The end of the high point. Going to bed now.

Yes!

The Leafs won 7-4 against the Avalanche without hardly trying. Joel bet wrong and had to pay me everything in his wallet plus an IOU. I'm going to go into business as a bookie and go 1:2 odds on every game. Because DAMN.

Maybe they can turn this fledgling season around. Maybe I'll stop resenting Joel so much.

Wait.

Naw.

Solstice.

(Good enough for my walk on the beach this morning.)

Ben is stacking driftwood. We make sculptures out of it. Lean-tos. Houses. Huts. Swear words. Boxes. He's quoting Baudelair's Windows as he works. It's sort of depressing but poignant. The sea is swirling in this storming, cloud-filled morning. She's dark and angry, disjointed and unsatisfied. I kick her in the teeth as I'm unsatisfied as well. Two pieces of glass and an empty crab shell is all she had to offer me even as I gave her my heart, destroyed as it might be. It's been repaired but it's of higher quality than most. She shouldn't complain so.

And I can't breathe, even as he gets to my favorite part: "In that black or luminous square life lives, life dreams, life suffers."

I sneeze and he interrupts himself to bless me, waiting for me to thank him before he resumes. We sometimes rely on pleasantries and courtesy to bridge the gaps between being able to connect sufficiently, fully-emotionally. We sometimes don't talk when we're alone together, trying to figure out after all these years how to exist on a common plane without constantly taking things from each other. Time, comfort, solace. Flesh.

When he is done ("But what does it matter what reality is outside myself, so long as it has helped me to live, to feel that I am, and what I am?") he says, that's it then and takes out one of Lochlan's zippo lighters and sets it on fire. I look up to see that he has made a Christmas tree. It's ten feet high and three-dimensional, topped with a nearly-dead starfish we found on the steps. It's beautiful and it's smoking now with the effort of trying to keep a flame pressed to cold, salt-soaked wood. It's meaningful and worth it though we will probably get another ticket for illegal burning on the beach even though this is inaccessible private property and none of anyone's business because nothing is in danger. It's relevant and righteous and bitter and loud, is what it is. Because that's Ben and eventually Ben catches up to all the rumors and the talk and the snippets of life and love and drama and he says enough, she's mine anyway and he shows his teeth and the wolves all retreat back into the shadows of the woods at the edge of the sea.

Missed the lighting of the fourth candle but also finally excused from any more singing.

(Too sick today, sorry.)

Ben traced the steering wheel bruise on my back this morning while I lay face down in bed lamenting another visit with the old Russian doctor later in the morning. When I see the doctor he takes my blood. I'm sure he plans to drink it to retain his youth or something because in reality he's probably well over a hundred years old and just appears to be in his seventies because that way he blends in.

He says we'll have the results in a day or two. Just making sure none of my levels are elevated, making sure there's enough iron. Making sure there's nothing worse going on as I fight off the worst colds and flu-bugs of my life, seemingly one after another. My kidneys do a poor job and when they aren't causing problems the headaches come and fill in the gaps.

Exhaustion, scolds PJ.

Stress, Lochlan says softly.

Violence, Ben offers unhelpfully as he covers my back up again, pulling the blankets up tightly around us. He's wrong. There was nothing violent about my encounter with Lochlan in his truck. I climbed into his lap just as he was getting ready to leave and he can't resist me. I might have strained against his hands at one point, as people do when something feels very very good. Ben is always a little put out if he isn't there to see it for his own eyes and incredibly quick to protect me if I come away injured.

Caleb thanks the doctor for his attention and tells me I get so run down, why don't I rest more, and sleep more or at least take better care. There isn't time, I tell him. We can sleep when we are dead. 

He frowns and lets go. There's no use trying to talk to me when I get like this.

Ben pulls me into his arms and keeps me there. I like it, it feels safe. He is present lately. Attentive and kind and here. A little break for Christmas. He only allowed a half hour to go and see the doctor and then I was to come right back and I did as fast as I could, switching to a soft t-shirt and long-john bottoms and crawling back into the bed. Loch has promised to come up as soon as he's done bringing more wood in with Gage. PJ said we could come collect dinner later and take it up. Ben puts on a movie and says something but I was asleep again before I could process what I heard.

Thanks for easing up on whatever you were giving him. Also, no spoilers because we haven't seen it yet either.

I might have had sex with Lochlan in the front seat of his truck in the pouring rain this morning with both doors open and the stereo blasting Disturbed's cover of The Sound of Silence.

