Sonny's dreams can't be real
They're just stories he's read
They're just stars in his eyes
They're just dreams in his head
And he's hungry inside for that wide world outside
And I know I can't hold him though I've tried, and
I've tried, and I've tried

Last night as I slept the Dealbreaker Fairies struck again, much as they did when Ben took a drink and started in on me, because certain things are not allowed. These are rules everyone agreed to when we decided to centralize the Collective. These rules are carved into stone. Only I don't know what happens if they are broken repeatedly. I'm sure eventually we'll find out. Ben is working at that doggedly.

They paid Caleb a visit in the night and removed the weapon. I don't know what they did with it, I didn't ask. I didn't ask which boys are the Dealbreaker Fairies, I only know that this morning power had shifted back and I worry that this is needless and ridiculous and exhausting and never changes, which is ironically what Caleb wishes for and never gets and what I can never seem to get away from. Change.

Here's some change. This morning Batman roared down the driveway in his fancy sportscar and made no attempt at mystery or surprise. He simply slammed his way into the Boathouse and then he left just as quickly and I was thinking too little too late as he glanced my way as he turned around the fountain loop and then looked back at me, satisfied that no, the Devil didn't shoot me in the face over the weekend, I'm still living, breathing, waiting for Ben with one part of my heart while I saw the other remaining living piece into two with a rusted blade. Or into three. Maybe four. Five? I don't know, I was never very good at counting. I'm just grateful that they keep each other accountable, and grateful that Lochlan's pride is still flexible enough that he asks for help when he feels as if he might take things too far, because Caleb isn't the only one with self-control issues. I'm pretty sure if Loch had his way he'd be spending the afternoon digging a third grave on the property.

Whoops, did I say third? I meant FIRST.

I remember when we were gambling to win.

He had a soundtrack, the outside system churning through a playlist of new favorites. Wye Oak, Imagine Dragons and some acoustic Metric that he found that I loved instantly, to name a few. Old favorites mixed in for familiarity, too, as always. Bryan Adams. Boston. Kansas.

He had our big sketchbooks, my bag of pens and pencils and his metal tin of charcoal pieces.

He had the big picnic quilt and he laid everything out under the tree at the center of the dead orchard but it isn't dead just lazy in production and we don't have the heart to tear it all up, cut it down and change it. I love it. It's like a secret garden of a different kind and when you're under the tree at the very center you can't even see the house.

He had olives and bread and cheese and wine and chocolate too. He had sour patch kids and a small bag of cotton candy that we were sorely disappointed in. Loch had a plan to spend the day listening to music, drawing each other's portraits and drinking and singing and then I put all of that aside in favor of lying flat on my back on the blanket in the grass, pencils spilled into the bowl of olives, charcoal fingerprints around my ears and on my cheeks. I watched the clouds play tag across the sky and every now and again a dragonfly or a bee would come and land nearby and I would watch it until my eyes got so heavy I couldn't see anymore and finally I closed them completely.

I fell asleep in the sun, got burned and missed my phone call, shifted to today because Saturday was family day and apparently Ben was hoping I would be there, in spite of his very specific instructions that I not come because he seems to do better when he can't see my face and feel the feelings that go along with my expressions. They say it's rather devastating but I don't look in the mirror anymore so I don't know what they're talking about, honestly.

Repercussion roulette (Hammer home the rules).

The first click came almost immediately and I counted, in my head.

One.

He slides the barrel over my bottom lip, pulling it down, all the while frowning at me. He is all business tonight, almost disappointed that I arrived alone. If I come alone there's no need for appearances so he sheds his human form completely and then he loses control.

Say what I want to hear. He wraps his free hand around my neck, pushing me against the door. He thinks my presence is preference and won't listen to reason so I save my breath for later when I might need it more.

I shake my head and am rewarded with another click. Two. My feet leave the ground and my breath shatters in my lungs as he squeezes harder around my throat.

Eye level now and I still don't look at Caleb. Click.

That makes three.

Don't, I whisper.

What is your life worth, anyway? He whispers back gently.

