Chemistry (set).

A sort-of nice reprieve for most of Sunday and all day yesterday as I get one more shot at leaving my mark on the planet, AKA forgettable role in a music video. The Girl. I figure pretty soon I'll be too old to play The Girl and I've never seen any roles for The Woman so I may as well milk it while I can.

And I must say, the makeup artists are always super-sweet and I usually learn something new, which is tough when you're always surrounded by men. The only discussions I ever have with anyone about cosmetics are the ones in which I ask Ben not to lick the wand on my new Dior lip gloss.

So makeup, hair extensions (clip-in ones, MY LIFE WILL BE DIFFERENT FROM NOW ON) and adult conversation that isn't about me as long as I can follow instructions (boy, did they ever pick the wrong Girl) and wrap up my shots in under a day (ish).

I can do that. This will be the fifth or sixth video for Corey's band and they don't exactly ask for much. Misogynistic, frightening bunch, actually. They just sort of wander around and hardly pay attention until I get to shoot the really degrading parts. And I get to hear around a third of the song seven hundred times in one afternoon, which is good, since now I know the words and can sing along. Such good songs, they all are. This one is no exception.

(And I only screwed up once, if you're counting. I started singing along with the chorus and I forgot we were rolling. Whoops.)

On the way home Corey thanked me for helping out (if it's a favor no one has to pay me, right?) and said he was sorry for being an ass but the environment in the houses is one of total and utter Bridget-worship and he doesn't want to get sucked into that religion again.

Again? 

You know what I mean. 

I dropped it because if we can part on good terms then it's a banner day, because Corey and I don't get along so well a lot of the time. We're told we are a lot alike but I don't believe it because he doesn't like being candid, something I apparently demand without realizing it. He's not demonstrative. He's not affectionate. He's moody and mercurial and a big mean robot most of the time and I have no use for that. I believe he tolerates me on behalf of the others but otherwise I'm not sure how we managed to wind up with so much animosity between us over the past decade.

At least it doesn't translate well to film.

Infinity blade.

The jeans are possibly eight or nine years old, the t-shirt is fairly new. Daniel got it online. It says Self-Rescuing Princess on it and that sort of confuses me. It's either untrue, impossible or congratulatory, either way I'm not sure the shoe fits but like all things Daniel buys for me, the t-shirt itself fits like a glove.

I woke the angel up and told him he was to replace all others in that designation now and he'd better not let me down. He swore and said I should promise him the same. He inspected me for marks and chose to go after Ben first, for caving in to a whim he can satisfy closer to home, even though we know that's a bald-faced lie. Ben apparently refused to engage him past apologizing and Loch called him out on his unintentional fracturing of what is supposed to be a family, out of fear. By choosing Caleb over Lochlan, Ben can try and somehow keep Lochlan from being too close.

Ben comes up with all kinds of impulsive plans, you see.

Lochlan went after Caleb next (God love him, he's just all good ideas and absolutely no planning, just like Ben) and apparently Caleb's been going to the gym, learning how to kick-box, which explains the new musculature and also the lovely swollen cheek that Lochlan returned with. He refused to say anything at all about that exchange. I gave him to August to be babysat for the rest of the day because I don't need him fighting my battles for me.

I went back to see Caleb (alone, because I learned from the masters about good ideas and planning, you see) and he pretended to ignore me as I stood inside the door watching him make notes on his phone.

I finally stomped my feet and he burst out laughing. God, you both are so immature sometimes.

Why did you engage Lochlan at all?

His lack of respect for Ben.

Ben can fight his own battles.

Ben won't and you know it and you exploit the fuck out of that, Bridget.

Ben also brought me over here because you asked him to! You prey on his fears about Lochlan and he feeds right into it. Jesus, who's exploiting who now?!

Nice shirt.

DON'T YOU CHANGE THE SUBJECT.

What would you have me do, then?

Don't touch Lochlan. Ever. If you do, you'll never touch me again.

That's why I make every moment count with you now. I never know when it will be the last time.

Oh, so suddenly you're done with the notes, and done feeding Ben's fetishes and done with me?

You seem to have lots of men at your disposal.

Right. So I don't need you.

But you want me. 

Sometimes, yes. 

That's all I need to hear, that you're still fucked in the head sufficiently to give me what I crave.

That's exploitation too, Diabhal. 

