Fading best.

Let it go
I believe you're the fire that can burn me clean
I believe you're the fire that can burn me clean
I believe you're the fire that can burn me clean

Oh goodness, nothing better than waking up to a new Switchfoot EP. I think I died over Ba55. It's a very neat little song. I always like their outlier tunes best anyhow. It's catchy. So catchy I'm a little worried it will become the next big brainwave in Bridget's head, stuck fast for months.

Worse things could happen. One whole summer I had Jacob's cover of High Holy Day's Proud in my head and it almost killed me.

And Ben is uh..absent to all of it anyway. Did I mention he laughed when I told him Lochlan was going to set down a whole new list of rules for him? He said dryly that Lochlan drinks too much and that I wasn't supposed to take any of what he says seriously until he gets some help too.

(Because suddenly everyone has a problem, you see.)

Lochlan is stone cold sober two days since and not budging an inch. I almost had to rip his face right off when he tried to intercept a hug Daniel was planning for me. I thought he was going to try and pick a fight with Daniel and that is absolutely off limits.

It's the equivalent of if he tried to pick a physical fight with Henry, who is almost big enough to hold his own but I would be horrified nonetheless. That would never happen but it would be terrifying if it did.

So yeah, I was ragey about him, because don't. So he went away mad and that's fine. He'll come back.

Unlike You-know-who.

Ben breezes in and out of life like it's a brief stop on his itinerary in the day. He shows up, eats and disappears. I think he still knows our names but otherwise I've become a restaurant with a daily special and a fully-stocked kitchen with a reliable quality level. I've become a menu, come and choose depending on what you feel like today, have the special or maybe don't come at all. Leave a tip, along the lines of The soup was great but the waitress is always crying, maybe you should look into that or Stop waiting so hard, Bridget, you're going to hurt yourself. That ought to be worth fifteen or twenty percent, at least. Sometimes I'm tempted to put a CLOSED sign up on the door and see if he even notices.

And Daniel's holding this failing establishment together with his hugs. His hugs are bailout money, collateral to stay afloat just a little bit longer and see if business picks up.

Not a plan so much as a wish.

And your heart beats so slow
Through the rain and fallen snow
Across the fields of mourning
Lights in the distance

Don't shoot me, for I'm just the messenger here. I said it once if I said it a dozen times as Lochlan's unbalanced, impulsive plan is met with derision, disbelief.

Duncan's pretty sure he falls outside of the parameters. He's not a devil, he's certainly no angel and he's not a project currently underway. He laughs about the bullshit part, though, as if Lochlan conveniently managed to herd everyone who didn't fall into a specific label as a remainder and therefore still liable.

He says no in his cool throwaway voice and laughs out loud. He points at me and asks if I think Lochlan has any leverage here at all. I shake my head. He asks if I plan to only accept hugs and comfort from Lochlan and I open my mouth and Duncan answers for me in a thick Scottish bleat of indignation. Of course! I'm Greedy MacHoggish and I can provide everything she needs! 

I laughed and then I wanted to cry again but the time for that has passed.

You're going to have to show him your balls, Bridget. 

Well then I'm really in trouble because I don't have any. I'm a girl.

You've got the biggest balls of all of us. 

That's saying a lot of mean things all at once. 

You going to let him mow you down? 

He's trying to protect me. 

Naw, he's only trying to protect himself. 

From what?

Bridget, your fears and his aren't all that different. 

So you're on his side? You think what he's trying to do is okay?

I didn't say that, I'm just reminding you that the fear of losing someone is huge. Huge. 

Postscript.

I went outside long after dinner to collect all of the dishes from the patio. It's now pouring down rain but if I leave it for tomorrow it's always a bigger mess.

Plus...OCD, it's a doozy.