That's why we were late for caroling. But it's okay. Lochlan walked in, took the guitar offered by Ben and asked if there was anyone from Scotland in the house (there wasn't), and he said he would sing a little ditty from a man named Robbie Burns then. He sang Auld Lang Syne for them and everyone started calling Happy New Year at the end

It was a little fucking weird but Merry Christmas! Are we done yet?

Came home and I had to earn my ticket for Star Wars from Christian. Who bought twenty-seven AVX tickets and possibly had to run his credit card under running water to put it out afterward, for it was smoking. He also had to call it in since no one lets you order that many online so it must be a birthday party, please call your local theater and here we go again. Back to twelve, when the only way into their crazy two-level two-stories-up winter treehouse in the woods by the lake was to answer science-fiction trivia. Something I'm terrible at.

Okay, Bridget. What's the name of the group the baddies belong to?

The Empire! No, wait! The Rebellion! I don't know which is good or bad!

Who is the baddest bad guy?

The old man with the hood. The Empire-or! Or the man with the plastic helmet. What about the green helmet? Bonne Fete? Why did they name him Happy Birthday? Is that what he says before he kills people?

What are the glowy-eyed dudes called?

JAWAS! I know that one because I was going to be one for Halloween but I couldn't find lights that worked away from the plug.

What's the basic plot of the second movie?

Which one is the first then? Okay, a bunch of people try to bring down the Empire and they fight back. Some of the jedis are good and some are bad and they save the princess and then space is safe again! Also droids and teddy bears and big slothy creeps are everywhere. Annnnnnnd...everyone is afraid of the Deaf Star.

Fail. She can't come up to the treehouse. 

But we need her! Someone has to play Leia! 

She's blonde. Leia has brown hair. We'd be better off using Lochlan. 

But Lochlan wants to be Han Solo so I get to play Leia, and I'm warned that if I want to go see any more movies with them that I'd better read the books or at least get the movies on VHS and watch them all again. I never did but I get a ticket anyway for cuteness or something. Fine by me, not like I won't sleep through it anyway.

I won my ticket by distracting him with talk of being excited for BB8. B-bait. Whatever it is. The new orange volleyball-stack droid. I should start hosting trivia contests to let them in the house when they come home. It would only be fair, except I'll quiz them on Louboutin styles and Kat Von D lipstick colors. It would make as much sense, frankly.

So I'm not all that excited for Star Wars but so far it's a good day here.

A tiny bit phlegmy, a little bit grinchy too.

I think it was halfway through Happy Christmas (War is Over) because it's easier to trade lines on and sing with colds than Walking in the Air, when I looked at Lochlan and realized what they're doing.

They're drugging him too.

There's no light in his eyes. He's level and calm and vaguely detached and very reasonable.

I've never known him to be this way and I've known him since he was thirteen years old.

***

With a week to go I finished the wrapping and I think I'm ready. I'll do a little baking next week if I feel up to it. This cold has taken over and I feel like I'm drowning in between being stabbed in the throat and eyes. PJ feels my forehead this morning and tried to excuse me from caroling but I said I would go. God knows what Sam would make me do if I bailed on this too. I'm not sure what he was thinking having me go hang out in a hospice environment for the morning. Maybe he thought I would appreciate the fact that these people mostly know they are so close to death they could just reach out and touch it but here, have some fake Christmas-Stranger-Cheer anyway, because you know, it'll make Sam feel better.

Or something like that.

***

Santa was on the beach this morning in the pouring rain. Wringing out his hat, dumping jellyfish and seawater out of his big black boots, using the rocks for balance. Clearly he waited for low tide to swim over.

It says here on my list (he holds up a soggy piece of paper with ink running in rivulets down the page) that you've been naughty this year. You've got a week to get your name moved to the other list. Time is running out, Bridget. 

I think I'll take my knocks this year. Thank you all the same. 

What would you have asked had things turned out differently?

The same thing as always. Bring my ghosts back to life and I'll never want for anything else. 

It's still a dangerous request and I somehow doubt you're any closer to having it fulfilled? 

Hard to get an audience with God if I can't even stay on your Nice list, now, isn't it?

There's always next year, dear Bridget. But in the meantime, I need something to record here in case your circumstances change. 

How about you look after my boys? Keep them safe, keep them happy. That would be a wonderful gift. 

He writes a whole six letters and then smiles at me.

That was fast. You using Santa-Shorthand these days?

