BLTs and lemonade in bed.

How long till I don't feel
Like you're still right here
Reminding me of what is real?

Ben decided to stay home today, one day alone after everyone else returns to the weird subnormal house routines and work schedules we are ruled by. I move to get up and make coffee but he reaches out, wrapping one hand around my thigh, pulling back until I have no choice but to fall back into bed.

Hungry, I protest.

Me too, he says as he climbs over me, pushing my knees apart, pinning me down by the throat with one hand while the other smooths my hair back from my forehead. His eyes meet mine. I can see how hungry he is for myself. The one place I always love to be is right between Ben and his uncontrollable appetite. Only I can't breathe so I pull at his wrist until he releases my neck and wraps his arm around my shoulders instead, lifting me up until I am caught full against him.

Them he brings his full weight down on me. Yes. Yes. Yes. This.

We are climbing together, I don't know where but I just know it's a good place and I never ever want to leave. His teeth gnash against my ear and it hurts. I can hear his ragged breathing, hot against my skin, held when his hands become slick with sweat, sliding down my ribs instead of holding me. It's an exquisite agony and he keeps me there long past any remembrance of food or morning or obligations. Just when I think I can't take any more the waves of euphoria drown me. Just when I think I can no longer move Ben changes one little thing, renewing our collective energies. I can't get enough of him. I reach up to run my fingers through his hair. It's so soft, black glossy waves so thick my fingers get lost and he takes my hand down, kissing the palm, smiling.

Abruptly he pulls us up and turns, leaning back against the pillows, pulling my thighs up over his until I have him straddled. He is now my prisoner but I am not in control as he lifts my hips away and back, over and over until I beg him to stop and then he covers my mouth, pulling me back down, turning over and then once again I don't get to breathe as he starts anew.

I am face down now, nose pressed against the blanket, out of strength. Ben is just getting started and so I brace myself, balling the sheets up in my little fists as if that will help or something.

It doesn't.

Somewhere around lunchtime he asks if I am still hungry.

Yes, I croak weakly and he laughs. Starving.

I'm going to go and make us something. He turns me over as he gets up. He pulls on a t-shirt from last night and his pajama pants from the laundry I never put away yesterday. He turns back at the door and orders,

Don't you go anywhere, little bee. I'm not done with you yet.

I grin. I have no plans. None that involve clothes anyway.

Pie hearts.

This whole month so far has been tough. I'm done with it and ready for September, I think.

Oh, well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me

The song is stuck in my head. I'm hoping it doesn't become an earworm such as What's the Frequency, Kenneth did that persists for years and years but at the same time it's easy enough that if it did, it might not bother me so much. Maybe I'll just listen to it a thousand more times and then it will stop looping within my head. Or maybe not.

It's Ben's fault. He has the CD in his truck and I was a little surprised. It borders on country, no? Ben does not listen to country music. He says that sometimes expectations and pigeonholes are closer in the mirror than they appear and that I mellow him out. That I make everything so much more visceral emotionally and he isn't used to that. That sometimes he feels a little bit lost but then the moment I am beside him he feels home. Or maybe he said whole. I don't know, he has a quiet speaking voice and is sometimes difficult to hear.

I sat and thought about what he said for a helluva long time, I did. I wondered if I should agree, apologize or just pack and get the fuck out after all. Which is sort of what I did when I left with Lochlan.

Ben said he wasn't worried. He knew I was safe. He knew I was okay because I called him four times a day and sent him pictures. I should not have gone but I had to. I couldn't let Lochlan leave alone and I couldn't tour with Ben and yet look at all the rules, all the plans and all the impulsive moments that we strung together to build chaos. Look at this beautiful mess. Look at what we've done and marvel in the fact that any one of us still knows what day it is or can answer a few suggestions when asked what makes us happy.

Oh, yes, please pat me on the back for the hole I have dug is now far deeper than I am tall and a lot darker than I imagined it when I drew it on paper, held up against the glass with paper tape to trace the light.

Leeway.

A tray is placed beside me on the table. Uncovered for my approval, which I give readily. Another test. My default when pressed.

Um....a Monte Cristo and fries, skin on, sherry mayo on the side and a Jack Daniels and Lemonade, double, please. No ice. Thank you.

I just say that to see if he will do it and so far so good. It's been years now and it still works perfectly. The steward turns to leave, apologizing when he realizes Caleb is standing directly behind him.

Caleb looks at the tray and then smiles tightly. I'm surprised you don't order cotton candy or something.

This is not the place for that.

Definitely not. This is a far cry from the camper, isn't it?

