No spirit yet.

Well, that's it then.

Daniel, Schuyler, Christian and Andrew have become the Griswolds.

Their house looks a little bit like a rave party standing still. They have four, count 'em, FOUR Christmas trees up and decorated inside and outside I believe I stopped counting at something like thirty strands of lights.

In this house we...have a huge poinsettia in the corner of the kitchen, but only because the creepy grocery store dude ran after me to take one because it was free if you spent a certain amount. I always spend over that amount so I get a lot of bonus products. This was the first time I've ever been forced to strap one of those products into the passenger seat of my car.

We may have non-Christmas this year. Everyone is too busy. And I'm sick now with a lovely throat thing and fever that makes me not care all that much about whatever happens a whole month from now.

I will still shop though. And wrap. And bake. And then make a cup of tea Christmas evening and exhale. That's my plan.

Break on your horizon.

I've had a slightly awkward morning yet it gives me so much hope that at least one person in my life still marches to his own drummer instead of falling in line behind mine. It also reminds me that absolutely nothing surprises me anymore.

And my drummer doesn't share, for the record. He's dead. He was the first one to vacate earth under the pressure from leading so many. But I don't miss Cole, not anymore.

I went to work this morning (how formal, geez. I walked over to the boathouse, coffee and phone in hand). I function as Caleb's frequently sexually harassed personal assistant while he pretends to be a venture capitalist/mogul/financier. It's very exciting, oh, yes it is. Mostly I schedule conference calls and file statements and listen to music.

I figure he is already working when I walk in this morning. I don't knock and he hardly ever locks the door so it's sort of an expectation that I am always welcome.

Except that when I walk in this morning, there is music playing and I smell perfume. It's lingering in the air and I say his name, switching to professional because I don't know what to expect.

Mr. C____?

I hear him laugh and then he walks out into the hall wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips, his straight razor in his hand, and the remainder of his face to be shaved.

I'm alone now, Bridget. You don't have to be formal but I appreciate the lack of implied complication if I weren't.

Someone was here?

Yes. Her name was Peyton. Medium height, brown hair. Very attractive, actually. I sent her home in a car around one this morning.

And you had a good date?

We went to dinner and a show and then came back here for a nightcap.

And you're going to see her again?

No, Bridget, I'm not. She was an expenditure I didn't want, but I can't live like a monk so I contract services to look after my needs. I'm not like the boys in that house. I can't live like that.

I know. We're down to whispers and thanks to the look on his half-shaven face I change the subject out of a sudden need to feel better. Coldplay this morning?

It's beautiful, isn't it? 

Yeah. I nod and point back behind me. I'll make some coffee for you, okay? 

That would be great. I want to get a lot done today. He steps back into the bathroom and resumes his routine. He starts singing along with White Shadows and he sings it well, I know it's a favorite but I sort of forget sometimes what Caleb sounds like when he sings, too. I have to lock my knees so I don't hit the fucking floor.

When he finally comes into the kitchen, fully dressed and ready for some work, I can't resist the dig. He's in a good mood (fancy that) so I know I can get away with almost anything this morning.

You realize her name probably wasn't Peyton, right?

I'm well aware that that was not her name, Bridget. 

What name did you use?

I'm not going to talk about this anymore, okay? 

You said your name was James, didn't you? James Bond but not THE James Bond?

So busted. Against his efforts not to, he breaks into a grin. Can we PLEASE get to work, Bridget?

Yes, Mr. Bond. Right away, sir. 

Please, call me James. 

Depends. What's the going rate for me to call you that?

Bridget! 

Hey, you left your virtue at the door with one phone call. It's open season, Diabhal.

He smirks through the grin. Fine, I'll give you until noon to get it out of your system and then I will exact payback. 

Oooo. Payback. Will it be shaken or stirred?

Christ. You're impossible. 

Come on! I'm just having a little fun! No one ever lets me have any fun! 

He stops smiling abruptly. It's as if I have thrown a switch.