I get down to the lower level at the bottom of the steps and there's Lochlan lying on a sun chair in the deluge, drinking whiskey and water because hey, you can't stop rain after all and he looks up at me, grabs my hands and says,

I swear to God I'll never break your heart again and please know I mean to keep this promise if it's the only thing I ever do. But I'm going to lock you down now, just like my name. No more devils. No more angels. No more project guys. No more bullshit, Bridget.

Then he climbs out of the chair, kisses my forehead, takes the dishes from my hands and leaves me there in the rain, paralyzed and in tears.

Not yours to love.

(Yes, in fact I think I will make a concerted effort to talk more about what I find on the beach and what I make for dinner because this is tiring. On the other hand, once it's out of my head and on the page I feel like I can let it go and move on the next horrific indignation or whatever the fuck it is that I do all day here.)

Jesus fucking Christ, Bridget. What have you done? 

I told you what I'm doing and it's working. 

You think I can turn a blind eye to this forever? This is killing me.

Then you should pay closer attention to what I tell you and stop dismissing my ideas only because you can't get it through your thick fucking skull that I'm not a child anymore, Lochlan! 

I wish you were sometimes, then I could punish you and you wouldn't be able to go off with such stupid ideas. 

If it's so stupid then why is it working?

Because it's you, and he'll do anything for you at this point.

EXACTLY! SO LET HIM! 

I think your true goal is now to destroy all of us to punish yourself for not being good enough for Jake. That's what I think. When everyone is gone you'll be satisfied that you couldn't be any worse off or hurt any more because you think you weren't good enough for him. You're looking for rock bottom but you don't have to do that anymore!

Every time I exhale something else goes wrong. I may as well attempt to control it for my own benefit. Dilute my life and my love and then I'm safe. 

From who?

From all of you breaking my heart. Over and over again. 
 

Adaptive evolution/night vision.

Name it.

I throw out a figure, padded and tripled. He doesn't even blink so I shrug and say I'm trying to save my family too.

Done. But the caveat is you go home with the sun.

I nod. He's grown intemperate over the past little while, always wanting me to stay through until sunrise as if he is afraid of the dark.

Who isn't?

I'll double it if it makes you feel better.

Yes, please.

He twists my hair up in his hand and puts his other hand under my chin, cupping it, lifting my head up so I have to look at him. What would make it better? Name it.

I don't know, Diabhal. Just be nice.

Sometimes it can't be helped, Babydoll.

Try for me? Please?

He doesn't answer because he needs a kiss and then I am pushed to the ground. When he is happy enough I am hauled back up by my arm. He wipes off my mouth with his hand and backs me over to the bed, grabbing a velvet box from the nightstand. I am turned and pushed down face-first. I wait as he leans down and fastens something around my neck and then I am turned over again. I pull my hands up to touch it. It's a necklace with a charm. I can't tell what it is but he won't let me up to look in the mirror.

When I wake up in the morning, crawling out of his hold, the first thing I do is cringe at my reflection in the mirror. I look ruined and wild. Destroyed but not a write off. We can rebuild her, I think. I lean in and look at the pendant. It's a gingerbread man made of white gold. A visual reminder for him to listen to the safe words. A marker for the future. I leave it on the bureau in the tray beside his Breitling as I dress quickly.

He protests from his dreams. Stay.

Going.

I love you. I'll transfer the money when I get up.

Keep your money, I tell him, but he doesn't listen. By lunch time the money is there. I get an email from the bank to tell me. I go and log in and it's five times what he promised (and thirty times more than I needed) which was already far more than I have decided I am worth.

Heart murmurs.

Matt and I are the only ones brave enough to keep the owls company tonight.

What made you choose to be a part of this group?

Sam.

So then what are you running from, Matt?

Everyone's got their secrets, don't they? I suppose I want to get things right. I had a very long relationship once, Bridget. And I waited too long to make it into what it should have been. Marriage was a pipe dream in those days. Now it's an inevitability. My partner wanted it so badly and I ignored that while I finished school and started my career. I don't want to lose Sam the same way.

He's not the same man though.

No, but I am. Well, I sort of am.

