Copper moon.

If I could throw this lifeless lifeline to the wind
Leave this heart of clay
See you walk, walk away
Into the night and through the rain
Into the half-light and through the flame

If I could through myself
Set your spirit free, I'd lead your heart away
See you break, break away
Into the light and to the day

Last night Lochlan pulled a page out of history and reset my world in the best way. He booked the patio for us and us alone, dragged out the heaters, got the outdoor sound system back out (we put it away last weekend for the winter) and ordered a pizza.

We had a pizza picnic in the backyard, in the dark, just us and the stars and the shivery night. We drank cheap white wine in juice glasses and used paper towels as plates and then when we were through he asked me if I wanted to dance.

I'm still chewing so I just widened my eyes. I'm not sure if he's going to start setting things on fire (honestly, I never am when it comes to that) or if this is a simple waltz around the patio stones.

It's the latter. The former will come later.

I'd love to say we danced cheek to cheek for the remainder of the night but my head tops about an inch past his shoulder so I settled for resting my face against his shirt and he tucked his head down against mine. I don't know what songs he played. Didn't listen, didn't care. All that mattered in that evening was that we were back to ourselves, back to focusing on each other, back to right. Back to us, which is where I belong and what he wants so badly it's easy to fight too hard and wind up on the outside looking in.

And I don't want to look in any more. I want to be there. With him.

Then he called a family meeting, because he figured between the waltz and the wine I would fall asleep only I didn't. I was so alert when I moved you could hear an audible twang.

Just the core group tonight, ensconced in the library. Two weeks and a little bit. Here comes the rough part. Back her up, let her in, keep her safe, let her go. I don't know if he was telling them, me or himself but he lost his place (fucking wine) more than once, stumbling over his own words, or his thoughts as they sprang up like obstacles on what should have been a straight and easy path. I did eventually start to fade and PJ took over from Lochlan, letting him off the hook.

We've got you, he said simply. Both of you. No worries, Brother.

God, I hate that phrase but at the same time it was the best thing I've ever heard. Though I know PJ lies. They all lie. I would too. Caleb never said a single word. He's not going to promise a fucking thing. No one is. Ben never even came upstairs which means his phone is somewhere and he never got the message.

Lochlan waited until we were alone again, safe in our room under the quilts, door locked, oblivious Benjamin sleeping, moving unconsciously closer against my back. Loch lit a single tiny flame with one finger and he held it drunkenly, waveringly between us.

Stay with me and I'll light the way, okay, Peanut? 

I nodded. Yes, Lochlan. I whisper it and he laughs.

That's good. I have to sleep now or I'm going to die. And he's out. Eyes closed, head down, arms tight around me, one hand on Ben. Customary clutch. I broil alive. It would be easy to sleep except after he said that I'm suddenly ice-cold, sober and wide awake.

Your ruthless heart.

All he wanted was a little anonymity
Not the pedestal you needed to control me
Then place the burden on coercive ambiguity
And nominate the ghost you made
To designate an enemy

Sam's disapproval is swift and cutting.

Why weren't you there? You letting him speak for everyone now? You going to get this far only to start over? 

You know what this is. 

And I don't like it. 

I can't help that, Samuel. 

You let him take over, Bridget, and no one will be able to save you. He says it so softly my heart thunks badly trying to listen even more closely than usual.

You can't save everyone, Sam. 

I wasn't talking about everyone. I'm talking about you. 

You're not perfect. 

No, I'm definitely not perfect and I know I fucked up. I was trying to keep you from falling for me. One-sided affection can be dealt with easily enough. If it's both ways it gets complicated. 

There was nothing complicated about it until you took it too far. 

So don't write about me. Don't share things that belong in the dark. 

That's not how I work. I have to put it somewhere. 

So put it on me. He pounds his chest. Put it here and I'll keep it for you. 

Oh, I tried that before Sam, and look where it got me. Tears spill over my eyelids and roll down my cheeks and he blames himself for that too.

That isn't what I meant, Beautiful. Oh, Jesus Christ Almighty. Please don't cry.

