Conversations from within the cookie cupboard.

What are you doing in there?

Hiding.

Hiding from whom?

Myself.

Keebler elves still failing at their protection detail?

Spectacularly, Ben.

So come on out and we'll talk. Because I don't fit in there with you.

What's in it for me?

My undivided attention and ice cream. Later on, sexual favors.

Oh! Deal.

I had this big speech planned but when I stepped outside he was loading his suitcases into the Porsche.

Where are you going?

He drops the big suitcase on the pavement beside the car and throws his hands up. I don't know, away? I'll either be hammered into the ground by your husband and your boyfriend soon enough or I'll lose control. I lost control twice with you in one night. I don't want to see what a third time would have brought.

I notice evidence of a landed haymaker on his cheek. The dark shadow of a bruise tells me he's already been confronted.

I told them not to see you.

What makes you think they would listen to you?

Everyone listens to me.

Yes. Just long enough for everything to go wrong. You, my little darling, are a shipwreck in progress.

Which is why I took responsibility for what happened!

Do you think that makes a difference? You can jump around saying it's your fault all you like but it's not. I know better and I still...I couldn't help myself.

When are you coming back?

In time for Henry's birthday. And you know what? While I'm away I'm going to drink my face off, black out often, work very little, sleep with completely normal women and attempt to forget that I'm in love with you. How does that sound for a plan, princess?

You're already drunk. Jesus, at least let's find someone to drive you to the airport.

Yes, let's do that. So I can come back in one piece for more punishment.

That's why I was coming to find you.

To make sure I was safe? I figured we pretty much established that I'm not the other night.

No, to tell you I won't be seeing you anymore unless it's for something related to Henry.

Oh, I didn't realize we were officially seeing each other. I thought we were...parents with benefits. That I was lucky. This will just finish me off. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch. I don't know what you did to me this time. I feel completely undone and I need to be away.

Which is why I need to straighten things out. We're all getting hurt here. And you don't have to leave.

He shakes his head in exasperation and pulls out his phone to call Mike for a drive. When he hangs up he looks at the sky.

You don't look hurt, princess. And I am not drunk enough for this day anymore. I'm going to go fix that. See you in two weeks. Say goodbye for me to whomever else you banish while I'm gone. You seem to be on quite a roll.

Overnight a box is left on the front porch. I bring it unceremoniously to the kitchen and open it there. I look inside and then close the lid again and pick the box up. I head down the kitchen steps and out the side door, across the driveway and up the steps on the other side. I walk down the side of the boathouse to the front door and knock on the glass. Caleb opens the door. He looks tired too. He looks relieved that I'm not someone else and I thrust out the box, letting him know he can't buy my forgiveness any more than he can torture it out of me.

I don't need presents, Caleb.

How are you?

I survived. You?

I'm so sorry, Bridget.

Don't be. I came to you, remember?

I know but I still overstepped my boundaries again. He takes the box from me. How long do I have before the angry mob with pitchforks arrives?

I don't know. They are resigned to my whims, foolish as those might be.

Bridget, they won't let me get away with this. No one should.

Cole got away with it. What difference does it make anymore?

Cole paid with his life.

You think? Do you really think God killed him because he hurt me?

God wouldn't do that. But the devil would. You really should know that by now, Bridget. His eyes grow huge and black until they are empty holes in his face and he smiles until that hole joins with the first two and I am falling into his face, into darkness again. I wake up with a jolt and a cry. I jump up, falling, stumbling out of his bed and outside in the dark, naked and exposed. I run for the house in the pouring rain. He does not stop me. He doesn't even wake up.

***

Ben sent for the doctor (who isn't a doctor at all, I don't think), who came to the house and put five stitches in my shoulder, asking if I knew if my immunizations were up to date. I was given antibiotics to take. He said it would have been better if I had been bitten by a bear, that the human bite is the most likely kind of bite to become infected.

He stared at Ben the entire time he was talking and Ben stared at me. When the doctor was ready to leave he hesitated before shaking Ben's hand. Ben said that he didn't do it and the doctor looked back at me.

She is yours? He is talking to Ben, staring at me.

Yes. Mine. Ben said. He is exhausted and barely speaking, hands curled into fists.

***

I managed to avoid Lochlan for most of yesterday as he was up working late into the night and then slept the whole day away. Last night I had already gone to bed when he turned on the light beside the bed and pulled me up to see for himself. He put his hands on my head, smoothing my hair down to where it ends, just at my chin. He frowned. His fingers flitted over my now-bandaged shoulder and he pulled me in against him, rocking me so gently we weren't actually moving.

He kisses the top of my head until he wears a divot in my skull. He is tense, coiled to spring, barely holding it together but trying to be gentle for me.

This is not part of the deal, peanut. He doesn't change. Oh my God. Why do you go to him if he won't change?

Turn off the light, brother. Ben's voice from the other side of the bed. Ben reaches out and takes me right out of Lochlan's arms and tucks me in against his chest and is back asleep in seconds.
I don't have the same luck. I lie there for hours after Lochlan leaves. I don't know where he's going and I am wide awake.

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.