I think the whole day just chipped away at him until he was in a headspace he could not escape. By the time I walked up the steps to the door he was too far gone to be honest and too angry to see reason. I should have left then, but I don't like to leave them like that, any of them, including Caleb.

He reached out, pulling me through the door, putting me down inside, his lips locked on mine, tearing his suitjacket off while he kicked the door closed with his leg. He couldn't get the jacket off. He finally gave up, with it still mostly inside-out and hanging off one arm. He wrapped his arms around me, lifting me back up, walking me backwards all the way across the room and down the hall, stumbling but never letting go, still kissing me every step of the way.

He dropped me on the bed, pulling the jacket off at last, letting it fall to the floor. His tie followed. Cufflinks next. Belt. He unbuttoned his shirt and then stopped, staring at me. I was leaning up on my elbows watching him. He is glorious, unhinged and rattled. Desperate even. He looks violent, unsure and determined all at once. Until we tip that balance to the dark I'll enjoy his vulnerability while he displays it. Then we'll trade places.

He steps closer and bends down, hooking his fingers under one strap on my dress and sliding it down off my shoulder. Then the other strap. My arms are pinned. Abruptly he lifts me by the hips and turns me over, face down into the quilt. He cuts the dress off me with scissors. I protest and he clamps his hand over my mouth.

His head is pressed next to mine and he tells me not to say a word unless it's a safe one. He squeezes my face to get a response and I nod under duress. When I whimper he kisses my hair and lets go again. Cutting fabric once more and my favorite babydoll that he chose for me is in pieces. He inhales sharply, running the point of the scissors down my spine. I can feel the trembling in his hand, his efforts to be human instead of monstrous, his failed attempts to make me comfortable instead of scared, his need to make me last when he would prefer to cut me to pieces too. He puts the scissors down and presses his hand flat against my flesh, pressing me down until I can no longer breathe and then he lets go and I gasp for air. I feel him fight his demons in the dark, his face changing as it remains pressed against my head.

Then a ribbon slides slowly around my neck. He pulls it up over my eyes and ties it tightly in a bow against my hair. I try to claw it off and he pins my fingers together in his hand and orders me not to touch it. He asks for confirmation that I understand and I nod. He asks if I will be good and I shake my head. No. I won't. I am brought into the dark, into hell, in an exquisite rush of blinding need. I am left shaking and ruined after many hours, and he asks again.

Will you be good for me now, Bridget?

No.

He sighs and lifts me up once more, leading me away from the warm sheets, toward the cold wall. I am turned to face him and pressed against the bookcase.

Abruptly he walks away. I stand and wait. When he comes back I feel him take my hair up in one hand and I cry out, I know what he's doing but it's too late. The scissors slice through my hair.

Again.

This is control.

Lochlan loves my hair and now Caleb has taken it away. His brief victory overwhelms him as his emotions escape, a torrent of anguish and rage.

I say the only word I think he'll hear. I breathe it but he doesn't react. The word comes out in a yell from deep inside me suddenly and everything stops. He hears it. He lets go and then he changes his mind, reaching for my hand. He takes it and turns away, and I am led down the hall to the bathroom. He turns on the shower, still holding my hand and stands there staring at it, his hand in the spray until it is hot enough. Then he ducks us inside, where he stands with his eyes closed while the water beats down on our heads relentlessly. He brings his hands up and touches my hair, unleashing a new wave of sorrow that weighs him down until he is sitting down against the shower wall, knees up, head down. I get down in front of him and put my hands on his face. I kiss his forehead. Shhhh. His face relaxes. He orders me to forgive him. I tell him I do and he says not for today, not for right now but for everything.

I stand up and he raises his hands toward me, begging me to let him off the hook and I can't. I can forgive him in theory but not in practice and he's never going to have more than what he has now. Enforced compliance, fleeting touch. Temporary custody. A fantasy that disappears the moment the sun conquers the horizon.

I shake my head and he yells my name in frustration. I reach up to touch my hair and he stands and pulls my hands back down. He doesn't let them go, he doesn't move.