But this time Sam is you and you are Sam. Does that feel strange?

I think I see what it is about you. There are no illusions.  You force us to confront the deepest levels of who we are.

I don't do anything, Matt. 

Indirectly yes. You bring out the men we are, instead of the one we think we are supposed to be, or are striving to be. 

I'm sure that's supposed to be a compliment, but-

It is! It's authentic. No one wants a fake, a sham of a life. We should all work harder to live transparently. That's one of the things that drew me here. No facades, no games. 

Oh, there are games. 

I think those are not what you say they are, not games so much as unresolved issues. Caleb, I know of. Sam struggles to understand your relationship with him. 

Sam had a front-row seat to Caleb and Jake's animosity for one another. 

Why? Did they know each other before? 

No. After Cole died I married Jacob and then Caleb came back and tried to pick up where we left off. Jacob wanted no part of that. Jake wasn't keen on a lot of the guys and our levels of contact. 

But?

But he mostly tolerated them. 

Because he loved you?

Because he tried to find the good in people. Even when there was none to be had.  That's probably what destroyed him, when he realized there wasn't any good in me. 

Is that what you think?

Matt, I try not to think too hard about the reasons. It serves no purpose now. 

Sam told me there are letters you haven't read. 

If I finish the story Jake becomes a memory. This way he stays fresh. If you don't finish the book you can leave it on your bedside table forever and it's a work in progress. That's the only thing that enables me to smile in any given day, knowing I don't have to end that story. 

Is it healthy though?

I'm not sure I care at this point. I followed everyone's orders and now I only listen to myself. It seems just as effective. 

You're smart, Bridget. 

No, Matt. I'm tired and I'm scared and it's just better to stick close to my boys and be disfunctional. At least it's familiar. It's safe. 

Can't beat that. 

Amen.

Security objects and grown men.

I think what is so aggravating about Lochlan is that he's the embodiment of everything I don't like about myself. He's a frighteningly hard worker, if only he enjoys what he does. If he doesn't like what he's working on then he's a miserable prick about it.

He likes flighty, fanciful things but works hard to be taken seriously.

He tries on moods, opinions and personalities like other people try on clothes. He went for capable, welcoming, together and wound up wounded, fucked up and blown wide apart.

And they say Sam is my male equivalent.

I don't know. I think I see Lochlan losing his mind trying to work a corporate gig and be BENevolent (as we're calling it now) and trying to maintain his generous spirit but these torches separately and together are too big to juggle and he's dropping shit all over the place.

That's hard to watch. Lochlan never ever makes mistakes so when he does it's especially painful. He suffers so quietly I never know what to do to make it better. Mostly I know to be there in his landing place so that I am the first thing he grabs to hold on to.

Most people have a teddy bear. He has a Bridget.

I put the money back in his account too. No way is he taking over paying for this. This was a gift to him when we let him in, so to speak and he's not required to contribute financially. He wasn't impressed that I did that but he was definitely relieved. He asked where I got the money and I said Don't. As in Don't ask because you won't like the answer but it's okay because I'm here and I love you and Ben does too and maybe just take a deep breath. Okay maybe another because you're crushing me and I can't breathe.

He finally fell asleep in the sun this afternoon, still in his button-down shirt and wool pants. Four meetings today and I think he drowned himself in buzzwords and needs to sleep off the inebriation. I know he hates it. I'll wait him out and then maybe we can blow bubbles after dark, unwinding with something magical and dumb.

Like us.

What would Bridget do?

I just noticed Sam is aging. I was looking at the lines around his eyes as he sat in the chair gently tearing strips off me, constructing a straw man so we could argue pointlessly into the night.

I never said Ben couldn't have faith.

You said it was Jacob's thing. Or maybe it's my thing. But why can't it be Ben's thing too?

Because Ben is..

Scary? Shallow? You don't like being labelled, categorized or marginalized, Bridget. What makes you think Ben would feel any different about what you're trying to do to him with this subject?