More than yours. Lochlan's voice is loud and clear. He takes my hands and I don't fall when I am released and he pulls me back through the door and down the steps and home.

You don't do that. You don't go and see him if I say I don't want to see him. You don't ever do that again. 

You said you didn't want to go. 

That doesn't mean you go alone. Is that what you think I mean when I say I'm not going?

I shrug. I don't know. Stop yelling at me.

Is that what you think? Answer me, Bridgie. Right now, hon.

Yes. You're feeding me to the wolf! You don't care if I go. 

Oh I care very much and I've told you that but you don't listen until it's so late we almost run out of time. I don't know how to fix that. 

You can't. 

Sure I can. Or I can try. No more. No fucking more. You don't leave me for any reason. Got that?

You'll cave before I do. 

Don't you bet on that now. You'll lose.

Just killing time here until I get my phone call tomorrow morning. None of this is new, feel free to ignore it and go read something fun like Divergent updates. :)

I'm not close
I'm not safe
I don't know, am I better off in chains?
The one is not aware, so stay away from me
I'm just too young to care

Caleb had outdoor heaters installed around the secret garden, the space he built that I told you about here and here (I can't call it a grotto because that just makes me think of the Playboy mansion so secret garden it shall remain). They are heaters similar to the ones down on the dock but these ones come on automatically through some magical combination of temperature sensing and motion detection so I don't have to fuss with them, and they're set for my comfort which is a nice touch and as always, completely over the top.

I found out when I ventured outside with a sketchbook and headphones and a second cup of coffee very early this morning. Halfway across the lawn I decided it was too cold but figured I would check it out for a few minutes anyway. Surprisingly it was toasty-warm in minutes under the canopy of leaves and I realized there were three heaters built in to the top of the retaining wall.

Godammit. If he can control the weather now I'm doomed.

I can't control the weather, I just tried to think of everything you might need, he answers. I jump fifty feet, shrieking at him not to do that.

That's a poor reaction for someone who's been given a space such as this to call her own. I've been waiting for you to come out here for days.

I don't recall asking for this so exactly how grateful would you like me to be? I adore this part of the yard and may never touch down on the back patio again (I kid! Duncan is back there. I'll be there). But if Caleb only did it to get my thankfulness then forget it. He can bulldoze it over and the forest can reclaim it.

I want you to acknowledge that your champagne tastes rival your amusement park budget and that the rat is out of his league.

Just because I like champagne doesn't mean I'll die if I can't have it. I'm fine with water.

From the bucket outside a barn somewhere in a town you couldn't name if there was a gun to your head?

The very same (I wince at his description. How fitting that is.).

And you want to scrounge around for dinner pennies-

Nickels, now.  Pennies are being phased out.

-Dinner nickels only to go to sleep hungry because there isn't enough?

Sure. Doesn't bother me.

You looked pretty impressed last time I flew you to dinner. You seem to enjoy yourself when we engage in...extraordinary experiences that you can't find among people who don't have the means I do, Bridget.

I never said I was immune to decadence, just that I won't choose it. 

We're only on earth for a limited time. 

He pops the balloon of abstract theory. Yes. I'm aware.

Bridget, I want to spoil you. I want to give you an easy life. When we're together it isn't difficult, it's seamless and electric and comfortable. You fit beside me. You complete me. 

That's from Jerry Maguire.

You drive me fucking nuts. 

I'm sure that's from Gangster Number One. Or maybe Goodfellas.

I don't care. I just know that Ben isn't capable of looking after you when he can't look after himself and Lochlan doesn't have the means to support a family. Neither one of them can commit to a thing-

You know the best part of your pissing contest with Lochlan? He never mentions you, or Ben or money. Or what he can give me. He only talks about being so in love with me, about it being right, that it's meant to be. That we have something so amazing. All you want to do is fix a price and make your aquistion. 

That isn't true. I'm pragmatic. I focus on numbers first.

Well, that's wrong. 

That's practical. He isn't. I don't know why you say he is. I am showing you my concrete plans, concrete means. No one can live on glitter and fireworks and candy. You found that out the hard way.