No, I simply wrote 'Ditto" because that's what each and every one of them asked for, for you. 

Diametric opposition.

I was forced into banking appointments this morning (Neamhchiontach. They need your signature, not mine.) and in between offices Caleb looks at me and asks me if I actually believe everything Batman tells me. I laugh nervously, because I do. He's fairly honest with me, after all.

No, of course not. 

Because it would be really out of left field if I asked you to marry me now. You're already married twice over. He laughs nervously too. Unless I was going to third-wheel myself which would be ludicrous. 

Yes, it would. 

He glances and me and his jig is up. It sure would. 

I'm not laughing now. I really hope that's not what you're doing and I hope that if you have anything you need to share with me that you wouldn't trick me in order to tell me. 

I'm an open book. 

I pick up my Dior bag and put it on my lap. This is enough of a Christmas present anyway. 

I don't see many of these around. It suits you. 

Everyone carries Louis Vuitton. 

Would you like one of those?

No, I wouldn't. I don't like them. 

Our next banker comes in and we're off to the races again. This is year end contributions ahead of tax season. Contribute now, write it off later. Well, not write it off, just defer the taxes until later when I'm in a lower tax bracket or something. Caleb had better live forever or I'm not going to be able to do my own finances pretty soon. It's suddenly more complicated than ever.

The next office is also empty and so we sit down again, still weirdly nervous with each other. I dig through the bag. The lining is slightly too big and I lose my lip gloss in the folds. First world problems, yes, I know.

How is Lochlan dealing with things?

What things?

Your visits to me, for starters. 

For starters- (I glare at him) there was one visit and he's...well, he's fine. 

Oh. That's unusual. 

He's coping. He's a bit defeated, as it were. He doesn't know what to do with it so he's been very patient. 

Caleb nods and the door opens and I sign more things, surprising even Caleb when I ask for my forms for tax purposes on the spot instead of waiting until February to receive them in the mail.

Are we done? We step outside. A group of women on their way to lunch give Caleb the once-over. Then they look at me with green-tinged open disregard and finally they settle on the handbag. They all carry fake Vuittons. Or maybe they're real. I don't care. He smiles at them and they giggle and rush off. I frown at their retreating gaggle and ask again if we're finished.

For now, though I was really hoping I could parlay our location into a lunch date if you don't have immediate commitments. 

I do actually. I have a lunch date already planned. 

He waits for more information but I don't give it to him except to ask if we can head home so that I'm not late. We don't say much on the drive, and once we're home I take my paperwork and my bag and kiss his cheek before running inside, and upstairs to change into warmer clothes. Jeans and a flannel shirt and a sweater and my docs and I run out back and down the steps to the beach and Lochlan is just smoothing out the big woven picnic blanket on the sand, anchoring it on all four corners with smooth round rocks. He turns just as I approach him and smiles really huge when he sees me.

I wasn't sure if you'd make it back in time. 

Wouldn't miss it for the world. 

Pluto close up.

(I wish I could save her from all their delusions)

Batman weighed in early this morning, offering me breakfast on the moon. He handed me toast spread with the milky way and filled my teacup full of stars and then he tore off all of my skin and asked me how all this space felt.

I didn't know what he meant. I just know the golden rule has always been not to make him angry, because I've seen his anger directed at others and it's more frightening than space is dark.

Playing coy is not the best course of action right this moment, Bridget. What have you done? 

This is none of your business. 

Funny, when you need protection from him it's my business. When you need some tricky financial transaction it's my business. When you want Cole to go away again it's my business. You're my charge. I was tasked with keeping you safe from that animal but you aren't letting me do my job. 

Whatever agreements you made with Cole died with him. I didn't ask for help. 

Right. YOU didn't. 

I swallow my stars in one gulp. Loch did?

Not in so many words but it's written all over his face. He's trying to give you everything you want and he hopes he's making the right decision in backing off and all it's doing is making you reckless and untrustworthy.

You think I should talk trust with Loch. 

Batman's eyes twitch.

He's the one who told me he'd never leave and then he left! Everyone leaves. Want to know the only person who's still here? Consistently? Caleb! He's never fallen in love with someone else, never not been there when I've called. Never walked away from me. Never thrown me away. 

Then why don't you just go marry him! 

Maybe I will! 

That's what we're afraid of! 

WHAT? 

That's his latest proposal. Full legal marriage. He'll give you everything in exchange for your heart. And it comes with some admissions of guilt that he wants to wait to tell you once it's a done deal. Bridget, he's going to ruin everything and he's using all of your weaknesses to do this and I'd like to beat him to it. 

