, I guess. I thought about following him and asking him to prove I'm wrong but I didn't. It's a first.

But I'm still keyed up so hard, I don't want to go home. Reckless fuel in my blood from the whiskey flushes through to my skin, which screams at the cold air as I head down the hall, knocking on the door softly. Jay opens the door to his rooms, a look of surprise on his face I adore instantly. He's in soft jeans, no shirt, no shoes, in need of a haircut, in need of sleep maybe but he holds the door wide and I walk underneath his arm into his cozy den. He's got a movie on the television and a half-finished beer on the table.

What do you need, Bridget? He says as he closes the door behind us. I should have said Lochlan. I could have said anything. But instead I said I needed at least three more drinks and maybe a driver with a getaway car for when I run. And Jay laughed and thought I was flirting with him and went and got the good stuff and poured me a drink so strong I forgot what I wanted to run from.