Chaos trapped and wrapped inside my skin.

You're free to give in but
Damned if you dare to
Taught to forgive as the hate lies within you
Feel trapped in your skin
You can't comprehend
He who preaches through silence
Denies us our privilege

I woke up abruptly, all bedhead and big eyes. New shorter hair still sticking up everywhere. Pixie's back. Lochlan with his long red curls sleeping deeply. It's the wine. It devastates him. Caleb is awake and sitting in the chair in his room smiling at me ever so slightly. If he looks pleased it's because he is. Amazing how cooperative people can be when they understand you can end their life with one hand. He's strong. I obey. It's pretty simple.

He requested a midnight show with fire and marshmallows. That's why my hair sticks up. I'll have to wash it twice to get rid of the sugar starch from the marshmallows. I am a campfire. I warmed up eventually and Lochlan relented and soon you couldn't distinguish flame from spark. We know our place, know our roles. It's more than bearable, he's made it downright luxurious to be kept and the only caviat is we don't talk about it, don't share it, and don't mind it.

I've been doing that so long I have it down pat. And Lochlan will do whatever is necessary to see that I am to be cared for properly because it's what I have earned so he's up there sleeping on his tightrope with no fear anymore, though it's still a tightrope. If he's here he's more at ease than if he's not with us. That's the rub. I can't let go. I'm afraid they'll pull me apart but cordially, almost politely with each other, a hesitant friendship still being mended and fractured on almost a daily basis. I'm pretty sure I breathe guilt at this point even though I never ever played them against each other and none of it is or will ever be my fault.

Doesn't make it easier though. What does? Sugar in the dark.

Did you sleep, Neamhchiontach?

I nod. I'm starving.

He nods in return. Sugar only goes so far. I'll make french toast and coffee for three. I already sent Sam a message that we won't be in church today.

I was here.

Little fish, boat's too full, down you go
Breathing in salt and fuel, tiny gulps
Statistically it's commonplace
You're not alone
So end like this instead of shot back at home

Matthew Good's new album, Something like a Storm is out. So good. And if you're wondering why I haven't posted in a week, let me explain.

I did post.

I had five days worth of entries here but they had to go because it's one of the terms of my settlement. We don't talk about it. What happens in Bridget stays in Bridget. If I break the terms of the settlement I don't lose it, but I'd probably die instead. I don't know. I don't want to find out. And Claus isn't employed by me, he's employed by Caleb. Their goal isn't to fix anything, it's just to keep me calm and happy so I don't start to fuss against the invisible chains that bind me to this point. To these men.

Calm and happy is relative. I get to a place where I'm content again and we're good. I got to a place last week where I began to flit from boy to boy, looking for something I couldn't name (Oh he has a name) and I started sliding. Quickly. Lochlan got angry, Caleb got all bent out of shape and we went to hell in a handbasket that is designed for one but held a bunch of us, surprisingly.

It's better now. Seems it goes in cycles. From calm to chaotic. Something like a storm, I guess.

A breakfast, a lecture, a rescue.

Potato, Potah-to. He calls it a 'talk'. Except all he did was talk at me for one hundred and twelve minutes while I made butternauts and refused to answer any questions I did catch for the first three-quarters of our meal. Self-preservation, as Eggs Benedict with salmon and fresh melon should be eaten in only the most positive of settings and by the end of the breakfast I was forced to take my coffee cup to the bar for refills because he kept sending the servers away.

(At least he tips well, though I could use a tip on very pale people with sensitive skin and red eyes from threatening tears. Big sunglasses look a little ridiculous indoors, on a rainy day. How are you all doing this? I'm not tough enough to not react. I'm not tough at all.)

Not like he gave me a chance to pull myself together as it was. The message was there when I woke up to meet him, dressed to go to breakfast. I did, walking to his glassed-in porch around eight, and he took my arm and marched me to his car, and then we drove in silence, he ordered curtly (knows what I like, at least) and then waited for what seemed like an eternity for the food. In reality it was around fifteen or twenty minutes but try doing that without talking.

