X&Y/pressure-sensitive.

This will not be funny to anyone except for me. So there.

And I could write a song
A hundred miles long
Well, that's where I belong
And you belong with me

It's death by Coldplay today.

I really need to call in sick most of next week or my wee little brain won't survive. I've already had one nosebleed this afternoon. That's my brain, exploded against the inside of my skull, leaking out in tiny crimson increments.

He's singing along with Swallowed in the Sea. He intuitively sets me up and I fall for it every time. I hope the letter opener is sharp for I intend to throw myself on it shortly. But Caleb knows me well. He's hidden the goddamned thing and now he keeps offering to make us some coffee because we both have headaches. Our work is just about done for the day.

Sure, but before you go do you have the letter opener so I can deal with the mail?

I smile sweetly and he hands me the choice instrument of my death today.

He turns back at the door. Bridget, it won't kill you, just probably require you to have stitches and possibly antibiotics so unless you want to spend the afternoon being fussed over by the Russian physician I think you should perhaps choose a different method. I'm partial to erotic asphyxiation if you're interested. I can't guarantee success but we could have fun trying.

I can't believe you just said that.

I can't believe you're trying to get out of work by maiming yourself with office supplies.

Not like you haven't used the duct tape for a similar purpose before, Caleb.

Duct tape has no business being in the office. It's purely for pleasure.

Maybe you should be the face of duct tape, then, and change the image people have of it.

Maybe you should, since it's usually your face it's on.

I'm going to go home now.

Can I come? I'll bring the tape.

Naw. You stay here and open envelopes. Alone.

DAMN YOU.

And when you find it, you keep it.

I watched her leave again this morning. Peyton, or whatever her name really is. An interesting look on her face. Maybe her financial dreams are slowly coming true as Caleb settles up. Maybe she's glad she's uninjured, unscathed. Maybe she sees what he is and is relieved to leave. Maybe she likes him. I don't know. I don't care.

I thought you said you weren't going to see her again.

He glares at me and says nothing. I go to work, sneaking looks at him all morning. After lunch I am caught up on the mountain of work that grew so tall as I dawdle and daydream through life waiting again. I go back to watching him work and finally I can't hold it in any longer.

What is it like? I blurt out.

Caleb looks up, eyebrows raised curiously. What do you mean?

What is it like to sleep with someone you don't love? 

He stares at me for several moments establishing whether I am serious in my curiosity or simply seeking an argument. He chooses wrong. Why don't you tell me, Bridget?

Because I've never done it so I want to know what it must feel like.

That is the best news I've heard in years, he says quietly.

Siucra.

Keith is reading another one of his grim dystopian-future books.

What would you bring to the apocalypse, Bridget?

I bite into my fluffernutter and take a sip of my coffee that is laced with toffee syrup.

Guns, Keith. Guns and sugar.

Sparkplugs and firebrands (all in).

(While we wait for Ben to get better I'm going to entertain you with some memories like this one, in which I think dressing up like the older girls will somehow inspire Lochlan to admit his true feelings for me. It worked! And I am still JUST AS AWKWARD. )

I leaned way up on my tiptoes and looked into the mirror.  I drew the dark red lipstick across my bottom lip and then rubbed my lips together as I had seen Bailey do a thousand times if I saw her do it once. Then I took the comb and teased my hair but it's so long and heavy I seemed to only succeed in giving myself a glorious case of bedhead. Carefully I drew a black line of eyeliner along my lashes and added a tiny bit of mascara. Not a lot because although my lashes are long, they're naturally white. Too much and I'll look weird. Bailey's makeup is hard to figure out but I think I did okay.

I tied a little knot in the back of my t-shirt and slid into the miniskirt I stole (along with the makeup) from Bailey's closet, a skirt that is too small for her. It fits me in that makes my legs look way longer. I give my hair another go-round but it's a losing battle so I arrange the longest bangs across my forehead and call it a day.

I step back.

I look way older. For sure.

Once it gets close to closing time, I go looking for Lochlan out at the bumper cars. The Shit Show, he calls it, since it's the end of his first week working the Midway. Because he's new he pulls the worst jobs. We're not all that far from home yet. He says my name and then does a double take, dropping his keys on the floor. He bends down to pick them up and then he does a slow circle around me with a huge smile on his face.

I got this, I'm thinking.

Then he bursts out laughing. Oh my God, Bridget. You just wrote a book you're not old enough to read yet. 