Look around you, Bridget. Do you think any of this is for YOUR benefit? Stop being so innocent and open your eyes for once. 

I did and I didn't like what I saw. 

Then don't be surprised if nothing ever changes, love.

Answered.

(I feel sorry for him, that's all. 

Why? 

Because he's completely unable to put a stop to the aspects of this arrangement that he doesn't like and that would drive a man to certain ruin when it comes to someone like you.)

Late. It's dark. I am taken by the hand and put into my coat, and then led outside. Across the drive in the biting rain to the boathouse. So sleepy. Quiet greetings are exchanged and the look on his face is triumph. I'm irritated by that but soothed by the full glass of cognac placed in my hand. I am led to the low couch where he has a fire crackling. One small light on in the corner. The draperies open to the dark sea, to the weather. Five star view in a room with rates by the hour, paid for with pieces of my very soul.

The folded up remains of our plans are placed on the table, a torn dark grey envelope with a single page inside that would be marked with a time. That time matches my watch, which was just removed, along with my rings, my pendant and my earrings. My other things will join them in time but for now I watch my pretty, sparkling things disappear into the small wooden box for safekeeping and I refuse to meet his eyes until he says my name. Twice, because I hesitate just a heartbeat too long.

I am told to try the drink. They watch as I listen. I am obedient and ready for the courage in that glass. I know next they're going to give me two words to say if I need them. The first word is supposed to function. The second word is if something fails and they don't hear the first one. The words don't change. The gamble is whether or not they will follow their own rules. I bet nothing. I know better and so I won't risk any more money on a sure thing. I don't have it to lose.

The cognac burns going down but I hold the line, spellbound. I repeat the words back, carefully, clearly. I am told to relax and enjoy the fire and the midnight ocean for a while.

An hour goes by, or so I think. The warmth of the fire and the alcohol start to work and I feel my eyes getting heavy again. An arm slides down around me and I put my head down against hard muscle. I feel a heartbeat. My drink is taken out of my hands as I am lifted up once more, hardly standing for the arms around me are mostly holding me up. A kiss forces my head back easily. I repeat back the safe words again and laugh in spite of myself. I am held tightly while my dress is unfastened, while my hair is unpinned. While my world is ripped apart once again and I'll let it happen. More cognac is poured into my mouth and I let that happen too, until my judgement is wasted along with my limbs and I stop fighting altogether, letting my eyes close around the moonrise, my arms close around the broadest shoulders I know of and my mind closes in around itself, bursting into old habits coupled with new shame.

Sunrise sets the skylights ablaze, the morning sky overcast and tinged with regret. My cognac is still on the coffee table, half-full, the tiny wooden box neatly beside it as if he knows I will collect what belongs to me and run. I replace all my jewellery and go back down the hall for Ben, who won't get up and I resort to pulling one arm out of the bed and trying to drag him to the floor. He sits up, covering his face briefly, wiping the night from his expression and he asks if I'm okay.

Okay is such a loaded concept, and so instead I parrot back both my safe words, still sealed and unused for next time, even though I practiced them inside my head for much of the night while the Dark Lords found new ways to impress each other with their creative violations. Everyone leaves a satisfied customer! Fucking carnival barkers, get out of my head.

Can we go home now? Please? 

He frowns, nodding and stands up, pulling his clothes on quickly. We walk quietly down the hall and out into the kitchen. Caleb is nowhere to be seen, but I don't go looking either. He is probably still sleeping in the other room. We link hands and head back across the driveway without saying goodbye. When we get home the entire household is still sleeping. Sleeping hard. Lochlan is spreadeagled, flat on his back across the big bed upstairs, naked except for the sheet tangled around his hips, the concern on his face, and his curls, flattened by the dark. The reluctant sleeper, losing consciousness in spite of his efforts to hold on to it forever.

He looks like an angel.

I could use one.

Saints and hypocrites.

Well I've known you forever, we complete each other's thoughts
Ain't like we never got in trouble, it's just we've never gotten caught
And if you've got a secret, it's in me you can confide
And if we ever get split up, I'll always be on your side

Lochlan is sitting at the island having toast when Caleb walks in through the side door. Both of them freeze, deers in headlights and I drop my dishtowel on the floor, recovering just as fast. I tell Caleb Good Morning and he smiles and says it back, with a nod to Lochlan who goes back to eating his toast without a word. I frown in Lochlan's direction and he mutters a greeting reluctantly. Caleb acknowledges it and speaks to him directly.