Maybe you get what you wanted
Maybe you stumbled upon it
Everything you ever wanted
In a permanent state

Maybe you'll know when you see it
Maybe if you say it, you'll mean it
And when you find it, you keep it
In a permanent state
A permanent state

Batting.

His arm is tight around me as I sit wedged into the corner of the couch beside Loch. He is reading things on his tablet and I am playing a word game against Matt on my phone. Matt is in the kitchen.

The fuck. Oh, I wish you wouldn't document every goddamned thing I've ever said. 

I'm sorry. 

But you're not!

Okay, I'm not. 

Please point out that you were also a major pain-in-the-arse who would bat your eyelashes and get whatever you wanted, so people don't feel sorry for you, 'oh the wee 'lil Bridget'! 

Oh, I think everyone knows. 

Hope so. Nothing's changed either. You're still exactly the same.

Everyone knows that also, Lochlan. 

(Snort.)

Charge.

(Sorry, this one became rather long.)

I am waiting for him on the grass at the edge, but not on the concrete because he said to stay ON THE GRASS and he yelled it very slowly in what I am now calling his Worried voice. It's never angry exactly but he yells when he is afraid something will go wrong, it's almost as if all his nerves bunch up and force his voice out of his body very loudly.

(It took me precisely four days of spending time with him to figure this out but interestingly enough the only other time I heard him yell was when he got mad and threw himself at Caleb. That was a different yell by far. It was his Angry-Frustrated voice. That one happens when his nerves snap completely instead of bunching up.

I'm really glad he has more patience with me than he seems to with Caleb. Especially since everyone tells me I don't listen most of the time. I try to, I think they speak in the other direction and their words must get swallowed by the hungry wind before I can hear them.

He's the only one who saw right off that I'm not attention-deficit or anything, I'm just a daydreamer. He said I was imaginative, and he did so with admiration in his eyes. By the time it was dark out on Tuesday he had told me a whole raft of his own dreams. I said I couldn't wait to hear about them when they came true, because they would and he stopped talking in surprise because I was the first person to expect those dreams to eventually take place instead of dismissing them as impractical, fantastical, impossible.

I asked if that wasn't the whole point of dreams, to make a set of plans and reach for the stars, instead of hoping someday to come across a talking rainbow elephant in the bushes outside your house? He grabbed his head with both hands, his eyes open wide and said EXACTLY! But it wasn't in his loud Worried voice, or his Angry-Frustrated voice. It was a new one. I christened it his Astonished voice. We both like that one best.)

So as I stand ON THE GRASS waiting, he turns and looks at me suddenly. I turn around and look behind me (maybe someone is there) but when I turn back Lochlan is making his way back across the dam. They are walking across the top, where the water rushes over the edge into the river below. He went to see if it was safe enough to bring me too or if the water is still too strong like it usually is at the beginning of the summer. There is a camp on the other side, in the woods by the lake. The tire swing is there that Bailey told me about. I want to go. Very, very badly.

His face is stern when he reaches me. No way, Bridget. Sorry. You're too young and if you die I'll be in so much trouble. 

I can do it. I can get there. 

Not today. Maybe in a few years when you're older. Sorry. 

It's okay, Lochlan. Maybe I'll see you later then. I am crushed. I want to be with the big kids and he's going swimming at the swing. They don't always stay on the beach, like today and as usual I am too little to do the fun things. I turn away and start to walk across the grass to head up to the road and walk home (if I can remember which way) when Lochlan calls out for me to wait. He'll be right back. DON'T MOVE (worried voice). I sit down on the steps leading up the hill and wait, drawing patterns in the sand with a rock, my head on my knees.