There is nothing bad in Lochlan's universe. And I can't live with a gun to my head which is how you get your way, Caleb.

If I adopt his methods it will destroy you. You want me to talk about history? You want me to talk about how I fucked up and in the process I managed to not only not take you away from Loch but I lost you to my brother too? Want me to talk about lying awake nights planning pointless trips and business emergencies to bring you on to save your life? Want me to talk about lying awake nights beside you while you cried through your nightmares, telling me things I could hardly believe? Want me to talk about needing years of therapy to let go of you when you asked me to go away knowing you were staying with Cole? Want me to tell you about a loneliness so fucking deep it's destroying my heart in slow motion? I can talk about that, Bridget, but I don't think you would like it very much. 

Brought your verbal guns today, I see.

Limited time, Princess. That's all we have. A limited time.

The only reason Lochlan and I didn't survive on the road was because you changed things. That's YOUR fault, not his.

The aftermath was all his, baby. Don't pin his helplessness on me. 

You set us up! Jesus Christ, what was he supposed to do?

He was supposed to be a man! 

Oh, LIKE YOU WERE?

His mouth opened to keep going but his eyes changed from triumphant to horrified and he didn't say anything.

I want to fix things, Bridget. 

Then leave me the hell alone.

Come tonight. Bring him and we'll talk. Something has to change. He turned on his heel and went inside, leaving me alone to shiver in spite of the heat.

I scream, you scream.

Our third child has decided to step in and fill some pretty big shoes this morning. Oh yes, that Jack of all trades, master of none Daniel has determined that nothing will keep the annual homemade ice cream festival from continuing.

Ben makes ice cream. It rarely works out. Everyone seems to adore it nonetheless.

He uses no professional eqipment. I don't think I've ever seen him wash his hands first but it's been a thing for him and the kids since diapers were also a thing. So, like forever, the third week of July their entire lives. This might be the first July he misses in its entirety.

But we still have Danny and Danny brings his doubtful, curious and handsome A-game to every moment of my life because he is the sweetest guy around and I only kiss up to him because he has never ever been the first one to release a hug. Ever.

And that, my friends, is something you all could learn from.

But then I would never get anything done. Like washing all of these dishes from making homemade ice cream. Not sure how he gets all the glory and I get the shitshow but I'll take it.

Attachment theory.

I was reading. I went around and gathered up as many hugs as I could hold and Lochlan still hadn't appeared so I changed into one of Ben's big t-shirts, turned off all the lights (save for one in the kitchen above the stove and the one on Lochlan's night table) and went to bed, book in my arm, eyes heavy.

He dropped his full weight on me and took my book, tossing it to the floor. Hey. 

Hey stranger. 

Never. Always familiar. I got hung up helping Sam.

Noble cause?

Girl problems.

I laughed out loud and he smiled. Love that sound. 

Enjoy it while it lasts. I can't breathe. 

Sorry, he laughs and pulls himself up so that his elbows are holding most of his weight. His forearms are planted on either side of my head. He bends his head down for a long kiss.

That's what was missing. 

I think so too. I give him another one and we trade off and on for a while before I realize he's not supported by his elbows again.

Loch!

Sorry! There. He pulls the covers down and lies beside me, pulling me in tightly against his chest, working kisses from my mouth out to my jaw. He reaches out and turns off the lamp and then pulls off my t-shirt in between pulling his clothes off. His breathing is quiet and harsh, his curls are in his eyes, his teeth sharp against my cheek. His hands are hot, red-hot, burning into my skin but I don't care.

He pulls me up into his arms and pulls my legs up tightly around his waist. I dig my nails into his shoulders and he presses so hard into me that I cry out. He reaches up and covers my mouth and then leans me back all the way until I am flat on my back and he is over me again. He puts his head down and pulls his arms down around me. Faster we go. I reach up and grab onto his curls to keep him close and he leans up on his elbows again, putting his hands on my cheeks as he pounds me right through the sheets. We don't talk. We kiss but mostly we move together in silence.