Be mine, he instructs. I close my eyes. Please, he begs, trying a different angle. It was supposed to get better, Bridget and it just keeps getting worse. I can't live without you anymore. I won't live without you.

Only if you turn out not to be the only monster left.

He slumps back against the wall in surprise. I watch the emotions on his face. I watch them like a flip book playing a movie on the corners of the pages. Acceptance. Fight. Denial. Regret. Fear. Resignation. Adoration. Rage. They are shuffled out of order and the steam from the hot water is obscuring my brain as we continue to stand there with the water pounding down on the tops of our skulls. I want to be out. I want to be dry. I want to be away from him. I want to come here not on his terms but on my own. I want him to be without strings attached and conditions and demands and threats. I want peace of mind and I want guarantees that he won't die before I'm good and ready but I want him to stay where I keep him, in my darkest dreams and not out here in simple daylight to complicate things more than they already are.

I know I can't have my cake and eat it too. I know that a huge part of him wants to treasure me and the rest wants to punish me. We share the same feelings toward each other. I can't reconcile this any better than he can.

He reaches out suddenly and pulls me in against him, resting his head on my shoulder. Biting it, breaking the skin, tearing me apart. I bear it. I do nothing. I don't say safe words or anything else. I just stand there and let him symbolically eat me alive.

Number One.

Today was the first official Father's Day for Lochlan. Very first, if you can believe what it must be like for him right at this moment. I wouldn't even dare try, I'm sure he will tell me later.

He's doing pretty good with it. He's a little drippy and a little sentimental, and ridiculously grateful but I do believe this boy is holding his own. They'll be okay, I think. And it's something else to stand here and watch this as he grows roots before our very eyes. Something else indeed.

Tiny moments.

Lochlan pulls a quarter out of my ear and frowns at it. Twenty-five pennies for your thoughts?

I laugh and say nothing.

You going to talk today?

I shake my head.

What if I pay you....uh...he's pretending to search my face, lifting up my upper lip, and then peeking in each nostril and making a face, and then pushing my cheeks in together before combing through my hair with his fingers and coming up with one of the bills I returned to him from Caleb yesterday. Fifty bucks! What if I pay you fifty bucks?

Then I'll talk. I take the fifty and jam it into my bra.

Aw, Christ, I was only kidding.

Me too. I flip the bill back out and it lands at my feet. He picks it up and holds it out to me. I stare at it but I don't touch it again. He shrugs and puts it in his pocket. The day you can make change out of that bra is the day we take this show back on the road, Peanut.

(An observation, not a post, not poetry, not gospel.)

I am the sea.

Ben is the mountain. Steadfast, forged out of rock. Broken faces, landslides, avalanches burying us. But still I climb. I have conquered this mountain, eroding his edges, smoothing his sharpness, throwing myself against him and still he stands, with me in his shadow.

Lochlan is a boat, tossed upon my waves, anchored and within sight of shore but content to come and go, always within reach. I hold him in my depths, I cradle him. He rises and falls by my tides and still he floats, buoyed by the hope of a horizon that never ends.

Caleb is the moon, pulling me closer, pushing me away. Dark and high in the night sky, he casts a pale cold light upon my surface and I am captive to his plans. He disappears in daylight and come out at night and I am powerless against his whims. He is constant, forever and apart.

Tucker makes a rare appearance.

(That's what we used to call Ben: Tucker, short for Tucker Max, because he can be so incredibly tasteless and crude sometimes, but funny too. Some things never change.)

I followed a rabbit
Through rows of mermaid-entwined shrubbery
Oh, what marvelous things but
They are, they are, they are
Giving me the creeps

Dark night, hold tight,
And sleep tight, my baby
Morning light shall burst bright
And keep us here safely

Yesterday was a reprieve, and today Lochlan read everything I wrote on Wednesday, or should I say, everything Caleb said on Wednesday. I saw him put his face in his hands and peer between his eyes, unbelieving at the screen. Then he made that disapproving Scottish click with his tongue and got up, slamming shut the laptop and heading outside. Probably to count to seven hundred and forty-nine (thousand) and still not be cooled off when he is finished.