He comes back and tells me that Caleb has to go to work so he's going that way and he will drive me since Lochlan doesn't want me going home alone but also doesn't want to give up a chance to see my sister and her friends in their bikinis. Then he says he will see me later and Caleb will be back across in a minute. He crosses the dam again and waves goodbye when he gets to the other side. I ignore him, not waving my Angry Frustrated arm, always too young, too small, too inexperienced, too much of a pain to be included in anything it seems and then I see Caleb. Lochlan turns and points to me and Caleb nods, clapping Loch once on the shoulder and then waving to me as he crosses the dam.

I sit in the front seat on the way home (secretly thrilled, since no one ever lets me sit in the front). Caleb asks me what music I listen to. I tell him I like heavy slow songs and he laughs and shakes his head. Interesting, he says. He finds a good rock station on the radio and we listen in a comfortable silence. I study him while he drives and every now and then he looks at me and smiles and says What? Then finally he asks if he has something on his face and I shake my head and then I blurt out that I really want to go to the rope swing and I know it's a long path and I know crossing the dam is dangerous but maybe since Caleb is the oldest, HE could take me there. When I'm done I am so surprised at myself I clam right up.

He just smiles at me and says Sure. When do you want to go? 

Tomorrow. 

When we arrive at the lake the next day (that was fun as my mother told Bailey when to be home and then told me I couldn't go and Caleb was ready for her. It's okay, Mrs. Lund. I have a younger brother I'm used to taking care of so I can babysit Bridget if it's okay with you. I know she wants to go too.) Lochlan starts over, all no-ways and she's-too-youngs and Caleb ignores him.

He has my attention and he takes my bag with my towel and stuff in it, slinging it over his shoulder and then he reaches back and holds out his hand. I want you to stare at my back, hold my hand tightly and cross without stopping, okay? Don't look down, don't stop walking.

I grab his hand, holding it tightly. I hear Bailey warn him but her voice disappears. Cole tells me I'll be fine but then shoots a doubtful look at his brother. Caleb turns away and I focus on the freckle on his left shoulder blade as I follow him across the dam. The water rushing over my feet scares me but he pulls and I squeeze and then in the middle I stop. No! I cry. I can't do this! He turns and tells me I have to, that he can't switch places with me so we have to keep going. I shake my head. I can't budge. I'm terrified. I'm hyperventilating.

There is only one solution.

He looks back to the grass and calls to Lochlan, who has already realized what's wrong and is making his way across the concrete divide. When he reaches me he puts his arms out and turns me around and then takes my hands tightly. He orders me to look into his eyes. Not down, not anywhere but directly at him. I do and he squeezes my fingers and starts to walk. Backwards.

Turn around! I tell him in a shaky voice.

Just look at me. That's all you need to do. I keep looking at him and he smiles and winks and I feel all of the fear rushing with the water away from me. In studying his face I see a handsome, boyish charm between the chaos of the red curls and his quiet green eyes. He doesn't miss a thing. I think I like his face alot. He doesn't have the easy cookie-cutter handsome of Caleb, he has his own look. His jaw is strong and the expressiveness of his eyes is magnetic. His smile makes me feel warm on the inside. I don't even know what that means.

My feet touch grass and he doesn't loosen his hold on my hands until he has pulled me right up to him and into his arms. Oh. Warmer still.

Caleb is right behind us. Bridget, are you okay?

No, idiot. She's EIGHT FUCKING YEARS OLD. She can't tell you she can make that walk. You have to decide for her and you fucked it up. I'll look after her from now on. Jesus, Cay. You could have gotten her killed. 

She asked me to take her-

THAT DOESN'T MEAN SHE SHOULD GO! From now on she's MY Responsibility. Got it? MINE.

Caleb nods. He is clearly pissed off and I think it's directed at me.

I'm sorry I got scared, Caleb. 

You're eight. He snaps back at me.

I nod. I can't think of what to say back.

Come on, Bridgie. You and I will swim here. We'll catch up with the others later. Okay? He ignores Caleb, who heads out across the dam once more.


Don't you want to be with your friends? 

I am. He gave me a sort of annoyed expression and then reached up behind his neck with both hands and pulled his t-shirt off over his head. I just stared while my brain told me in a whole new voice: HE'S FOURTEEN! WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?