She was this close, Pyro. Bet that makes you feel great.

Want to eat your own teeth for breakfast this morning? Lochlan takes another bite of his toast and chews noisily.

Where is Ben? 

Downstairs. Working. My voice comes out flat.

He doesn't care that you'll never go against Loch's wishes?

They've made their peace. Are you just here to start something this morning?

No, my apologies. I came to see if you wanted to go out for some breakfast so I don't get another little deposit into my account. A working breakfast. 

Have you looked in your account? Lochlan smiles as he chews. She put the whole thing back. Just like I told her to do. 

This is none of your business, Loch. 

She's mine, 'brother'. Lochlan practically spits the word at him. She doesn't want your money.

Bridget isn't a child anymore, she can look after her own affairs. Caleb grins suddenly as if he has just told a joke.

She defers to me. You know this. Don't come looking for trouble today. 

Caleb pauses to consider this. I stand and wait, watching his face, watching him weigh his options to push and be right and possibly wind up on my kitchen floor versus keep his dignity and gracefully ducking out. I don't want to cause you any upset, Bridget. I just thought breakfast might be possible. If it isn't maybe Monday or Tuesday? Let me know, okay? 

Do you have food?

He turns back. Pardon?

Are you hungry. It isn't even a question. I am defeated and defiant and Lochlan practically throws his dishes in the sink. He kisses the top of my head and storms out without a word.

Yeah..well, getting there anyway. 

Then let me make you something. I'm not going to have you guys at each other again though.

He is protecting you from me. Who can blame him? Caleb takes Lochlan's seat at the island.

Okay, that's the second time in as many days that you've said something in favor of Loch. What gives?

Oh well, I now understand certain things all of them have in common aside from romantic streaks ten miles wide and extreme focus. And unruly cowlicks, dark eyes, devastating smiles and beautiful hands. They all like hot dogs with Russian mustard. And ginger-ale cut with cranberry juice.

And hugs.

But anyway, when I arrived this morning (day one of a hundred days to earn what's sitting in my bank account), I find Caleb lying on the floor. I didn't panic, for his eyes were open and he said hello when I walked in. But there he is, in the middle of the living room floor between the coffee table and the window.

What are you doing?

Wishing I had kept you there one more fucking day and then I never would have let you leave.

Ah. I said ask, not kidnap.

Same thing.

Actually it isn't.

Sure it is. You love me anyway even though I've physically kept you with me.

Stockholm syndrome.

Soulmate syndrome.

Munchausen syndrome.

Ouch. Why are you here, Bridget?

To work.

I have nothing for you today.

Then for every day I don't work between now and your birthday I will put that day's percentage back in your account.

Oh, Bridget, just keep the fucking money. I suddenly don't care about it.

Why not?

I do believe you've ruined me. Finally. The day fucking Pyro has been waiting for has arrived. How you could possibly admit to setting out to ruin me and in the next breath you say you would have left my brother for me is just beyond my capacity to understand, at present.

I never would have done it, Caleb.

Why in the hell not?

I wouldn't have destroyed the bond between two brothers, fucked as it was, and I would never have defied Lochlan.

But you said you didn't trust him.

That was then, this is now.

Oh God, listen, Miss Hinton, could you crawl out of your teenage self for two minutes and tell me what I'm supposed to do now?

Nothing.

I've bested my lifelong rival and you want me to do nothing.

Right. Because you clearly didn't best Lochlan.

YOU JUST TOLD ME I DID.

I said I didn't trust him then because he had a history of forsaking me when things got tough. He doesn't do that anymore. Therefore, I married him. Sort of.  So stop shouting and get up already.

He will forsake you again. Lions don't change their spots.

What?

I don't know. I feel lobotomized.

Maybe you need some cheese.

You did not just say that, Bridget.

I fucking well did. That's one of your tricks, isn't it? Deflect important conversations with offers of dairy products?

I suddenly understand why Lochlan is perpetually frustrated, more and more each day.

Wow. And boys still suck. THIRTY YEARS LATER.

Little autopilot.