Ben watched him leave, took another bite of his ham sandwich and with his mouth full, said,

Your boyfriend really needs to learn to relax.

He doesn't want anything to do with Caleb's...uh...games.

His loss.

Don't pick sides.

The only side I'm on is yours, Bumblebee. You know that.

Then don't fault him for not wanting to participate.

He's fine with me though. Ben makes an expression here I won't even describe. Because I can't.

Just barely. And besides, you're much cuter than Caleb, that's why.

I knew it!

Can we change the subject?

Not when I'm winning, bee. Have a heart.

You're making fun of him.

Are you kidding me? I love Lochlan. Truly I do. I would love him more but he just won't..stop screaming...

Oh my God, Ben. Stop now.

Yeah, I crossed one of my OWN lines right there, I think. Damn.

Night flights.

When I bring the money back to Lochlan I have to search all over the place for him. I finally find him behind the garage, hard at work re-wrapping wicks on his torches. He's been trying to give his bad arm a workout, albeit for very short increments. He says it hurts like hell but he doesn't stop. His muscles have atrophied and he's anxious to return them to shape. Only I think he pushes it. He wasn't supposed to risk injury. The torches are heavy and it's far too much too soon but Lochlan doesn't listen to reason when it comes to his own preservation. Only mine.

Can you hold this? He passes me the roll of webbing. I drop it almost instantly.

That's a no, then? He laughs and scoops it up, putting it back into my hands. Just don't move. He holds his hand up to freeze me in place.

He's always done hand signals in case I miss the words. Like Cole, he never acknowledged the fact that I might have a hearing loss, he just compensated for what was missing. Cole talked directly into my ear, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight, shivers going down my spine. Lochlan used hand signals, because I was always on the other side of a ride, or at the top of a platform or out in the crowd looking for easy marks. Subtle signals that he still uses and I still obey. They certainly aren't as in-your-face as Caleb and Ben's forcible verbal directions and so they mostly escape scrutiny. When Lochlan issues a verbal command, I fulfill it even faster. He has degrees of seriousness and I know him better than I know anyone else. Maybe even myself as I continue to stand there holding the roll of tape while he lights the other five torches that he has with him tonight.

He motions for me to walk out ten feet. I'm in the center of the driveway. He turns around and walks to me backward, throwing the torches low. They burn red today. Magic fire, I always say and smile and he laughs. There's no magic in this, he tells me each time.

When he reaches me he stops walking. I am peeking over his shoulder. All around me torches rise and fall and spin and twirl and burn. I am in the center of a maelstrom. Firestorm. I step forward slightly until I am pressed against his back. I feel his shoulders working alternately, I watch his hands let go of the handles of the torches. He steps away slightly, always mindful of the danger and where I am in relation to it.

I step forward again and he walks five paces away, still throwing and then when he's far enough away he drops his hands and lets everything fall. Burning torches bounce on the concrete rolling in lazy arcs back and forth slowly as he turns around. Flames fall from the sky to light a circle around us. When I take count of the torches I see that I am in the circle too.

I look up at him in surprise.

How did you do that?

Magic, Bridget. You used to believe in it wholeheartedly. He turns away and begins to dunk the torches in the bucket, one by one.

Still do.

He doesn't look up but I see him smile wide. It's enough.

The stars beneath my feet.

Hello, hello. There is no place I cannot go.
My mind is muddy but my heart is heavy. Does it show?
I lose the track that loses me, so here I go.
And so I sent some men to fight, and one came back at dead of night.
Said he'd seen my enemy. Said he looked just like me,
So I set out to cut myself and here I go.

I'm not calling for a second chance,
I'm screaming at the top of my voice.
Give me reason but don't give me choice.
'Cause I'll just make the same mistake again.

I sense him before I see him, not unusual since I have been crouched at the water's edge for the better part of the morning investigating the treasures the tide brings to me.