Finally he climbs back up to a sitting position, pulling my legs up into the air so he can watch my face. He is too far away for my liking but he leans back further, moving slowly, watching me, lifting my hips easily. His hair is in his eyes again and his smile could melt steel if his hands didn't already. He slows down even more and leans forward again, holding me down, picking up speed and I pull myself up, arms around his neck and at last he slides his arms around my back and begins to melt us together in a blinding spark of magnesium and charcoal. He lets go of me and I am instantly cold, my hair stuck against my forehead, my breathing ragged, caught. He bends his head down for one final long kiss and then he tucks me in his arm against his chest and he is asleep in seconds.

I watch him until my own eyes become too heavy again and I join him in dreams, back at the fair, where surprisingly enough, it's daylight.

Great day. No time. Here!

Today featured all kinds of really really good things. Like:

Air conditioning.

Spaghetti.

A fixed barbecue, a fixed garden hose and a bathed dog, all courtesy of yours truly.

A found five dollar bill.

Chocolate FREAKING cake.

Presents.

Balloons.

And a boy who turned twelve.

TWELVE. 

Oh my God. What?

In time to tee off with the pumpkins (a phone call from Ben).

I spent almost two-and-a-half weeks angry at Benjamin. I woke up, flip-flopped and got scared. Maybe it's a dream. Maybe he's dead like the others. You don't know what my mind does to me sometimes. It's a horror show rollercoaster ride. It's a bad dream. It's a whimsical, uncontrollable beast. It scares most everyone and that's why I have a team. Not just some friends but two dozen knights on high alert.

Because I'm unpredictable and run on flames and sugar.

Again, we know who to blame for starting all of this and we know who to blame for ending it. But when the chips have fallen there is still the burning question left.

What do we do with her now?

I woke up afraid and I made sure that it's fully and clearly understood that I miss Ben. A whole lot.

He called the night before I actually admitted this out loud and told me three things, you see.

The first thing was that he loves me, so very very much and he wants to be better. He wants to be a well man so he can be a good husband and a good friend and a good stepfather too.

The second thing is that he wants me to do exactly what he set in place for me the morning he proposed that we marry Lochlan. Because Lochlan is permanent, carved in stone and so should the need arise for me to be handed off to someone else well, let's just make it formal because alone=bad, Caleb=bad and anyone else would be a total fucking trainwreck.

(I could give you concrete examples of this but instead just remember Joel.)

The third thing is that he will be home at Halloween.

(That's right boys and girls, this is a sixteen week residential program where instead of just getting off whatever destruction train he was on, he's going to learn to rewire his brain to cope with stress and fear in other ways. The part he always walked out on before.

Oh, send me. I could use that. Except that I don't listen.)

Halloween? I asked three times (because I don't listen, you see) and by the second time instead of repeating why it would be so long he began repeating that I was okay now, safe from him. Far from him and his alter ego, who is full of rage and doesn't give a fuck.

He spoke of the letter. The one I never got to read. He said the only nagging fear he has is that if I revert to Lochlan completely for four months straight will it strengthen the bond so much that we'll have nothing left for Ben when he comes back? It was a similar message to the one left for Lochlan on his voicemail because once again Loch refused to be the bearer of bad news and told Ben he would have to tell me himself how long the program would be.

So he did.

He asked for some sort of promise that I would be open to taking him back if he can do this.  Not when but if. I asked him, didn't he have any faith in himself and he whispered no, that he left all his faith in me and that he hoped I would use it and do the right thing when the time came.

This is what Lochlan took issue with, I believe.

Ben asked me to thank Batman, who covered the cost of his treatment up front. He told me not to spend too much time with Caleb and then he said he would try to call back on Tuesday and wish Henry a Happy Birthday.

He said when he comes home he's getting a regular day job again and he's going to do things differently. He said he misses both of us. I reminded him gently that Lochlan isn't cooperating at present with our Three Musketeer Manifesto and Ben said he knows and if he was in Loch's place he wouldn't either but he also knows that everything will work out because we're special and a little crazy and a lot wounded and he can't wait to be home but he won't be home until things work properly inside his head.

He said at the end of the day I deserve a man who has his shit together and he would like to be the first to present that concept to me.