Feed me lies
There's nothing left to see
No room left to breathe
So pick me up
And give me back my belief
Live to die

Three glasses of wine over lunch and I'm quickly learning I'm only comfortable here when I'm half-lit on the endless alcohol that flows through this city like water under a bridge. Caleb made a phone call and while we were out for lunch the hotel moved our things upstairs to a bigger suite with an office so he can extend his trip but still get some work done. I have to leave though. I'm being sent home on his plane because he's getting nothing done with me here.

I'm going to miss this amazing view, he says and I'll call that a miss because I thought he was looking out the window like I am. Las Vegas is flat and dusty, seedy and sick. I've been spending my days getting drunk and sizing everyone up. I can tell which women are actually men and which men are actually Very Bad People. Caleb says I'm not only an excellent judge of character but he suspects I am an empath. I don't exactly know what that means but it's tiring and I'd like to shut it off sometimes.

He is in the desk chair, which is on wheels but big enough that it's more like a club chair. I climb up onto his lap, facing him, doing everything I can to distract him while he makes calls and writes notes, probably something involving a list of ways to limit my alcohol intake or how to triple his net worth again even though I think he has enough now. He's doing really well. He just leased a plane and we've been here all week celebrating the latest financial milestones, under the guise of Cole needing to punish me for something so he sent me along to be tortured by his brother.

So drunk. Pretty dress. I think Cole's punishing himself. He said he hopes I learn my lesson and maybe this can be the last time he has to send me away or hurt me like this. That he wants to try to be better together but he just needs me to be away for a little while and then everything will be okay. He doesn't realize I've been double-crossing him all along and Caleb is respite instead pf punishment.

But I don't care about Cole right now, because I'm buzzing and because my baby pink satin dress with the black lace overlay is hitched up taut across my thighs and my knees have disappeared down into the sides of the chair. My behind is resting on Caleb's knees and he has his left hand around it so that I don't slide off. His right hand is alternately holding a pen, typing something rather slowly on the keyboard or holding the phone up to his ear. I get busy working out the Windsor knot on his tie. Unbuttoning his vest. Stealing things from his pockets and kissing his other ear, the free one.

And the look on his face is one of the best I've ever seen. It delights me. It's worth the price of admission to hell as the flames lick against my heels.

I hear him say he has to go, that his afternoon is very busy. There's the wink and then abruptly he puts the phone down and slides the laptop hard into the corner of the desk. He lifts me up and lays me out on the desk crushed against him. He finishes removing the tie and uses it to blindfold me. I don't want it so I push him away. He ties it over my eyes anyway and I struggle to remove it. He pins my hands with a warning, whispering in my ear.

Bridget's brain hears a challenge. I try and yank my hands away and am rewarded with full on restraint, my wrists clasped tightly in one of his big hands while the other reaches up my thigh and finds my underwear, pulling them down to my knees and then right off. I buck my hips in protest and he smiles as he holds me down. It's effortless. He outweighs me by seventy-five pounds. A long kiss is followed by him pressing his jaw against my forehead as he yanks me closer to the edge of the desk. Back toward him. He lets go of my hands briefly while he unfastens his belt.

His phone rings. I hear it hit the floor and then Caleb frees himself and pulls me in tightly to him, the fleeting pain forcing me to jerk my hands up suddenly. His hand comes up against my cheek, squeezing my face. Shhhh, he says. Relax.

No, I cry. He keeps to a crawl. He's still stroking my hair with one hand, the other has my torso pressed up off the desk against his muscular frame. Razor burn stings my chin and cheekbones. I turn my head. He pulls me back in close, turning my face back, kissing the end of my nose as he begins to pick up speed. His head disappears somewhere above me and my forehead bumps against his shoulder as he begins to pound me against the desk. I get where I'm going first. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding on tight, forcing him to work for every stroke, bracing my knees to fight his moves.

He cries out my name as he reaches heaven in second place, leaving teeth marks in my skull, falling straight back through without purchase, back to earth as I watch from above,  dropping through the floor to a place no one will ever want to see, for all his money, for everything in the world. Back to hell with you. You belong there, Diabhal. Using your little brother's flaws against him so that you can touch his wife.

He pulls me back up to sitting in his lap on the chair, pulling the tie away, smoothing my hair back away from my ears. He points right at my face.

This is what I want. You.