But then I see the shoes beside me. Not just any shoes, Italian leather dress shoes. Only one boy in my universe wears those, only he is never considered a boy of mine. He would like to be but I keep him segregated, separate as much as possible. He's a monster. He's a wolf. He's the devil. He holds fully a quarter of my broken heart when and if it is to be divided only among the living.

Find any treasures today, Princess?

I shake my head. I'm not really looking for treasures. I'm actually thinking.

What are you thinking about then? You've been down here for three hours.

I avoid the question. Is three hours bad? Do I have plans?

Maybe I can take you out for lunch?

I stand and wobble a little. I forgot breakfast and my stomach growls, giving me away. He smiles wide. See? Sounds like you could use something.

He hasn't noticed I haven't said anything out loud yet but he offers me his arm. I run back to the logs and collect my bag. I brought my sketchbook down but I didn't draw anything today. And my phone is still in the bag. I leave it there now, since I've dropped it in the water twice this spring already.

I walk back and take his arm and we stroll up the new, unbelievably simple-to-climb staircase cut into the rock face. At the top I type in the code to open the gate. When we get into the yard Lochlan is just coming out through the back door. He hesitates when he sees Caleb and recovers quickly enough to be spared.

Lunch, Bridget?

I've invited Bridget to go for lunch already, but let's make it a threesome. Caleb smiles so smoothly at Loch. I am attempting to simultaneously keep a poker face for the innuendo and watch Lochlan's arm for the inevitable fist thrown when Loch surprises me by making an effort anyway.

Sure. Where are you thinking?

Caleb answers while I continue to wait for the punch to be thrown. Then he drops his arm so I let go and Lochlan picks up my other hand all at once.

Oh, I see. It's going to be one of those really weird days.

At lunch they talk about things I know nothing about while I nibble on prosciutto and the kinds of cheese I still can't actually afford. I text PJ under the table that the day is freaking surreal and he doesn't believe me and wants me to record it all on video when I notice a lull in conversation and look up abruptly.

What?

Lochlan looks a little bit hopeful but completely alarmed at the same time but Caleb has his I'll handle everything expression on. The one we see the most, unless he's wearing his I have to have you now face which they don't see but I do.

I was just offering Lochlan a job.

What?

I bought a company that I want him to run, with your help.

What?

Bridget, are you wearing your hearing aids?

No, why?

Nevermind. Yes, so it's a company and I think it would be fun for you to run it. Together.

We're not interested, Lochlan says, just about cutting him off but not quite.

You haven't even heard my proposal.

I don't need to. The answer is no.

Bridget can speak for hers-

And she'll say no as well. I look at Lochlan but he is staring at Caleb.

Last I heard, you were unemployed again, Pyro.

Then you heard wrong. I've been doing commissions for months. And don't call me that unless you want a taste of your own medicine.

How so?

Oh God. Here it comes. I squeeze my eyes shut.

Pedophile.

But nothing happens. Caleb is staring at his plate, seeking composure. Lochlan's staring at him, eyes blazing, cheeks red, teeth gritted. No composure sought.

Lochlan, stop. He made an offer, that's all.

We don't need his generosity.

We live in his house.

Yes, and someday you'll have to remind me why, Bridget. Lochlan stands up and grabs my coat and pulls me up out of my chair at the same time. Then he reaches into his pocket and throws two fifties on the table and says Thanks for lunch and congrats on your purchase. Too bad the only company you can seem to keep is one you pay for.

***

Two hours later Caleb comes into the kitchen and drops Lochlan's money on the counter where I sit drawing elephants in the water and elephants in the room.

I covered the bill, since I extended the invitation.

He can afford it.

Oh, bullshit, Bridget. How many clients does he have right now? And then what? Lochlan lives from one fifty dollar bill to the next. I'm trying to offer him something more permanent. Something you can have a part in as well. God only knows why everyone is so generous with him when he offers nothing in return.

I look at him. Because everything you offer comes with a catch.

I want both of you to feel comfortable with me. He drops it on the counter in front of me and I watch his allusion spin in a lazy circle before falling flat. We have changed the subject into something dark and unspeakable before it stops reverberating.

