I get nervous, perverse, when I see her it's worseWhen I came downstairs this morning, Lochlan paused midway through drinking a glass of orange juice. He then proceeded to stare at me as he finished the rest.
But the stress is astounding
It's now or never she's coming home
Forever
Oh (She's the only one that makes me sad)
Hard to say what caught my attention
Fixed and crazy, Aphid attraction
Carve my name in my face, to recognize
Such a pheromone cult to terrorize
Then he came over and put his hand on my shoulder, digging his thumb in right where the tender spot is (it hurts) at the base of my neck, in case I'm distracted (I'm not) and then he bends his head down until our eyes meet.
You're not making this a fair fight, Peanut. Why don't you spill some of their secrets and make it even, at least. He's all accent and earnestness this morning and it's hard to be cold. I close my eyes.
Because he would take you down with him.
I'm not the bad guy. You make me seem like the bad guy.
What? When did I ever say you were bad?
This. This stuff. When I open my eyes he's waving his phone at me. There's yesterday's journal entry on the screen. I close my eyes again.
That doesn't say you're bad. It said I was an adult and that I can make my own choices and that when I had enough I came home.
Also my fault.
I don't like it when you're-
Like the rest of them?
Yes. Exactly. Like the rest of them.
You know, Peanut, you can close your eyes and wish really really hard for the early days on the fair circuit when everything was fucking magical but that was the first thing to disappear out of your life and try as hard as I have, I can't bring it back for you. I would love to, I swear on my heart I would do it if I could but you won't let me. I don't think it's ever going to be there again.
His eyes are glassy when I open mine. I yell in his face. Don't say that!
Oh, Jesus Christ. It is my fault. All of it. He let go and backed away and then turned and left.
Lochlan, come back! My plea was met with silence. Absence. Resignation.
***
I don't chase Lochlan, instead I eat breakfast and text with Caleb, who is asking a thousand questions a minute. He has to have my record of employment and final cheque ready for noon. That's when I'll come get them. I quit. He's going to use a temp agency until I come back or he actually retires. Both answers are never so he'll be temping it for a while. I hope he has insurance, most places don't enjoy sexual harassment the way I do.
He doesn't even know where I keep his cheques currently. This is going well.
I thought you had a handle on life.
So did I, Bridget. But please know that at all times I had your best interests at heart. I didn't want you to wind up penniless and hungry and cold. That's what life with Lochlan would have been like.
I hate you.
I put the phone facedown on the counter and leave it there. He changes his stories to suit the colors of the day like my mood ring. It's turning black faster than I can warm it to blue today.
***
I go downstairs to see what Ben is doing. He's barely unpacked his guitars. He bought new cables and didn't bother unboxing the old ones. His studio is a godawful mess, worse than ever and he seems happy as a clam to sit on the floor (stool still packed) and strum away. The outlet is behind a wall of boxes. He's unplugged until he decides to get busy.
I ask him if he wants me to collect some boys and help him resettle the room. He is noncommittal.
I ask him if he wants some breakfast. He doesn't know.
I ask him if he knows that everything in my life was supposed to be fucking magical. He doesn't answer. I slam the door but stay standing in one place, pretending I have left to see what he does.
He keeps on playing.