What are you talking about? I'm still determined to play it cool and act like all the girls I see who are closer to his age, which is a good five-and-a-half years older than I am.

He opens his mouth and then closes it, changing his mind. Sparing my pride, softening his next words as much as he can. You're inviting attention you can't handle yet. He takes my hand and turns away, pulling me down off the platform to head back toward the staff washrooms. Let's go get you cleaned up.

No! I did this for you. I want to be looked at differently!

He stops and I smash into him. I leave a red lipstick print in the center of his back on his white t-shirt. When he turns around he is still laughing. I'm so humiliated I want to cry.

What do you mean?

I want you to look at me like I'm...older. The kiss-

The kiss was a mistake. Bridget, you're twelve.

Admit that you like me in spite of my age! I clapped both hands over my mouth.

He stopped and stared at me. Say that again?

No! I stamp my foot. You heard me! Why would I be out here with you if you don't feel the same way?

He just stares. I am trying to wipe the lipstick off using my hands and my forearms without breaking his gaze. I finally give up and stand there with my hands balled into fists. My bangs are in my eyes. My nose is running. But I'm so stubborn. I'm not going to cry. I'm not. I'm not. Oh shit.

He comes back over and puts his arms around me. I keep you close. I keep you close so that when you finally do grow up I will be the first man you see. I'm keeping the odds stacked, I hope but based on your age I don't want to rush things and screw this up. I smile at that, because he's not a man, he's Lochlan. He's only seventeen, soon to turn eighteen. A man is someone with a mustache. Someone who has to shave more than four times a year. Someone who wears a suit to work and owns a helicopter, I think.

I'm old enough now. I tell him. Tears are dripping off my chin. They are black with mascara. His t-shirt is ruined. So is my whole outfit.

He smooths my hair down, tucking it behind my ears. Trying to get my bangs to go too and failing. We need to cut these, he murmurs close to my face and I push him away.

That's exactly what I mean. I'm just a kid to you. A pain-in-the-neck, a little sister.

Like hell you are. He hasn't budged. Still staring.

Prove it, then. I tell him. I untuck my hair. I wipe my fingers across my cheeks to clean up my face. Smokey pale green eyes and red stained lips face him down. My hair is ruined I think and I look ridiculous in this outfit but he pulls me into his arms, kissing me so hard it hurts my lips. I can't breathe but suddenly I don't want him to stop. Ever. This is like the kiss in the truck that night just before we left to come on the show only it's different because he's pressing his body against me so hard if he lets go I would fall. I throw my arms around his neck, tilting my head and he kisses harder still. He is so warm. So, so warm. Abruptly he pulls away, his hands holding my face up to his.

My eyes fly open and I'm expecting him to swear into my forehead like he did the last time but this time he doesn't.

I love you, Bridget. 

My heart rolls into adulthood with triumphant fanfare before tipping onto one side, spooling down into a tight circle before coming to rest on the metal floor of the ride. He watches it and then takes my hand again to leave but I don't move.

I love you too, Lochlan. He stops, staring at me for several moments in the dark. My heart is back in my chest hammering harder than ever. We smile shyly at each other. It's a milestone, an inevitable progression after spending the better part of the past four years together without exception. What's surprising is the intensity of this. A ferocity I, we, never expected.

If this is love I am all in.

As we walk back to the camper he puts his arm around me and pulls me in close. I look up at him. Between the moonlight and the stars, the lights that never turn off and the music still blasting from the Ferris wheel I think I might have dropped straight into a dream while still awake. Everything changes now. Everything changes. There is no going back from here.

Once locked safely in the camper, Lochlan warms a washcloth and gets to work on removing the worst of the makeup from my face and all of the smears from my arms.

You don't need this stuff to get my attention, Bridget. You never did and you never will, okay? I nod and he steps back to admire his handiwork. I am scrubbed and shining, on display suddenly with no disguises to hide behind.

Come here, he says softly and I take a step forward.

Please don't ask me how I am
A little tired, a little scared
I'm not amused, not upset
Don't need a leash
I'm not your pet

So loosen up, feel the breeze
Let me hear, hear you breathe
It's better than bitter now
When you breathe I love that sound
But you know I'll look after you like no one

This must be what having a teenager is going to be like. If I double-cross every last one of them it's not that hard to take the keys to the truck and head out early, up the snowy highway singing cheesy songs at the top of my lungs, absolutely no idea where I'm going. I even emailed in sick to work and then I told everyone else I really had to get some work done and when I drove home finally after not feeling like doing anything at all there was sort of a crowd in the driveway, a bunch of pissed-off guys with their hands in their pockets and looks on their faces that told me I should probably throw the truck into reverse and peel out of the driveway sideways, smashing through the gate and drifting around corners as I head back up the hill and maybe I could drive back and get Ben, since I mostly prefer to stand behind him these days and suddenly I am exposed and vulnerable and open to punishment for all the things I do that I'm sort of not supposed to, most of the time.