What did he do? What's he going to admit after we're together?  

See, I was right. You'd be just curious enough to entertain the idea just to get the answers you want. I'm close to finding out but I still need time and he knows I'm digging. 

Of course he does. He knows everything. What is this really about? 

Protecting you and Lochlan. 

Or maybe just having the advantage over a rival. I'm just a convenient toy for you and Caleb to fight over. 

Bridget, it isn't like that. 

How about you stop feeding Lochlan's insecurities since they don't exist anyway and worry about your own life! 

How about you open your goddamned eyes!

THEY ARE. 

I DON'T THINK SO. 

Woah. You're loud. 

It's because I'm scared too! It's too easy for Caleb to get inside your head. 

Always was. Damage at such a young age does that. 

I thought Claus and Joel and Sam were helping fix that. 

I'm not fixable. I'm barely tolerable. I'm defective in the extreme. Possibly radioactive. Everyone can be near me for a short time only and then they die. You should run. 

Stop it. 

Stop what? Telling the truth? Maybe I deserve whatever fate he has in store for me. Karma. Just desserts. I don't know. Maybe I should let him do away with me. 

It would be a slow death that would continue for decades. 

So business as usual. 

Bridget-

You know what? Enjoy the rest of your universe. I'm full. 

Flicker and flow.

Those Christmas lights light up the street
Down where the sea and city meet
May all your troubles soon be gone
Oh Christmas lights, keep shining on

Lochlan is practicing walking and singing while playing the guitar. This is new for him, something that comes easily now for most of the others. Sam has recruited all of us for caroling for the next two weeks. Because we keep failing to show up for services and it's advent and that's suddenly an unforgivable offense to Sam.

(But he's a little cranky and quick to anger these days and we don't blame him a bit.)

At least we get to pick the songs.

We're going to do Walking in the Air, Christmas Lights, Old Borego and Oh Holy Night because those are my favorites if you veto Red Water (Christmas Mourning) like Sam did, because he said it wasn't exactly Christmasy.

What are you talking about? I asked him, it's totally Christmasy. 

The others are fine. Practice those. 

Yessir. Right away sir. 

He cracked a little grin (FINALLY, YEESH) and shooed me off. So here we are. Walking and trying to sing. Trying to play. I have bells in my pockets and a triangle in my hands. We both have colds just in their infancy which means we'll be unable to breathe, let alone sing by the middle of the week but Sam insists so we will persevere.

You know, if Lochlan and I don't kill each other first. Because he generously told me to go and do what I need to do and not worry about what anyone says. Even him. This is the same thing he always says and then the regret is a thousand tons of concrete pouring into my heart after whatever fleeting pointless connection I make with someone else takes place.

(Explaining it doesn't excuse it so I'll spare you any effort I make. I can be sorry and still want it so badly and no, I don't know what's wrong me either.)

He strums and forgets the words and looks at me suddenly. He is so pale I am startled and when I gasp he just says at least it was a little longer in between times this time. But he says it so slowly and painfully I forget the words too and we just stand there with the guitar and triangle in between us like musical chaperones and he finally breaks the silence and says,

We really need to practice these songs, Peanut. 

I don't feel like singing. 

Me neither, honestly but like the Von Trapps said sometimes you can distract yourself from the things that scare you by singing. 

What are you scared of?

Losing the only thing I ever wanted. 

Don't (the things you have to do to survive).

He pulled me down onto my back and bent his head down for the most gentle kiss, letting his lips linger against my cheek, closing his eyes again.

I'm glad you came to me. 

I can't stay. 

Don't say it now. 

He pushed up my shirt and then threaded my arms out of the sleeves and pulled it over my head. Then he pulled off my jeans and resumed his place beside me. I began to twist over onto my back, putting my hands together behind myself but he shook his head. No, not tonight. Let's just..not do that tonight.

Instead he so very gently brought me with him down to hell where we languished for what seemed like hours before that rocketing trip to heaven. He came with me, perfectly synchronized and then slowed to an exquisite crawl as we made the descent back to common ground. He continued to move within me, his arms locked tight around me as he smiled down at me and kissed me so gently I wondered for a moment if I was dreaming and this wasn't the Devil with me at my most vulnerable, where he likes me best.

Stay and sleep and we'll go out for brunch at a better hour than this. 

I need to go. 

About Christmas-

Like I said, we're all spending it together. 

