Standing above the crowd,Lochlan is awake late, picking out the notes to Bach's Prelude Suite No. 1 on his guitar as I write out the important spring dates on the calendar. I'm attempting not to be impressed but I fail wildly.
He had a voice so strong
and loud and I swallowed his facade
cause I'm so eager to identify with
Someone above the ground,
Someone who seemed to feel the same,
Someone prepared to lead the way, with
Someone who would die for me.
Will you? Will you now?
Would you die for me?
Don't you fucking lie.
Don't you step out of line.
Don't you fucking lie.
You've claimed all this time that you would die for me.
Why then are you so surprised to hear your own eulogy?
That's beautiful!
You like that? He smiles. I figured I should learn some familiar tunes at the very least.
Yes. It was great. I stop beside the stereo, pressing the power button, pressing Lochlan's buttons. Tool swells through the room, earsplittingly loud from where he turned it off earlier as he marched into the room yelling about honesty and wolves in sheeps' clothing and how I don't listen.
I WAS listening.
(To the music, which I always face head-on. Like a car wreck about to happen.)
I turn around and he is right there in my face, shouting again. I can't hear him because my teeth are chattering from the drums, my brain is reverberating through my skull, rationale replaced with firecracker explosions of instruments and he's saying arrogant things about promises and nostalgia. He's saying entitled things about life before this kind of stereo equipment when I could hardly hear the words and I would have to wait patiently for a moment when I would catch him off guard so I could listen to him sing the words and then I would know them too.
He finally has enough and turns off the stereo. As violent as the noise was, the silence is worse, falling like a shroud over the moment, choking it off. He starts talking again but I miss it. I'm considering how I feel about the music changing again, I'm not paying attention, finishing the lyrics silently to myself.
Abruptly Lochlan grabs my whole head and presses my forehead against his. BRIDGET. You forgave me. What in the hell is this?
Inability to function as logically as you can.
What do you mean?
Exactly. I don't know.
Who are you punishing by spending so much time with Caleb? Me? Ben? You?
Everyone.
It's working, isn't it? Where is Ben?
Downstairs.
When's the last time he came up for air?
Tuesday, I lie. I don't remember. He isn't speaking to me past repeating his magical rules so it's not important right now.
It's been a long week, Bridget. Can we call a truce? Can we just go back to the way things were?
Talk to Ben.
What in the hell is he doing exactly? Trading me for the devil? That's not going to help his cause, that will just make things worse.
He doesn't see it that way, Lochlan. He thinks you don't care about him.
Of course I care! I can't believe I'm pleading my case. Fuck this. We've been all fucked up since I pulled you out of the water in November and it's time I straightened us out. He pushes past me, headed for the stairs.
Where are you going?
To talk to your husband.