But I didn't have my passport on me, it's sitting on the dresser because I haven't even unpacked yet and I have no cash on me either so I can't even bribe anyone to let me into the US and if I call Batman, odds are he would have the same look they all do so I frowned and pulled into Ben's parking spot and sat there staring at the siding on the house until Lochlan knocked on the window and yelled for me to turn off the engine.

Aw, fuck. 

Rattle and thumb.

He did not abandon you Bridget. He needs help and he's getting it and when he comes back he'll be that much stronger. 

I didn't even say anything yet, Sam. 

No, but you're wound up so tightly I'm afraid you're on the verge of springing wide open. Do you want to talk for a bit? I'll be free this afternoon. I can come over. 

No, I want to sleep but I'm too wired. 

Bridget-

Not to escape. I haven't been to bed properly since Friday, Sam. 

I know. Get some rest then but if you need me call, okay?

I will. I promise. 

I press End on my phone and throw it on the cushion. I sit back and reach for Daniel's hand. He is pretending to read but he keeps nodding off and I wait and count and then try to slide the book out of his hand and he will startle and insist that he is fine. But he won't go lie down and he won't leave my side and I know he's a little bit scared and a little relieved too but Ben is still all he has.

Though, that's a lie. He has Schuy. He has me. He has everyone but no one replaces Ben.

That I understand.

My phone buzzes again and I reach to pick it up. It's a message from Caleb. How convenient. 50 days remain. 

Asshole. 

I text him back. ITS ABOUT YOU NOW? SELFISH.

He sends another.  No but we can't help Ben now. He's in very good hands. If you were too things would be better but you're not so they aren't. 

I send one back. Daniel's looking after me so I'm just fine thanks. 

Caleb replies almost instantly. Daniel is made of moonbeams and unicorn tears so that gives me no confidence whatsoever. Where is Pyro when you need him? Wait! Don't answer that. 

Not cool. If you look outside he's in the driveway with YOUR SON, cheering him up with a little show. What have you done to see to Henry's feelings about Ben being away?

I turn the phone off.

Blood sugar.

We were here just under four years ago. Under the same set of circumstances even, with Ben making a swift and surprising descent into his addictions and finding himself at the bottom with no way out. I don't know what happened, I just know that it happened so fast.

As per instructions I was to blow the whistle the moment I felt afraid of him and so that's what I did. But I don't want a pat on the back. I enable him. I excuse his endless absences. He is busy. He works all the time. I don't tell you he hides out with his guitars. I don't tell you he fights for every goddamned day of his life. We're just trying to be normal over here.

We're failing miserably, I know.

So it's off to a treatment program for Ben thanks to many strings pulled.

I'm flying home tonight. Daniel hasn't left my side. Batman walks ahead of everyone, in charge and in control. I think he likes feeling needed. Lochlan already got into it with the intake people, when I was taking too long to answer their questions (I couldn't hear the questions, everyone was talking over me but drunken-Ben was the loudest) and Lochlan started answering and they asked his relationship to Ben and he blurted out indignantly,

I'm his wife! 

Daniel smiled very quietly. August would have laughed if there had been any levity to find whatsoever and Ben totally categorically denied even knowing Loch before saying I'm sorry, Bridget to Lochlan's face and kissing him.
 
Yeah. I didn't even get a goodbye.

Sepulchre in a sunrise.

Sometimes I don't know why I write anything at all. I'm a broken record. Or rather, I hold the record for breaking things.

Just a break
We could shrink to something
That might not make it back

He got down on his knees and pulled me in close, resting his head against my chest, my heartbeat his metronome. He didn't move as I held my breath, my arms wrapped around him, my lips against the top of his head.

I could smell the alcohol on him before he made it across the room so I knew the apology was coming. I could light a match and everything would go up in flames right now. I only asked for one thing and this isn't it. This isn't trying. This is falling into familiar patterns for Ben. Reaching for flammable creativity and liquid confidence. Reaching for the dark when the light is too blinding. Reaching for the rage because contentment feels alien and strange.