It's too late for Sam's difficult questions and I am busy looking at his caramel brown hair for grey.

What are you doing?

Admiring your face. 

That's a mutual activity. Not too late for us to run away together. 

Sam, I can't make you happy. I don't like it up the bum.

Me neither. 

Ah. Pitcher?

Depends on the day, Princess.

You play all positions!

What sport is this?

Uh. Baseball. I think.

Can we change the subject, Bridget?

Yes. Where did you want to run away to, exactly?

You pick a place.

Hmmm..okay. My parents house, circa 1976. The kitchen appliances are avocado-green. I'm wearing a brown turtleneck and jeans with Scandinavian embroidered trim. I'm helping my sister bake cookies. It's already dark out. We're excited about Halloween the next week. There is snow on the ground already. I'm going to be Bugs Bunny. I had one of those epic flammable plastic masks and bag printed with a bunnyesque visage...

Sam's in stitches now and I'm not sure he's even listening. He's dissolved into hysterics.

It actually isn't funny. I could have burned. Not like everyone didn't smoke back then, on airplanes and at the bank and in movie theatres. 

Did you plan on wearing your bunny suit everywhere? 

Of COURSE. I was five. 

Bridget, I think the highlight of each of my days is when you present to me the contents of your mind. But we should get back to my lecture. 

You know, just because they sent Ben home with a temporary Jesus Freak stamp doesn't mean I have to change. I accept Ben the way he is, just like I do with everyone, even you. 

Even though I'm a pitcher?

Now is the part where I break your heart and tell you all men are technically pitchers. 

All of them?

Yeah, except Daniel. He'll always be a catcher. 

I'm sure it should bother me that you even know these things but it seems perfectly normal. 

I know everything, Sam. Quiz me. 

How long until Ben returns to the Ben you know best?

Except that. Don't ask me that. It isn't fair.

Smashberries.

We might not starve. Schuyler's bringing Lochlan on as a partner. Schuyler executive-produces...things. Which means that he works for Caleb, mostly keeping an eye on his money. So I can't wait to see how this translates into Lochlan working for Caleb but I've been told to just wait and see.

Ben will be going back to work as a creative consultant for Batman but he won't be starting that role until after Christmas. For a lot of money. 

(Because Batman fixes things with money. Neat. I use super glue. Sometimes Hello Kitty duct tape.)

All of this was told fourth-hand to me by Daniel via Sam, who has thrown himself into playing peacemaker because it excuses him from planning his own wedding. I sort of knew about Schuyler's plans. Lochlan's weirdly good at people-things because he's a showman, an actor and Schuyler's been trying to convince him to come on board for years. Problem is Lochlan actually hates people now.

And Ben, I still don't fully comprehend what's happening with him. Was he even ready to come home? Was I ready for him to come home? Is Batman really going to take another crack at him so soon? Wait, you think it's my fault Ben can't stay on the wagon?

I'll have you know he had problems long before he met me.

Otherwise we're doing really well today. We grocery shopped together this morning, which was fun, the most fun part being where he carries all the bags at once into the kitchen and I don't have to carry any. Usually I make fifteen or nineteen trips and bitch very loudly to anyone within earshot for not helping faster.

Then we went out for a coffee for lunch before his next meeting. I swear he's been to eleventy-four billion meetings since he came home. But he actually reached across the filthy little table in the cafe and held my hand. He squeezed it. He said to ignore the weirdness, that he will level out. I finally found some bravery laced in my caffeine and asked him about the bible-thumping.

What do you want to know?

Are you recruiting? Do I have to-

No, it's just something that works for me right now. 

Is it going to work forever or fade after a fashion?

I'm not sure, Bridget. Why? Does it bother you?

Yes. 

Tell me why. 

It feels like you're taking a page from Jacob. It feels like that's his page and it's not for you to take. It also feels like you're going to become someone different and I liked who you were before. 