I wink at him, climbing off, hitching my dress back down over my thighs, smoothing my own hair. He stands up and tries to pull himself back together. I surprise him by reaching up again and kissing him hard. So hard he staggers back and grabs me for support. He is so hopeful. So anticipatory. So handsome with his fucked up shirt collar and half his clothes on the floor.

Revenge is harder than it looks. I am sent straight to the Devil, of whom I remain marginally more afraid unless I am flat on my back. Caleb shares the same intensity that Cole exudes effortlessly but he has twice the power and he's older, bigger and more dangerous. Over the years the brothers have taught me that my submissiveness could be cultivated, a power onto itself. It's a game I have grown to enjoy. I do as I'm told and I want for nothing but affection now. They think it's punishment. It isn't.

No, we need a break. A long one. I want to make things work with Cole. We're trying so hard to be a family and this doesn't help at all.

His face is impassive suddenly. Damn him. Demonstrative emotion is so fleeting with him but I feel him and he's surprised and saddened and will subsequently throw himself into his work. I hold his gaze as I wipe the lipgloss off the sides of my face from where his fingers smeared it.

It's a loss for both of us but I understand.

Such a bad man. You're always taking things that don't belong to you. I frown at him. It's a dig. I get them in wherever I can while he atones forever for fucking up my perfect future. I can't have Lochlan, things will never be the same between us and so I'm going to take it out on Caleb because it's his fault and because Lochlan asked me to punish him any way I can. I'll ruin all of us, myself included. No survivors. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. But I know I can trust Caleb and I can't trust anyone else. Even Loch. If Caleb asked me point-blank to leave Cole I would have but he doesn't know this and so he doesn't ask.

I'm not bad, Bridget, just weak when it comes to you.

That's not what I saw a few moments ago.

Wish I knew it was the last time, I would have made it last all night.

Good luck, Diabhal.

Be safe, Neamhchiontach.

No such thing as safe now. He frowns but he thinks I'm being figurative.  He knows things are difficult with Cole but he has no idea how difficult or he wouldn't let me go back. I thread his tie under his collar, kissing him on the cheek one last time. I collect my coat and my bag that is still sitting on the table and head for the door. I have a plane to catch.

So what am I supposed to do now, Bridget? Pretend that none of this matters?

Yeah. Just pretend we hardly know each other until I tell you differently. 

Oh, Bridget. 

Or just go back to being mean. Either way it's the same to me.

Tempest (dig that hole, Princess).

Take out the stories
They've put into your mind
And brace for the glory
As you stare into the sky
The sky beneath
I know you can't be tired
Lay there, stare at the ceiling
And switch back to your time just go ahead now try and taste it
I know it should be ripe
(thrust ahead)

Turning in circles
Been caught in a stasis
The ancient arrival
cut to the end
I'd like to be taken apart from the inside
Then spit through the cycle right to the end
I wonder just how you shaped it To get back to your prize
(thrust ahead)

My lips are dry, my cheeks cold when I arrive. He is on the phone but he winks at me and leans over the island, pushing an envelope toward me. It's pink. Palest baby pearl pink. I frown and he holds up three fingers and that means he's going to wrap up his conversation in under three minutes. I abandon the pretty envelope and go throw myself in one of his leather club chairs.

I smile when I see the coffee table. Henry has been here, an Escher puzzle is maybe 2/3 of the way completed on it and a can of Diet Coke is on a coaster right in the middle. Caleb lets Henry drink pop. I do not. I let Henry stay up late. Caleb does not. We even out. If Henry feels like having something he isn't allowed, he just wanders over to the other parent and gets express permission to have it anyway.

 Caleb is finished with the phone and he swears to the disconnected call and then sweeps the envelope into his hand on the way into the living room. He gets down on his knees beside my chair and presents the envelope to me without a word.

It's pink. I look at it but I don't take it.

Open it. It won't bite you. Oh and by the way, I wish you'd watch what you write down.

It's common knowledge you have odaxelagnic tendencies. And tell me what this is, because I don't like surprises. I wish I brought a lipgloss in my pocket. My lips are burning. 

Open it, Bridget. It's your Christmas bonus. 

I've worked a whole four days for you this fall. This is hilarious. Also, it's barely the middle of November, aren't you early?

OPEN. IT. He runs out of good graces and switches to the rotten, bad kind. 