No, Caleb.

But you have before-

Very incredibly rarely.

It's a beautiful thing.

And I want it to stay that way.

Bridget. He places his hands on the counter, stretching his shoulders back and down, broadly, almost popping the shirt buttons right off and I need to look away before the gravitational field around him sucks me in. You've got to give a little here. We're all trying to peacefully coexist.

I can't make him do things like that. Don't you even go there.

He does for Ben.

That's different.

All I'm asking is for you to talk to Lochlan.

Don't do this. Not now. Was this all part of the grand plan? Wait until Batman is gone and then start squeezing Lochlan? Or did my tab just go up from the work on the property?

He smiles tightly but still reaches for honesty instead of evil. I'm just trying to make this life a good run for all of us. My apologies for overstepping.

Castles made of sand.

Just on the other side of the big forbidden fence around the perimeter of the backyard is where they began. Holes blasted gently into the cliff all the way to the bottom, and now stairs made out of stone. A railing. A safer way down to the sea, switchbacked into the cliff instead of the near-vertical treacherous path through the rocks before.

And at the bottom, a platform deck and a removable (in case of very bad weather) dock on the deeper side of the property where the big rocks used to be piled up. Where I fell into the sea. Where Caleb's going to moor his next purchase, no doubt in this being a benefit to more than just me as he eyes a sailboat small enough to catch a sunset or two on a calm summer night.

I did expect a whole yacht club to be down there by now, since it took so long, but now I see why it did. I didn't know the path was going to be made and now that it is there, I don't understand why it was never done before. All of this means the children and their friends can now hang out down on the beach without so much difficulty since they are getting older now.

And it means I can go down by myself. Finally! I've already packed a bag with my sketchbook and my music and a pear, as always and I keep the bag on a hook by the patio door, ready to go. I might not be inside so much for a bit. I hope not to be, anyway. :)

Brightly wound (waking up in hell).

Good morning.

It's very sunny out today and I don't know what to do with it, run and hide in the darkest corners, of which there are few anymore since we blew them all up, or venture outside to watch my skin blister and sear in the painful, unnatural light.

It's a subversive kind of day that follows a night like last night.

Early up this morning, propped and prodded against his arm as my head lolled back against his shoulder, shaken and stirred and cajoled out of bed.

I have a surprise for you, he said.

Yet I could not open my eyes.

Come on, sleepydoll. Time to wake up now.

There are stones piled on my eyelashes and concrete poured onto my brain this morning. I open one eye, squinting up into his face. He bends down until we are touching noses and says There you are. He smiles and I notice his teeth are so very white. Or maybe I am still blinded by the night in which the ribbon burned a strip across my temples as I was forbidden to see anything that might surprise me or cause alarm and so I remained behind the fold until now.

Get dressed.

I obey, pulling out a black dress with no less than one hundred buttons, stockings with seams that must be painstakingly straightened once on and my heavy platform shoes. I appear at the door several moments late and he frowns. It's nice out, I thought you would show up in shorts.

I don't have shorts.

Then I can take you shopp-

This is fine. And it is. I freeze while others bake in the sun. Lochlan took all the heat growing up, literally AND figuratively and I got all the cold somehow and I've never figured out how to equalize since. Lochlan would never in a million years say a thing about my clothes. I wish this one would follow suit.

He recovers quickly and asks if I am ready. I nod and he holds out his hand. Oh, I'll be led, I see. Much like I am straight through life, down dead-ends and around blind corners, doubling back and trying a different path. It's a labyrinth but I have no short-term memory to find my way out and so I live within the high walls, running down path after path. They all profess to know the way out, the lot of them and yet if I run long enough through a day I'll discover all of them are still right here. If I found the way out I'd be gone, and you'd never see me again. But that's neither here nor there, and as the lady of the house, I've been given a great and terrible honor today.

I get to inspect the finished dock.

He's built something for me. Finally somebody made something just for me.

Some men just want to watch the world burn.