Once the food arrived, Batman started talking. He talked while he ate and he never. let. up.

Maybe the Collective isn't working. Really is anything different? August needs to be sent home for good. So does anyone who wants a chance at a normal life. Who am I to keep everyone here at my beck and call-

Wait a minute. What? I have to interrupt. They chose this life-

I'm here, I see how their choices are-

Yes, you're here. What's your excuse? 

I'm not interested in starting a family. I was married before. I've lived. Some of them haven't. 

They're all adults. 

Oh come on, Bridget. They're hypnotized. They're brainwashed. 

I didn't do that. 

This is what I'm telling you. Yes. You did. You did that. You made them that way. 

I stop listening at that point. I haven't done anything wrong. And what he's describing is some kind of selfish criminal mastermind, out collecting souls because she didn't have one of her own. Jesus. Is that what I am? Oh Jesus. I can't swallow this bite of food. I can't hang on to my composure anymore. I can't be here. I don't want to do this.

Coffee? 

Leave us. 

The server is sent away just as I lift my cup and I turn my gaze back to Batman. Abruptly I realize he wanted a sounding board to unload all of his own jealousy, wrapped in the most ridiculous discourse of blame and tragedy and that this isn't my cross to bear and I don't need to sit through it.

I tell him I'm going to find the washroom and get some coffee, that I need a moment. I dab at the corner of my eye with a napkin so he has a little sympathy. He nods, softening somewhat, sitting up and fixing his tie.

I leave my cup on the bar, asking for a refill, telling them I'll be right back or they can take it to the table for me and I head down the hall.

Once inside I pull out my phone and wonder who the heck I can call for a drive home. Who's going to be on my side at this point?

Ben.

Except Ben's phone lives on the dresser perpetually because he forgets to take it everywhere.

Daniel it is. He says he'll leave right now, to meet him outside.

I wait as long as I can and go back out. Batman is sitting straight up. His face is ashen. My coffee is full but lukewarm and I hesitate beside the chair for several seconds before sitting down.

He holds up his hand and a server practically sprints over with a coffee pot and a new cup. The coffee is now too hot to drink, the old cup is removed carefully. This right here is a metaphor for my relationships. Ice-cold, removed or too attentive, too hot. Too immediate.

Happy mediums? Not this girl. Never ever ever.

Who's coming to get you? 

I sip my coffee. Pardon?

Which one did you contact to come and pick you up? 

Daniel. 

You can't escape this, Bridget. That's the funny part. 

No, see, the funny part is that you think this is my fault. You all came to me. I didn't ask for a thing. I still haven't asked for a thing or everything would be different. I didn't do this. You did. You all did, and blaming me is a real shit move after all this time. 

I open my purse and fish out a few bills, throw them on the table and tell him to have a good afternoon. That I hope he got everything off his chest. That maybe he should book a time with Sam or with August if he wants to really dig deep and self-improve.

Then I walk outside, head high, just as Daniel is pulling into a loading zone.

Hey. 

Hey. Didn't have time to put on a cape. Sorry.

I don't need any more heroes. Just friends. 

Then I've got you covered. He winks and waits for me to put on my seatbelt. Then we're on our way home.

TICKETS PROCURED.

Guess who's going to see er...Avenged Sevenfold for the second time in seventh months?

Nah, I'm not going for them, silly.

I'm fulfilling a fifteen-year wait to see Breaking Benjamin (!!!!) and I'm so excited about that I could burst. I still remember holding my blackberry up to my old HP laptop when some internet radio site played I Will Not Bow. Ben was in the dining room laughing with the kids and I was sitting at the kitchen table under the dim lights and I recorded it when it debuted online because I couldn't actually hear it over their laughter. It was snowing and freezing cold that night. What a weirdly vivid memory.

I have a BB lyric tattoo (from Rain). I have a son who wants to see them too (Go Henry! Who hasn't seen a live show with us since Robert Plant. Or maybe it was Stone Temple Pilots. Wait. I just checked the master list I keep. It was Rush. The kid's seen more shows than most people).  I have a musical bucket list that's just about complete and we have tickets now for a night in February. I'm excited. You have no idea. Besides, this band taught me the word for what I was doing with their very first hit single: Polyamorous. 