There is a small card with a handwritten paragraph, which I don't read and a cheque. I slide it back into the pretty pink envelope and lean forward to place it on the puzzle. 

Is that why you invited me over? To give me money that I have not earned?

Would you prefer to earn this money, Bridget? Oh, there he goes, falling into his own black holes so I go for audacity instead of sense. 

Yes, I would. His eyes light up. I snap him out of it. I should WORK at least a hundred days to get a bonus. Isn't that more fair than just giving me money?

He recovers into the monster I know and love. You know what I miss? I miss the innocence of you in Vegas. Vegas impressed you. You didn't know how to hold a glass of champagne, how to keep your mouth shut at the tables or how to defer to me when spoken to directly by the wrong people. I even taught you how to withstand my brother without getting hurt. I taught you everything on those trips when I had you to myself. I turned you into a lady from the amusement park orphan you used to be. The subsequent trips were such a joy. You behaved. You listened. It was a respite for both of us.

I withstood, you mean. I get up and turn to leave but he comes after me, spinning me back around. He presses his forehead down against mine. We've had some good times, Bridget. Haven't we?

I needed you to help me be away from Cole. I had nowhere else to go.

But I've been here, every time you've asked for me. I'd never leave you alone the way they do constantly. You'd never have to miss me, we wouldn't have to be apart. Even during the day. Things could be so good. You'd be safe. You could teach me things. Like patience. How to comfort you in a way that works. How to give you what you need, Bridget.

I can't teach you those things, Diabhal.  

You taught him. 

HE TAUGHT ME!

You think that's how it was? Think again, sweetheart. He wasn't fit to look after himself, let alone you and you changed him. I think you could change me too. 

What if I can't?

We'll never know until we try, Bridget.

I'm not up to that. 

Not today, no. Today maybe we can just have some cheese?

Leaving now. This is how dysfunctional we are. Soul-shattering topics to dairy products in under a minute. 

It just proves we were meant to be together.

Fuck off. Eat your cheese by yourself. 

Nice seeing you too. I'll put the money in your account since you're going to be recalcitrant.

How you like me best, isn't it?

Indeed.

 

Bread and circuses.

Too cold on the beach to be without shoes. My ears rang and I withstood it as long as I could until finally I asked Lochlan for his linty wool peacoat and then fifteen seconds after that I asked if we could go back up to the house because the wind. Sweet merciful fucking glorious wind, I should know better, I should know to bring something with a hood but I was in a hurry when he made the offer to go down to the bottom of the cliff to see how cold the water was after a night of freezing temperatures, 'freezing' being completely relative to living in a such a mild climate. Cold with wind is a different animal, always, as I have long-ago learned and so I tucked a knitted scarf by the door that I will try to remember to bring along each time I step outside until at least March now.

The skinny jeans are threadbare and far too long and wide for me with my glorious twenty-six-inch inseam, but I'm too lazy to buy custom-fitted jeans so I just go to Warehouse One and if they aren't too low cut but just low cut enough I get two pairs and wear them into the ground, yanking them up, rolling them, looking at them with dismay. I don't often wear jeans at all, actually and so this picture (like all pictures I post anyway) is a rarity. I am fond of my Converse though. They last forever, quite unlike anything else in this world, except maybe Lochlan's coat, bought in 1991 on a trip home to the Motherland (Scotland, if you're new). I think it might be a military-issue, and then worn ever since as long as it isn't as cold as it was when we all lived in the Prairies, for that brief eight-year segment of life.

There he wore Carhartt, much like everyone else, save for Ben, who wore leather, with flannel underneath and me, who wore everything I could put on and still walk in because it was SO. FUCKING. COLD.

So here in this place now, 'cold' is a relative term. A hilarious, inappropriate one as I stand on the beach. My beach, which is cultivating glass and leaving trace amounts of bronze on the line of the tide as it washes past the rocks in the dangerous part of our shore, right over to the now-completely-ridiculous private marina (A spectacle for the proles, we call it secretly, behind the Devil's back).

I frown as I inspect the progress on the final addition, a gigantic covered slip for the yacht. Because we're on a protected cove here, Caleb really has no need to move his boat anymore, but sometimes it needs to be inside for maintenance and it's not so much a roof as it is a full-service boat garage and what a monstrosity it is. It wound up being constructed precisely eight feet to the left after I complained that I would be able to see it from my balcony and that wouldn't do. I only said it to be a brat but they moved it anyway and now that I see how big it is I'm glad I pitched a fit.