A mean introvert riddled with addiction issues. 

My Ben. My big tough crazy Benjamin. 

The only person it's not safe for you to be around. Well, aside from the Devil, I mean.

Most of the time it's okay. I lost this fight before I even picked it, I think.

No. It's never okay. I made a promise to you to not saddle you with my flaws. I promised to give you a stable happy life and I haven't delivered. 

So what happens now?

I work my ass off and deliver on my promises to you by getting and staying better. It's a day to day thing right now but I feel good. 

Because Jesus took the wheel?

No, because Jesus took the fucking bottle away. 

He snorted and laughed with his mouth open so I got a lovely view of pulverized blueberry muffin. So maybe a few changes would be good. I was hoping for better manners, anyway.

Yesterday, today and tomorrow.

Listen to the silence, let it ring on
Eyes, dark grey lenses frightened of the sun
We would have a fine time living in the night
Left to blind destruction
Waiting for our sight

That hug went on so long people started to wander off, maybe planning to catch up with Ben later, and then my stomach started to growl and he laughed and said at least my guts are talking to him and don't hate him.

Lochlan wiped his eyes and said something about allergies and reached one hand out to shake Ben's hand. Instead Ben leaned across the top of my head and kissed him square on the mouth. Then he got down on his knees in front of me and wrapped his arms around my waist. He pressed his head down against my shirt and apologized. Quite formally. Mostly for being away so long but also for trying to balance on the wagon so recklessly that he fell off, for giving me away, for not calling more often, and for leaving us high and dry with the household bills. And for the future grilled cheese he's about to request, because he's starving and no one makes grilled cheese like Bridget makes grilled cheese.

Then he stopped and waited for me to respond to his outpouring.

So I did. I can't believe you kissed Loch first, I told him and crossed my arms.

He was closer. 

I was in the middle!

He was still closer. Sorry, you're short. Jesus, sometimes I totally forget how short. 

Enough! Let me see you. 

He stood up and just waited, hands hanging loosely at his sides, shoulders squared. All six feet four inches of him. He looks pretty good. I smile and he returns it easily and that pushes me right over the edge and I begin to drop pieces of my composure all over the patio. He tries to pick up a few and then gives up quickly and opts for something different.

There's my kiss.

Finally.

I waited all summer and it was worth it.

***

Ben's routine is freakishly busy but incredibly peaceful at the same time. Up early. Meditate. Walk miles and miles. Eat a proper breakfast. Go to a meeting. Go to therapy. Eat a proper lunch, followed by tea and reflection. Then another walk. Another meeting. Writing, probably introspective journaling if you ask me (but no one has) and finally when I asked him if he wanted to come with me to the store, he hesitated. It's not part of his routine. Also, I interrupted his prayers.

His. Prayers.

Prayers.

Ben. 

There's no room for me. Jesus takes up all of my space.

***

Caleb is neither charitable nor gentle this afternoon when I get so disillusioned I send myself to the Devil's lair for a dose of hardbacked reality.

He's never been much for my romantic notions of the way things should be, nor does he ever have patience for my hand-wringing over the others. I figured if anyone could set me straight and tell me to smarten up it should be Satan.

Maybe the whole world has gone insane. He's not much help at all. He is standing at the counter organizing his new tea chest.

Because...I don't know. Teas need their own drawers, I guess.

What did Lochlan say afterwards?

Nothing. He says over and over that he's glad Ben is home now with us. 

That doesn't make any sense. 

I know this. What's happening to everyone?

We're getting old, Bridget. Maybe it's as simple as that. Maybe we all need each other. Maybe some of the drama is unnecessary and we need to stop fighting it and settle in. 

To what, exactly? Nothing is worked out. 

Sure it is. We carry on, life goes on from this day forward. 

What do you do?

I dabble in a few projects and help you raise my son. 

Is it enough?

Where you are concerned, Bridget, never. 

Okay, so at least you're still normal.