Booyah! *Runs around pool again.*

Snort.

(My favorite song of theirs is still Breath though. Always and forever.)

This too.

I get it. If I keep my mouth shut like Sam and PJ do, I get access. At least I'm still permitted to talk to you. Meetings move to your library. Same times. xx

That was the message I woke up to on my phone from August. Lochlan went to see him last night but came home and didn't say much, preferring to wake me up and wind me out instead. I bit down into his shoulder as he gripped my hips against his own, keeping me so close to him I almost tapped out for not being able to breathe but I stuck it out instead. Then he abruptly lets go of me, practically shoving me down as I fall anyway and I sit up and shove him back and he kisses me so hard I think he cracked my teeth. He grabs my face with both hands and tells me he loves me. Then he's gone and I hear the shower turn on a few minutes later. The sun is coming up around the edges of the dark and from out of nowhere Ben says Jesus, you two should be putting out videos. 

People have seen enough. I'm still angry from the arguments of the past couple of days. Still touchy about August. Still smarting from Lochlan's attempts to rule with an iron cock.

Thought you loved his rage fucks. 

I do. 

Then relax. He's just having a moment. It will pass. Usually takes a week or so. You always think Caleb is the possessive one. They're a lot alike, Bridge. 

Don't I know that already. I close my eyes and turn away and I hear Ben leave and then a little while later Lochlan comes back. When I turn over he's buttoning a flannel shirt over a plain white t-shirt.

You're not banned from August. You can see him here in the house for meetings. Just nothing else for now. 

I heard. He sent a text. 

He's good with that? 

Did you give him a choice?

No. 

Then he's good with that. 

Are you good with that? 

I guess I have to be. Since you're on a roll, are you going to ban Caleb next? 

He smiles curtly. I might. 

Charge.

I'm holding on
I'm holding on to you
My world is wrong
My world is lies come true

And I fall in love
With the ones that run me through
When all along all I need is you

I let the song play on repeat about fifteen times. It was a means to an end.

Shut it off, Bridge.

I pretend I can't hear him.

You can hear me.

I shake my head, tilting it slightly, turning the cup over and over in my hands. It's a camping mug, metal with a painted trees logo from some outfitter company. He threw it so hard the top rim is now an oval shape. I would have thought it should have bounced but what do I know?

I get scared, Peanut. 

Join the club. We're all 'fraidycats over here. It's like a house full of trembling children. 

Don't minimize how this feels. 

Oh, I'm not. If anyone ever put too much importance on feelings, it's me. Don't ever think differently, Loch. 

I don't. He says it softly. Still scared though. 

Well, you shouldn't be. 

Remember when you were little and I would say 'Don't worry, Peanut' and you'd get so mad you'd stomp your feet and practically rip my face off. 'As if that will just make me stop like magic', you would tell me. That's how this feels and I'm sorry I ever told you to stop.

Which? 

Huh? 

You're sorry you told me to stop worrying or sorry you told me to stop going to August? 

Both. 

But. 

But it isn't easy, Bridget.

Then just imagine being me. 

There's the despair back in his green eyes. He takes the mug from my hand and bends it easily back into a rough circle shape. I forget how strong he is. I forget how weak he can be. I forget how much he loves me sometimes because he can be so cutting, so harsh with his words. I forget that he doesn't mean to hurt me even as he means every last word.

I can stop. 

What? 

I can stay away from him. From August, if that's what you want. 

I don't know what I want, Peanut. I want you to be happy, I want you to have peace in all this but when you do and things are going good I wish I could shut it all down. 

So do I. 

You do? 

My friends are using me and at the same time I'm using them. It's unhealthy. No one's happy. I don't know who signs up for this shit with such a sparse return on their investment.

You would call it sparse. Trust me, they find it worthy.

What about the ones I don't go to? Think they find it worth the effort? 