No, your gift-

I saw the email about an order pick up at the jewelry store. You should reconsider this. I send everything back. 

This is a multi-part present. You'll see. Don't dismiss it until you see what I've done. 

I shrug. It's your money to waste. I check my Breitling. My initials are engraved on it. I couldn't send it back. I don't know if I would have sent it back. It's beautiful and it's a watch so there's no romantic connotations attached. Also, it's ten after five and I need to go.

I get up and go to the bathroom, taking my clothes with me. A quick shower and then I put everything on and come out. When I walk out he's sitting up on the edge of the bed, naked and glorious. Checking his phone. Already planning his day, I imagine as most workaholics do. He needs his own twelve-step program. Maybe we should send him to camp.

He stands up (God help me, but he's a different person in the dark. All tattoos and sinewy strength you wouldn't expect) and smiles at me. I'm glad you didn't wait any longer. He holds my head in his hand and stares down at me while I gaze up at him, letting his hand hold the weight. Swinging back against his arm. He smiles wider. What? 

You didn't tie me down. You didn't bite.

You're disappointed? 

No. Just surprised. 

Don't be. You extended a kindness to me, Neamhchiontach. I'm showing you how kind I can be in return. Oh my God. That moment came when he looks so hopeful and his eyes look just like Cole's when he would be seeking forgiveness from me. A debilitating turn of heart.

It's so...temporary. 

It won't be any more. I promise you. 

One last kiss in the dark and I'm gone. Back to the kitchen. Back into my rainboots, sweater forgotten on the floor of his room. Back across the bricks in the driving rain, hurling myself through the side door into the kitchen. Lock the door, hit the alarm, run through the house and back upstairs, taking things off as I go, back through the door at the top of the stairs and down the hall and through another door and then I pull off my shirt and climb back up the center of the bed softly and slip underneath the covers just as they both sit up and grab me. Loch's hand slides into my wet hair and Ben's arms tighten around my shoulders and Loch says Don't go to him just as Ben says Don't leave like that anymore and I close my eyes because they're also unexpectedly gentle and quiet about it, even though we're all talking at once.

Don't, Bridget. Don't do it. Don't let him in again. I've worked so hard to push him out. 

I didn't ask you to do that. 

Don't risk yourself. Don't go without me. 

There are things I don't want you to see. Things that haunt you. Things that manifest into demons later, inside your head. Just like what happens to me when-

Don't love him. 

It's not the same. 

Close enough. 

If he tells you it's different don't believe-

Don't go.

We go back to sleep, eventually, four arms to hold me down, four to hold me and keep their own nightmares from swallowing them whole and as I fall asleep again I dream Caleb is biting me until there's nothing left but white bone shining through, my heart beating fast in it's cage still protected from him. Kept from him for all eternity. It's never going to be the same so don't. Don't lecture me. Don't worry. Don't tell me I don't know what I'm doing.

Just don't. 

Three a.m.

None of the dogs are up now.

I pull my pillow down so it's sideways in bed and crawl out over the covers and down to the bottom. I pull on my shirt and jeans and slip out of the room. Ben snorts in his sleep and turns away as I close the door.

The alarm isn't set because I forgot to put it on. So no disarming beep will sound. Convenient. I pull on my rainboots and sweater and run across the driveway to the Boathouse.

This dog isn't up either.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and wrap my sweater tightly around my ribcage while I watch him sleep. He wants to hurt me. Wants to own me. Wants to pull me away from everything I know and mold me in whatever image he thinks would complement him. Wants me to live in designer dresses and skyscraper shoes, unable to run, too striking and obvious to hide. Wants me to manufacture a new past that excludes everything I've ever loved and every memory that ever gave me comfort in the darkest depths and be his trophy. Hard won. Dirty-fought. Unreal.

That won't happen.

I can love him as much as I can but it still won't happen. Instead I bring to him what I have for him. Me in the uniform of twelve. Jeans and a t-shirt. Paint-caked fingernails on tiny hands. Broken heart and frightened thoughts. He can take some of that but then I'll go back. Back to the daydreams and the cotton candy and the smiles of those who only want what's best instead of what's better.

He wakes up just as I step out of the daydream and he pulls me into his nightmare so easily it's seamless. I can't even see the edges from where the sunshine ends and the thunder rolls in. He has blurred it into my memories. Composited. Photoshopped. Forced perspective. Caustic coercion.

Doll. What time is it?

Three, I tell him. That's the magic number, after all.