Another universe. I say it quietly, redrawing the line.

Point taken. He says it softly, lifting up my glass and using the corner of his towel to wipe down the outside where the cool liquid has clashed with the warm evening. The boat is in dock in its new berth on the water directly below the house instead of over at the yacht club. It's more private so we don't have to take it out to be alone. I watch as the crew disembarks, their work finished and I tug at my wet bikini bottoms. They are too loose and sliding over my hip bones every time I breathe. He watches. It was too cold to swim but I lasted eleven minutes in the water anyway, to be stubborn.

I feel lucky, Bridget.

I let my head loll back against the headrest of the seat and gaze up at him. Do you? Why?

Yes. It could have gone either way and I'm surprised your feelings were as strong as they were.

As strong as they are.

Yes. Surprised and...humbled. Thankful.

Maybe I have a soft heart.

Do you?

No. Can I eat now? The sandwich is still warm but so is my drink now. He isn't touching his own food. I make him nervous. I love being in this position. He asked for a quick swim and dinner on the boat and then I am free to disappear and he and Henry have a boy-movie night planned on board. Henry wanted to rewatch the Dark Knight series. I think Caleb deferred on Batman in favor of Iron Man instead. Henry is fine with that. They'll be making popcorn and pulling down the super-screen which is pretty neat even though it's not quite as big as the theatre in the main house.

If I can keep talking while you eat?

Fill your boots.

Are you going to fill in the blanks on your blog?

Huh?

The events of the past week. Do you plan to write about them?

I don't know. Maybe.

Can I ask that you don't?

No one reads it, Caleb.

I just wish we had some secrets left, princess.

Oh, I think there are lots of those.

Not enough.

You're looking for ground again. Already. Jesus. We're an infinite loop.

Just like you and Lochlan.

I stand up, hiking up the ties on the sides of my bikini bottoms. I'm not really hungry. Save this plate for Henry. I pick up the glass and drink the bourbon in one gulp. It's a small glass, no worries. See you tomorrow. Have fun.

What are you up to tonight?

Ruth's at a friend's for a sleepover so I think a quiet night would be good.

With Ben and Loch?

Yes.

I see.

What? What do you see?

What? Nothing. See you tomorrow.

I call him on his evil and the mirth fades from his eyes. That makes me sad. We made up some ground but it buys such fleeting peace. Damn straight I will write about it, as soon as I sort out how.

Life on the edge.

My phone became nothing more than a camera, my soul nothing more than a sponge, standing three hundred metres out in low tide.

I left my heart there if anyone needs it and I don't plan to be back here for long.

I learned that sketchy wi-fi means the ferry service will lose reservations that I might not have actually had, after all, but that's okay because they'll let you on a different one since you're there anyway. I learned that new food is fun and that Creme Brulee is just as much of a treat as a glass of wine.

I saw that surfing looks terrifying and fun, and I laughed and laughed and did not even swim. I walked. I walked until my legs hurt, and then I walked some more.

I found that my hair, like Jake's, turns completely white after being outside that long.

I noticed Lochlan still burns. (Take that any way you want.)

I discovered that when Caleb shuts up finally, I like him better.

I lost four pounds. I was hardly ever hungry.

I knew Ben could build a campfire, but I didn't know he could build one out of practically nothing and I forget how good woodsmoke smells the next day, filtered through the hoodie I wore the whole time and might burn now.

I discovered that some things change and some things stay the same:



I had an honest-to-goodness do-nothing VACATION.

I bought souvenirs.

And I cried when we left.

No woman no wifi.

Back into Oregon we go, making our way up the coast with big huge plans to meet Ben and the children and have an actual family vacation for the remainder of this week.

Things are better. Things are great. You're not missing me, are you?

Farthest point.

Laundromats in Santa Monica have free wi-fi, and I still have the same problem I had when I was a preteen and would fall asleep on long drives, waking up tremendously carsick.

I've made some headway, however. I managed to get OUT of the camper. But it was a small victory in that I still managed to barf on Loch, who was not all that impressed and then almost barfed himself.

We're doing great, thanks.

Oh. Oregon just ROCKS.

But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
Like a heartbeat drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering
What you had and what you lost

Road trip, he said. Right now. Pack.

I wanted to ask where or how long but I know better than to ask that when he looks like that.

Yes, Loch. I said instead, and went to get my things.

Fair and square.