They love you in different ways. I want to keep that division. Maybe it's selfish. We've come so far. I want something for myself. 

You have it. Forever. 

He hands me the dented, chipped cup as he pauses at the door. Tell August you're going to take a break. That he needs to step back for a time. That he's not going to come back and start causing more problems just when everything seems to be smoothing out. On second thought, you don't have to do anything. I'm going to tell him myself.

Told you not to envy anything about this, but you didn't listen either.

I'm outside on the porch, blanket over my lap, PJ's barn coat over my own flannel shirt and jeans. Cold coffee on the railing, new iPad still in the box on my lap. I'm watching the tiny birds look for leftover seeds in the grass. They look weightless, lighter than air. I never wanted to fly, never wanted to skydive, never wanted to sit on roof save as a means to get away from things, never felt the urge to soar above the walking universe.

Hey. I look up and Lochlan's behind the screen door. He's got two fresh cups of what I think are coffee until he comes out and hands me one and I see that it's not coffee at all. It's whiskey.

What are we celebrating? 

Who says we're celebrating? He looks cross. We're medicating, Bridge. I am, anyway. 

Just say it. 

I can't ban you from him, can I? 

You can limit him. 

He's already limited and it still changed. 

That's inevitable. 

Shut it the hell off, Bridget. I'm not doing this. I'm not on board with this. I said no. I asked you, no, I begged you not to go over there. I beg you to not do all kinds of things and you just go anyway, like I don't exist. 

What am I supposed to do? 

Be normal. 

I snort and burst out laughing. It's not a nice laugh though. It's not happy. It's angry and spiteful. I can't believe you just said that. 

Be monogamous. Cut him off. Cut them all off.

Never have been in my life and who has benefit the most from that? You. What if anyone else had ever said that and shut you out in the cold? 

It's different. 

How?

It's me. 

Exactly. 

I'm either special or I'm just another fucking chump you can take your shit out on to make yourself feel better. But if I'm special everyone can't be special too. 

Jealousy is such a shitty colour on you, Lochlan. 

And I didn't raise a whore. 

Yeah. You did. Remember?

He takes his cup and throws it agains the wall. I did, didn't I? My mistake. Then he's gone and it's cold and silent again. The birds have flown away too and I couldn't fly if I tried, my heart weighs a thousand pounds easy.

Might have fucked up really badly here.

The bottom of the deep blue sea
The bottom of the deep blue sea

He's back and he's incredibly angry that Sam went ahead and let the army close up my ghost adventure park, behind his back, behind Joel's, with a decided lack of preparation and forethought, truth be told. It's like they just woke up with this plan. She has her soul, let's nix the spirits while we can, before anyone can object or continue to let Bridget grieve in her slow-motion sort of way, drifting aimlessly through life pinging back and forth between destroying the living and raising the dead.

Ironic, since a huge part of my draw toward him is that he's as close to Jake as I will ever be again. And I missed him terribly, as he went back for three weeks to Newfoundland and didn't call even once.

Not once.

Who's angry?

Hey, if Sam is calling the shots, what do you need me for? He's got me pinned against him, fighting with me to take me out of my clothes while I work to keep them on. Not doing this. No rage-homecomings. We have to sort out the hurt feelings and then we can move on to all the other stupid feelings because hurt clouds everything.

Stop. I struggle with him but he's not listening. My body is so on board with this but my heart wants to fix everything else first.

Not stopping. Ever think I missed you and that's why I couldn't call?

You didn't text me either.

Are you listening to what I just said? Shirt's off now. Goosebumps all over as it sinks in along with the chill from his loft, unheated while he was gone, just beginning to warm up.

I missed you.

That's a feeling. That's an affirmative feeling, August.

One that I hate myself for.

Don't say that. There go my jeans. I cross my arms in front of me for warmth, for protection from his words.

I wasn't going to go there. I haven't loved someone in a long time.

It's not love.

What is it?

I don't know.

Then call it love until you come up with something that makes you feel better. And he bends his head down to kiss Little Miss So Much Trouble he may have been better off staying away forever.