Lochlan?

Yeah?

I really want to go across. If you walk backward again will you take me tomorrow?

Yes, but only because I can actually get around you if you decide halfway through to go back. Caleb doesn't know how to do that.

How can you?

I'm really crazy-good at balancing. Now. Are you ready?

For? I break out of my reverie. He's strong and beautiful. The perfect teenage boy.

Swimming! COME ON! Oh, there's the Astonished voice again. I like that one best.

A barefoot winter.

In an effort to be more...uh, whimsical and spontaneous (since the complaints in this house are that I am still as uptight as ever), I put on a poufy party dress this morning (from a hundred billion years ago and it's too big now) and I went downstairs, cut a big slice of chocolate cake, microwaved it for a minute so it would be warm, and then I poured myself a glass of champagne (leftover from yesterday) and then I took my breakfast outside and ate it on the (uncovered) patio in the pouring rain.

None of the boys would come out, they wanted to stay inside where it was warm and dry.

Pussies.

My bare toes were numb and by the time I came inside I couldn't feel my fingers either. I asked for help through chattering teeth to open the closet door so I could get a blanket and PJ helped me and then pointed directly at Lochlan, over my head.

I blame you for these character defects of hers. It ain't right, brother. 

And Lochlan laughed.

Heavy metal birds (redux).

Inspiration is for amateurs; the rest of us just show up.
               ~Chuck Close.

There's a snapshot of the day in here somewhere for all to see and pin to a wall in a cozy spare room in between the television schedule and that credit card bill you paid and forgot to put away.

There are two still-newlyweds-in-spite-of-the-calendar cooking a turkey together next door in the house where they spend their love. Schuyler's got this, I think. He loves Daniel so much he'd cook a brontosaurus if Daniel asked him to.

 Daniel and Ben are American and so Thanksgiving to them is Christmas The Second and it's ridiculous. Only Ben never showed up, because Ben took the rest of that cognac and went downstairs to work days ago and I never saw him again.

Not a good thing. Just a thing that I'm supposed to believe is not my fault nor my concern and instead of accepting that I thrash against it like a rabid fox. I don't buy it for a second and I want to be there but he always removes himself from me when he gets scary like that.

Lochlan has likewise retreated to the camper to stay out of the line of fire. He hasn't said much. When I came in from a long walk alone with the dog, he followed me into the kitchen, blew on my hands to warm them up, gave me a silent hug, ever the affectionate one, and left again.

I turned around and realized I really do hate being alone and so I wandered across the driveway and found another obstacle, Caleb asleep again in front of the wall of ocean that is his decadent view, the lights on low in the kitchen but nowhere else. He sleeps a lot now. He's exhausted from just about everything but really I think it's escape. Depression. A weird form of established hopelessness that appears when you become mired in wanting things you'll simply never have.

Henry also wears him the fuck out, frankly. This whole week has been a Halo marathon. It's fun. Lochlan and Ruth play too. It's the only time Loch and Caleb get along, when they are forced together by the children, who are still inseparable, even though Ruth is firmly entrenched in art and self-expression at thirteen and Henry is all war games and strategy at eleven (just like their fathers, huh).

 I watch the Devil sleep. I don't touch him in case he's only pretending, I just sit nearby and watch the sun go down at a ridiculously early hour of the day and then I venture to touch his face before I leave. He doesn't move and so I know he is really asleep. When I leave I lock the door behind me.

At the main house there are three messages on my phone from Daniel, who is too busy cooking and playing host to come looking for us. I reply and tell him we're not feeling well and will find him tomorrow if he wants to keep a little aside for us. This reply is not so much to decline his invitation, he knew we wouldn't be there but to let him know I/we am/are safe.

I make some tea and put two cups and the pot on a tray to bring downstairs. When I get to the bottom the door is open. Ben is fussing with his acoustic at the board, the bottle of cognac nowhere to be seen. He is unshaven and focused and unreadable. I go in and set the tray down on the coffee table. He turns and smiles.