Lochlan frowns at the excess. He's a closet anarcho-communist to boot, a beautiful bleeding heart. An odd belief for someone who can be so cold, and I'm sure this has more to do with Caleb than life in general. Maybe it's why he agreed to our collective, too, but Lochlan holds a huge disdain for people with too much money, only fully respecting Ben because Ben spends money like a hundred-year-old woman on a micro-pension, i.e. not at all, and Lochlan thinks that's good.

I think that's good too, because frankly Caleb's gotten a little over the top with the money he spends but I see his long term vision because he spells it out rather slowly when I ask. I am learning about his vision for this property, the means to an end it will become, the options he has left wide open for a variety of financial scenarios, pounded out on spreadsheets, his projections and risks transcribed by yours truly on a monthly basis, kept dotted and signed just in case. He is learning too. Just in case are three little words that have become a punctuation mark on everything we say or do now. Just in case is an excuse to do things that seem over the top. One hundred and fifty percent poured into everything, whether it be opening a pistachio nut, painting a wall, buying a shell company or saying I love you.

I didn't even understand the tens of thousands of dollars he spent on the fountain and the circular driveway until I realized I no longer had to find and wait for (at least) three guys to move their vehicles when I wanted to go out, or that Caleb stands in his bedroom window watching me as each morning I go outside to the fountain, make a wish and throw my penny into the water.

Ooooooh. A wishmaker conduit-fabricator-device. Not landscaping, exactly. How clever is the Devil, indeed. I think that was a simple perk, possibly for all the nights he's bitten me, tied me up or pulled my hair so hard I cried out but he needed to keep me still so he did it anyway. You think I have regrets? You should meet Caleb. I wish sometimes for him to feel feelings like regular people. Still waiting for that one to come true, sixty-seven cents spent in pennies so far, and that's only made on mornings that I hurt.

He is still very clever, if I may continue my train of thought, because one of the things he wanted to install down at the bottom of the cliff was a grouping of outdoor heaters with a range of around twenty feet each and I told him not to be crazy, that it's too mild here. We don't need it. How excessive and spoiled and over the top. Heat the outside? What are we, lightweights?

I refused to take off Lochlan's coat for the first hour after we went back inside, so the answer to that appears to be a resounding YES.

Electroencephalographic.

I'm on the outside, I'm looking in
I can see through you, see your true colors
Cause inside you're ugly, ugly like me
I can see through you, see to the real you

The door is locked and checked twice. He pulls me down and tucks me underneath him, his lips on my eyelashes, his hands pulling my ribcage up against his chest. He holds me there with one arm while his other hand slides down behind my thigh and pulls it out hard, lifting me up further still. He smiles against the bridge of my nose.

I don't know why I spend so much time away, he mutters, not so much to me as to himself, for I still haven't managed to pull him out of his distracted focus in spite of the fact that he's been working from home instead of going downtown to the studio for more than half of this week. He's tired of the endless bickering between Caleb and Loch. He wants to be home more. He's missing me.

Gee, join the club, Benny.

I am forced back down expectedly. I cry out on the way there. He says Shhhh, his lips so soft against my skin. He finds my mouth and covers it with his own. Endless kisses. The best kind. Scuba-Benning, he calls it. If I need to breathe, I'll have to go through him. It's okay though, I can't breathe at all actually. I'm tweaked out on his crushing weight and the sweet brutality of his affections. He is ravenous, wild, stringing me out, balanced dangerously along his whims, facedown and then up again and then down. Up. I fight for traction and find nothing.

I still can't breathe so I scream, just as he pushes me right to the edge and then over. He clamps his hand over my whole face, ratcheting my limbs down even tighter, closer, harder until I buck and claw against him, unable to move an inch anyway and he loves it. He fucking loves it. Abruptly he lets go and I fall back down into the sheets and he comes down again over me, this time prepared to spend a while. He can go like this for hours until I beg him to stop and then he just goes even more slowly.