But it doesn't work and I can't keep time when my heart is skipping, rolling out the door, beating a hasty retreat instead of throwing a lifeline.

Cold reading.

He said, 'Love I leave, but only a little, try to understand
I put my soul in this life we created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little this world holds me still
My body may die now, but these paintings are real.'

The sun lingered today, just long enough light the clouds up like spring as it waited near the horizon for me to notice but I was busy watching Lochlan paint. When I looked up into the sky it was so abrupt and beautiful I almost started to cry. I could only point to it and so he stopped, putting his brush down and he watched with me until it faded back behind the clouds and he pulled me into his arms and I watched the sun go to sleep over his shoulder, my arms locked around his neck.

You've been doing this since you were a little girl.

Liar.

Maybe I just remember things a little better that you would. 

Why, because you were older?

Yes, so I knew day changing to night freaked you out and I chalked it up to your overactive imagination. 

And now?

I don't know, Peanut. Night is when the monsters come and maybe you knew that before the rest of us.

Keep your silence or
Reach for life beyond the stars
Save your mercy
For someone who needs it more
I'm the guilty
All the feelings come crashing down on me
I'm taking you with me

I couldn't get all of the writing off my arms and so I was forced to wear a cardigan with my dress today, which brought comments from Caleb within minutes of me walking through the door this morning.

How long, exactly, is the Ringmaster's speech, Princess?

Seven minutes, sometimes as short as five, I reply.

And what did you generally do while he gave it?

I was still in makeup, usually.

He stands there staring at me for several uncomfortable minutes and then asks to see the words so I shrug out of my sweater and stand on display while he makes two circles around me, frowning, his head cocked dangerously to one side so he can read all of it, though it is faint now from the thorough scrubbing I did in the shower last night and again this morning. Lochlan's handwriting is gorgeous and illegible and hasn't changed at all since he was sixteen because he isn't a book-learner so things like penmanship and cursive writing are afterthoughts instead of efforts. He spends nothing on them and so he gets little in return.

Caleb swears under his breath and instructs me to put my sweater back on. He holds his hands out as if to take it and hold it up so I can be put into it. I ignore his hands and pull it on without help. He's in a hurry to cover up any trace of Lochlan's predictable defiance.

Aren't you a little old to be writing on each other? Says he who wrote oblivion on my fingers and Neamhchiontach across my back, one very recently and one decades ago.

No, I reply in a dull voice. This subject is off limits. I'm not doing this today.

Today my task is to file all of Caleb's souls by Justification for Purchase. It's cross-filing, since they are always filed alphabetically immediately upon acquisition. He likes to peruse the arguments, he likes to absorb the lingering desperation and he delights in the elation that emanates from those he enters into transactions with before they can realize the true gravity of what they've done.

These contracts are kept locked up tight. None can be broken, none have ever been dissolved, for he is the Devil and once you give him something, you can't ever take it back. I have the key only as long as it takes me to get the job done and then I will return it in exchange for unparalleled, unwarranted attentiveness.

I'll sit here in the semi-darkness and make neatly-printed labels for the multitude of color-coded files spread out on the floor around me in an ever-widening circle. Labels that say things like Financial Independence, Talents, Indemnification, Vanity, Comfort. There is also a label that reads Innocent, and it is the thinnest, for the one file that rests within it, the one with my name on it. Because the Devil not only purchases souls, but he can acquire them through other means, by mere proximity to someone young enough to not understand that their soul must be protected.

He can appropriate it when no one is looking and keep it forever, but the price he pays is that the soul's original bearer gains access to everything he has to offer. They will hold those respective positions in a virtual deadlock for time eternal, with holes forming on both sides at various intervals throughout their lives through which coveted promises fall. Currently he doesn't have the loyalty part of my soul and it's been a hell of a long time since I've had any comfort, and that's just where we stand right now.

But by far the thickest file is Requited Love. As I thumb through it I see all of my boys' names, alphabetically from Ben right through Jacob and everyone in between. Because in their rush to exchange what seems like a valueless anchor, a myth for something they desperately want, they fail to obtain the most important thing: the definition of what they are asking for, for all love is not created equal.

Some love is brotherly, some fatherly, some distant and some benign. Because vanity means different things to different people, and comfort comes in so many forms if you have something in mind, you might just be disappointed. Each of these things the Devil can twist and shape into something that barely resembles what you wanted most. This is his greatest deception.

And so by the time you realize what you have done, it's usually too late.

No, wait.

Let me correct myself.

It is always too late.