How long till you're gone
From every troubled thought?
Cause you're still here to heal what's wrong

And it was only my fault
Such a beautiful view
With a long way to fall
I was afraid how it could hurt
To leave the safety up above
But if it doesn't, it's not love

Batman arrived as promised, just twelve hours later than expected. He buzzed the gate right after breakfast yesterday morning and I greeted him without even unlocking the screen door.

Hi.

Hi, Bridget. I brought you something. He holds out a small, soft package wrapped in pretty paper. The Mermaid Parade t-shirt.

I unlock the door to step outside and I take the shirt. I'll have to pay you for this. I can't take gifts from you anymore.

Don't be ridiculous. Nothing has to change.

Yes. It does. It's time.

Let's go for a drive and talk. Can we do that?

You need to go. I'm sorry. Jake is already relocated. I told you I wasn't going to change my mind. You asked me to choose and I chose family. This is the way it's supposed to be.

What happens when something goes wrong?

It already did. Look. You push too hard and you cease to be a part of my life. You'll be the third permanent absence. Only you get to keep your life. Be thankful for that, I guess.

Don't lump me in with your ghosts, Bridget.

I can't help it. That's where you are now. The past.

Maybe I should speak with Ben.

This isn't Ben's decision, it's mine.

What about the rest?

Again, nothing to do with them. I speak for myself. Don't come around anymore. It's not like I'll leave some gaping hole in your life. Hell, you called once a year for over a decade. You don't need me.

See, that's the thing. I might. You got under my skin.

Then peel it off and I'll escape and you can keep going. It only hurts for the first hundred years or so. But I'm forever grateful to you for everything.

Bridget-

I shake my head. My plate is full. I whisper it.

He puts his hands in his pockets. He's going to make it easy. I know it is, baby. I know. He fishes out a business card and takes his pen from his breast pocket. He scribbles a phone number on the back and a word. He moves in very close until we are kissing distance and he takes my hand and presses the card into it. If you ever need anything, you simply call this number, and say this word. Can you do that for me? Bridget? Promise me.

I shake my head and press the card against his chest. No, I can't. I have what I need.

Then put it in a drawer and when you turn one hundred years old, burn it.

I close my fingers around the card and nod. We're getting to that point and he's going to leave and that will be that and it's over and maybe this is a bad idea.

I'm going to return to the previous schedule and we'll go from there. I can respect your wishes but at the same time, you are woefully irresponsible and unprepared so I'll call on New Year's Day. Like I used to. May I?

I nod again. Yes, out of words. My brain is reverting to stunned purposeful silence. I did this and I don't like it when they're not within reach, no I don't. Only he isn't part of "they" and I am doing okay now. I don't need a safety net under the safety net, I've walked this line so many times I can do it in my sleep. Built-in redundancies are wasteful and complicated and unfair to everyone involved. That's why I gave outs. I gave chances and I gave tries and I gave excuses and I gave in. I gave a little curtsy and a tiny almost-bow when the lights went up and I swore I'd never climb the ladder again but then I did, addicted to the lights, and the gasps of amazement and the cheers. Addicted to all the eyes on me. Sated on pure adoration and drunk on near-misses but presently sober and right on target again.

Holding steady.

The lights are no longer trained on me. I have abandoned my mask of makeup and my costume and I've abandoned the appreciative stares and the held-breath and the compliments and smiles at the end of the evening. I've abandoned the fireflies and dirt roads and burned-out bulbs and unnamed towns. I've abandoned stacking the boys like armies against the night, against each other, against everything and I stepped back in front quite abruptly. I am so small from here, but it's not nearly as scary as it once was.

You may. I'd like that. My voice comes out strained, formal and weirdly strangled and he understands perfectly. He steps forward even further and kisses my cheek slowly, with purpose before stepping back. He hesitates and then reaches forward and squeezes my fingers even tighter around the card and he searches my eyes for confirmation that I know what I'm doing. I nod and try for a small smile but it fails and he picks it up anyways and returns it to me. Then he turns and leaves.

Not a backward glance.

Not another word.