Hey. 

Hey, you. 

How much shit am I in? 

I don't think anyone has noticed. They're busy eating dinner. Your brother went all out. 

I don't mean with them. I mean how much shit am I in with you?

Oh, you know, the usual amount. Ben, where's the bottle?

Duncan has it. 

My relief wants to escape via my eyes. How much did you have? 

I had a taste, Bridget. It wasn't very good. Not as good as I remember it. 

Did you, I mean, was it because of me? 

No, Jesus, Bridget, never. I get caught up in cycles of self-loathing. You know this. You're the one good thing that counteracts all the rest. 

I'm not a good thing. 

Sure you are. And the kids, and Lochlan but I'm always sabotaging him so that I can stay ahead. Eat or be eaten, as it were. 

He can handle you. 

Yeah. Surprisingly. 

Not really. He has a high tolerance for freaks. 

So I've heard. Ben laughs, winking at me and then reaches down and pulls me right up into his lap, his arms tight around me. I'm surprised you're not hanging out with Caleb since everyone is occupied, speaking of freaks.

I was, for a bit but he's sleeping. 

Ben nods. He's very serious, suddenly. I see. Hey, is that tea for me?

Yes. 

Good, I'm starved.

It's tea, Ben, not turkey. It won't substitute for dinner. 

It will if I eat the mug too. 

You aren't allowed. That's it. New rule. 

Oh, you're going to make new rules are you? Do I get to make one too?

Of course. 

Okay, he pretends to think. The rule is, never ever ever ever not come find me if you are lonely, or if you think I'm in trouble or if I seem to be checking out on you. Okay?

A double negative. Wait, I have to figure ou-

Another way then. Always, always come to me. You look like a lost kitten. I'm here. I'm a total introverted wreck of an asshole but I promised to be here for you and here is where I will always be, okay? 

Okay. I nod and the relief sees a chance and escapes down my cheeks. Okay. I promise I'll come find you.

He reaches up with his big thumbs and smooths the tears away from below my eyes. You know what we need, Bumblebee? We need some FUCKING TURKEY NOW!!!!! YEAHHHHHHHHHHH! 

I throw up the horns. Which either signifies that we should Rock On or that turkeys now come with antlers.

Swell.

(In between spates of horrific drama, we're just like you.)

I can see you but you can't see me
I could touch you and you wouldn't even feel me
Wait a second and you'll settle down
I'm just waiting, 'til you really let your guard down
You're relaxed, you're sublime, you're amazing
You don't even know the danger you're facing
If I'm quiet, I'll slide up behind you
And if you hear me I'll enjoy trying to find you

Through the early 2000s I really tried hard to turn Lochlan on to slightly (okay not only slightly) heavier music. I figured he would enjoy it, he always seemed the type somehow.

He does not.

He does, however, know a lot of the words to a few particular albums and sings along in his very best Eddie-Izzard-as-Mr. Kite imitation to just about any song I play. It's positively fucking glorious when his voice drops down into the smarmier parts. He's got quite a flair from his midway/circus/busker days. You wouldn't expect it but it's there.

Sadly today PJ and I are ignoring his performance while we eat leftover pasta for breakfast (God knows why I'm eating breakfast so late, let's just say I wasn't feeling so hot earlier and wasn't hungry besides) and peruse the Christmas catalogs that came to the mailbox. They all have Caleb's name on them but I always steal his mail because it's that much more exciting than mine.

Who would like a Sharp high-density plasmacluster ion generator for their car this year? I don't know what it is but I'm guessing it makes your car jump to your end location just like in Battlestar Galactica. Maybe I should buy that for Caleb for Christmas and send him to a new galaxy.

But then how would I get the Neiman Marcus Christmas book to dream through? He's maybe the only person I know who could actually afford this.

Sigh. Dream indeed. That's amazing.

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.