And in spite of myself I laughed. I laughed until I cried.

I miss Ben.

Twilight comes and the house quiets down and I stop coping, stop distracting. I can spend all day long telling myself he was being a creep and he lets his ego get in the way and he thinks he's invincible except when he doesn't and that I don't like him when he's like that because he's sweeter when he's not so sure of everything.

I could tell myself I'm moving on without him and will cross the bridge back to him if or when I ever see him again but let's face it. I'm not moving on, I'm standing perfectly still and a butterfly landed on the hood of my sweater and the sharp intake of breath from John when it happened told me everything I needed to know.

I passed him my phone. Take a picture, I pleaded. Hurry! 

But in his quest to get the perfect shot the butterfly flew away.

Kind of like Ben. Try too hard to get him just right and he'll take flight, the grounded inebriated cocky pilot who lost his wings but oh that's okay, he still has that career, that stupid guitar and a head full of ideas for the next great hook that will never see the light of day and oh Jesus, I miss him.

I miss him so much. No one gets it, no one appreciates it. They just see my loyalties search and fumble for the next place to land, just like that butterfly. They see my intense history and penchant for revenge-affection and they see the love my boys openly exhibit and they assume that I don't care.

I was told not to care, not to waste any more time fretting and hoping and waiting but I'm standing here looking at my watch and I'm counting that it's day one of week four and I've had enough. I miss everything about Ben but most of all I miss his now. His in-the-moment. His smile. His hands. His stupid broken heart.

And yeah, I miss his big ego too.

I miss how rude he can be with his jokes and I miss how cool his skin feels. I miss seeing his fight play out in his eyes and I miss his boots in the middle of the floor and finding guitar picks in odd places like the sugar bowl, the soap dish and on the cat.

I miss his insistence on my doing whatever I need to do to be happy no matter what. It's permission, it's liberating, it works.

I miss his weirdness, his out-there opinions and his spur-of-the-moment food fights. I miss laughing. I miss falling asleep with my back pressed against his chest, a wall of bones and flesh with that matching broken heart keeping time with mine.

I wish he would call me. I wish he would write again. I wish he would just come home. I don't care if they haven't fixed him yet. I can fix him but no one has any faith in me either.

All/most.

Lochlan's just-before-sleeping and newly-awake states are mirror images of his drunk one. The words roll out uncensored, unchecked and unvarnished. He doesn't bathe everything in logic and common sense. It's where I see who he is instead of who he wants me to think he is. I don't understand why he feels there needs to be a difference between the two, I'm pretty sure that's habit more than anything else. As long as she's okay, happy/fed/warm/safe/stimulated/learning then he could rest easy in his role as the Responsible Adult, something he mostly faked and constantly slipped from, a tenuous grasp that turned out to be non-existent and he wasn't actually holding on to the right rope after all.

He says things like:

Almost there. Last time he was gone I got you out of here and you thought you were in control. So close, Peanut brittle. So close. 

I wasn't going to turn down this chance. So you can tell me I'm being disloyal but I'm not here for him and we all know it.

I think they all think I don't matter but look at me. Where am I and where are they? 

and this:

I'm sorry about Ben's letter, Bridget. I am but I'm not but I am. You once asked me to let you go so that you and Jake could be happy and I did. I hated every second of it but I went and tried to live like a regular normal person because I knew it was the best thing for you. Why won't Ben or Diabhal, for that matter, do what's best for you?

I'm too tired to do this now so I shrug. I don't know. I close my eyes. Lochlan spans one hand across the small of my back and wraps the other hand around the back of my head, clutching me to him and we fall asleep the way we always used to on the cot in the trailer that wasn't quite thirty inches wide.

Now the bed is seventy-two inches wide but look, I can still feel his heart beating harder than my own. I feel his blood pumping through his veins across his skin against mine. I smell toothpaste and kerosene. I feel his breathing slow to match my own and I fight to stay awake so that I can watch him sleep, because it seems as if that's the one time he isn't fighting everything and everyone.

What he wants is so simple and straightforward. It's not much to ask for, as he has never been one to ask for very much at all.