By the morning I am exhausted and shaking and completely without wits, my skin pink, raw and hot to touch, my smile goofy and endless, my hair so tangled I wonder if I should just keep cutting it until I can comb it through. I stand in the bathroom, looking at the wreck of my reflection, my hands over my mouth when he comes in and pulls me backward against him, his arms coming down around me and crossing over. I'm locked in the Ben-cage now. Such a little animal I am. He grins and tells me he isn't finished yet and if I'm never coming back to the bed then he'll make do with this, and he takes my head in his hand, bending me facedown on the counter. I go up on my tiptoes as he starts over again. By the time he is finished with me again my knees no longer lock and I can't feel anything below my shoulders. I am wimpering and laughing and he is all whispers and grins.

He pulls me into a hot shower, directing the spray against everything that hurts but it doesn't hurt in a bad way. The hot water feels so good. I'm falling asleep so I just put my head down against his chest and let the water drown me until he puts his hand up to shield my face, before turning us away, letting his back take the brunt of the spray.

When I am clean and dry he leads me back to bed and I shake my head. So sleepy. So ridiculously rubbery. No more, please God I have to sleep for an hour or I'm going to be sick and he smiles and we climb back in and he turns me away, pressing his chest against my back, sliding his left arm under my neck and his right hand down around my ribs. We are drifting toward slumber in minutes, content to spend the rest of the morning unconscious but together. Making up for the time that we thought was lost until we found it.

Connecting physically first before we seem to be able to express ourselves emotionally. It's just the way we've always done things.

Just be, he instructs. Take what you want. Take what you need. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, Bridget. I pull his arms in tighter still around me until we are fused in the moment, in my dreams. I tell myself that I won't let him spend so much time away anymore. I tell myself things will be okay now. I tell myself to stop letting my mind race and sleep already.

I never listen. Not at all.

Forward unto dawn.

He is at the door when I finally appear down in the front entryway. I'm still in my pajamas. I still sleep far too much even though I mostly lie there with my eyes wide open, weighed down by ghosts, the tremendous pressure of The Present begging for a foothold in my life.

I have added a fever to today's ensemble. Lovely. The virals have made the rounds here lately, low-grade sorts of misery that have been causing aches, pains, headaches, and stomach upsets and I've fetched a lot of Advils and teas and hot water bottles and blankets and movies and sandwiches even and so it stands to reason I probably hold the highest risk of exposure because I'm always asking for hugs and kisses and bites of food and I forget all about germs until I wake up like this.

Lochlan is blocking Caleb's entry past the rug inside the front door. He's all flushed and angry and they're having a hushed, superheated argument. Nothing has changed except the look on Caleb's face. It's one of pure regret and he's nodding. Lochlan's talking a mile a minute, I can't understand a word and then Caleb nods again. Yes, he confirms. I know. That's why I'm here. 

I say Lochlan's name and he turns and tries to fix his expression but I catch a hint of his helpless rage against Caleb. Why doesn't he forbid contact with Caleb? Why won't they just force him to stay away?

I have asked them not to. Sometimes every single day, when necessary.

Bridget. Caleb looks right over Lochlan's head and starts right in. I did not mean to imply that you were beneath me or that you were raised in poverty. I also did not mean to make the morning about me, or my own needs and I feel terrible that I did not choose to acknowledge your grief. I know what week this is. I wasn't thinking and I want to make it up to you. 

Make it up by keeping away from her, Devil. 

Lochlan, the children wanted you to play a few levels of Halo with them, they're waiting for you. I caution him and he gives me that look, the horrible one I hate that's so helpless and he passes me, heading up the steps.

Caleb visibly relaxes. I'm going to start wearing a helmet when I see him. I never know when he's going to punch me. 

Leave him alone, Caleb. He's someone I love very much and he takes care of me.

He stares at me. I think if I held that stare I could make him cry-wait, too late. His eyes are filled with sorrow. I back down and study my wrists instead, allowing him a moment of self-repair.

I'm so sorry, Babydoll. 

You know what? It was nice not to be coddled. It's not as if it's something I ever expect from you. 

Being coddled?

Yes. 

You can't come to me for comfort?

No. I laugh my response bitterly, with so much surprise. I thought he knew this. It dawns across his face slowly, the realization that what I look for in absolutely everyone I still can't find in him, outside of simple touch. I expect nothing from him. I want nothing from him, and that will forever set him apart. Far apart from everyone else.

That's the price of your heart, isn't it, Bridget?

My voice drops to a whisper because I don't trust it. Bingo.