Ben's index finger trails across my top lip. He is on his knees in front of me, my wrists caught in his left hand, his right hand silencing my protest. He is frustrated, growing more heavy-handed by the hour in spite of his efforts to stay light. He keeps tightening and then loosening his hold on me as if his very limbs are breathing through the effort. I am held within his heartbeat.

Just once, Bridget. Face your fears and feed your demons? (It's something we tell each other sometimes when one of us hesitates just a little too long. In my case a little too long translates into days.)

The demon gets fed. Far too often. I'm not encouraging him anymore. And Loch won't like it.

Loch doesn't have a say and it changes nothing. Everything's on your terms.

That's when I feel hands on my shoulders and I am pulled backward until I am leaning against Hell. Hell is in a suit vest and matching pants, white shirt with sleeves rolled up, tiebar still fixed in place, tie loosened and bowed over the top of the bar. Caleb's chin presses down on top of my head and Ben's finger slips, his nail scraping my lip just enough to illicit a tiny cry of protest. He stands up and takes a step in toward me, pulling my face up to his for a kiss to make it better. This won't make things better, this makes Satan worse and Lochlan worse and sometimes Ben worse and yet here he is still looking for the tiny domestic thrills wherever he can get them. Still looking to watch. Still looking to bleed out on the inside while he fights and loses the battle to control his whims.

He has a sweet tooth. I am the candy store. Caleb, the sugar daddy. Nothing changes. Not money, not positioning, not the promises he made to Lochlan on a beach ten months ago to cleave their hearts in half and be NICE and not pull my arms apart as if I were a ragdoll and they were the children.

And yet the minute Loch turns his back, Ben steers us all on a collision course with the dark.

Caleb's hand slides up the side of my neck and my goosebumps betray me. I close my eyes. Fucking touch my head and my composure is swallowed whole, never to be seen again. He spins me around to face him, lifting my chin up, asking me what I want.

And I'm such a brat that I open my eyes and say Lochlan.

Just to be as difficult as possible. Just to tell the truth.

This is not the promise I made to Ben. I made it to Cole and Cole's long gone now. But according to Caleb, a promise is a promise, and according to Benjamin, life is short and according to Bridget, tomorrow's going to suck and involve things like Robax platinum and shots of whiskey when no one is looking to calm my frayed nerves and a jeans and a hoodie to hide the marks and I'll walk rather slowly and look no one in the eye and when Lochlan comes home he'll just know because I don't lie very well and he'll blame me anyway because he thinks I engineer my life and if I do then no one has told me how, I'm just along for the ride, be it on a Ferris wheel with all the pretty lights in the night or on the pitch-black rollercoaster, screaming into the dark at a high rate of speed.

Mercy wakes.

Ben is plotting ice cream sundaes and television for a rainy night. I am already asleep on my feet, getting over this stupid flu bug and not getting nearly enough sleep besides.

I fall asleep midway through the bowl, tucked into his arm. I think he ate his spoon but I forget to ask as I turn and walk down the hall toward my dream while he settles in to watch a documentary on Bob Marley. My brain is fried, my synapses firing blind, nerves shot into a target painted black with large circles and holes, clean through.

In my dream, the devil marries me and the ring he puts on my finger is the mood ring he ripped from my finger when I was twelve. In my dream the ring fuses into my bones and becomes a part of me. I put a curse on it so that you can never get away, he whispers, his face turning black in the hollows, stretching long into the dark. His voice drops to a whispery-growl and I shrink away as the thunder rolls and crashes around us.

Blessed are those who mourn! shouts Jacob into the wind, standing at the top of the path under a tree bending dangerously in the high winds. His blonde hair whips against his teeth, lips spread wide into pure joy. You will be comforted! He points down at me and I shrink back against the devil, aligning myself with the dark. The devil wraps his arms around me and I disappear into him, screaming.

He squeezes hard and all of my breath escapes my lungs in a rush. My eyes fly open and it's Ben, his face an inch away from mine, his eyes filled to the brim with concern. He kisses my eyelashes. Just a bad dream, little bee. Just a dream. You're okay. I'm here. Everything's okay. I open my mouth to tell him I'm fine and begin to hyperventilate instead. He holds my attention and counts, one arm holding me close, the other stroking my cheek until I can exhale normally again and then after a few minutes he asks what this nightmare was about. It helps to talk about them, or so they say. I'm still on the fence.

The Beatitudes.

From the bible?

Yes.

Preacher dreams?

Satan was there too.

Which one was scary?

Both.

Ben squeezes me closer against him and presses his lips against my forehead. I hear Bob Marley singing in the background and for once I'm grateful for music that doesn't ask an emotional ransom of me.