They only love me when I'm good.

It's Saturday morning and they seem to be on a relentless mission to spoil me. I love this. I could get used to this but I probably won't let myself because in there somewhere is the voice of a twelve-year-old telling me I don't deserve it.

Ben woke me at fiveish this morning. Not gently, no. Instead I was lifted off the bed until the only thing touching it was my heels and my fingertips on one hand before I grabbed onto him because as always I am afraid to fall. He was rough but sweet, sleepy but awake and ready to wind me out, letting his own wants stay on the back burner. He put me back down, turning me over first, one hand sliding underneath my abdomen and the other covering my whole face. This was nothing short of glorious and we somehow got perfectly synced, achieved nirvana together and then collapsed on top of the sheets, out of breath, perfectly warmed and smiling, Ben moreso while I practically dozed because he loves the noises I make. He loves everything.

No offers this time to go to the Devil?

I only do that as a front for the fear. 

The fear?

Of not being able to make it the whole way. 

So Loch is libido backup?

Naw, he's your lover. That's a turn-on too. 

Then what is Caleb?

Risk. Darkness. Ever feel like you just need to do things that are more out there? Just to feel alive? Watching the Devil take you over makes me feel alive. There's no jealousy, no regret, just hunger. It's amazing. 

So today?

Today you're mine. I have no intentions of sharing you. 

A delicious little tingle of bliss runs up the back of my spine and I shiver.

Until Loch comes back. Then I get everything I need. 

Same danger?

No. Lochlan's too hippie to be scary. 

He can be scary, Ben. You didn't know him back in the day. 

I would have loved him just as much as I do now. 

Yeah, you definitely would have. I stop talking, relaxing my body one part at a time until the next thing I know it's hours later, the sun is streaming into the room, the curtains are open and so is the door and I am tucked neatly, thoroughly under the quilts and it didn't hurt to open my eyes. First time in two weeks I feel as if I've caught up on rest but could still always use more.

A knock on the door and there's PJ's shoulder hovering just outside. Decent? Ben asked if I could take care of a little project for you. 

I am. Where is he? 

He and Dunk went to a meeting. 

Again? 

I think he'd rather stay sober than take any more risks, Bridge. Anyway, here's breakfast. He wanted it to be perfect. He comes in with a tray with coffee, an omelet, toast, strawberries and a tiny rosebud in a shot glass.

I don't think my brain can take this level of spoilage, Peej. 

Try yourself. You're a little too austere about shit, Bridge. Just enjoy it. Relish it. Maybe even ask for it once in a while. 

Who brings you breakfast in bed, PJ? 

Your husband, you little blind tart. 

That's deaf tart to you, asshole. 

I poisoned your food, FYI. Ben's mine.

Seems to be a lot of that going around lately, doesn't it? 

How about you just eat? I want to run the dishwasher before I go out and it's getting late. Some of us have things to do. 

I have things to do too!

Like what?

Well, I have to eat! So either sit down and entertain me or get lost and I'll ring you when my dishes are ready. 

I should negotiate for some butler pay. 

Yes, you should. Want me to talk to the boss about that? 

No, Bridget. I've been asked to keep you away from him until Loch comes back. I'll have to enlist Sam because I have to go out.

That's probably a smart move. 

It is, because I'm like that. I'm definitely going to ask for a raise. 

Hey. 

Hey, what, Princess?

Can you stay and keep me company while I eat?

Only if you share. 

Here's a piece of toast?

That isn't what I mean. 

PJ! 

I'm kidding! Christ! Well, I'm not but the joke was begging to be told, you know? 

Crucible Cove (Or, How I spent Saint Patrick's Day).

Beauty I'd always missed
With these eyes before
Just what the truth is
I can't say anymore

'Cause I love you
Yes, I love you
Oh, how I love you

I get worn down. I erode like the cliffs along the shore at high tide, wearing layers off, picked at. Anticipated. And so when he offered a late-night holiday celebratory drink (oh God. Another?), I took it because I'm tired. I'm still drunk.

Is it poison? I asked Caleb over the rim of the glass.

Only as much as that swill Padraig's been feeding you all day. You're almost pickled.

He wanted me to have a happy day.

He was positioning himself for a happy night, I think.

PJ doesn't angle like that.

Sure he does. Like I do. Like everyone does.

I really am some sort of shared prize, aren't I?

Maybe. Or maybe you're just the one girl who seems to be appealing to a large range of men with different tastes.

You're not all very different, actually.

How are we alike? What brings us to this space and time, Neamhchiontach?

Intensity.

Seriously?

Yes. And empathy. You all connect with each other and with me on a much deeper level. Those who don't live here aren't here for a reason. It's kismet, or ardor. Chemistry. Sexual tension.

Oh. I'm disappointed. I was hoping it was just me.

No. I scowl at him and we laugh.

I think as a group we are extraordinary, actually, Bridget.

You do?

Yes. For so many of us to be together like this as friends through life is a blessing.

Was it a blessing for you and Loch to be knocking each other's teeth out the other night?

He doesn't work well with boundaries.

Who does?

He needs to understand the rules.

They're difficult to follow.

They shouldn't be. He has no trouble with his end of things.

He loves me. That's all.

And you love him.

More than anything.

So then why are you here?

Good point. Actually I think I've overstayed my participation in the day. I've been up since four. 

You don't have to go, Bridget. He puts his hands on either side of my face and bends down for a slow kiss, the likes of which he rarely bothers with. It takes my breath away. It pits me against myself, battling gravity for light. It makes it hard to leave but I'm about to.

Yeah. I do. 

My very own butterfly effect.

Gamble everything for love.

The weird stasis of unfinished business and a hesitant sunrise saw me back at the airport this morning because something went completely south on Batman's efforts to escape the UK and so Lochlan has to go back, sent home some impulsively, prematurely and now with an almost doubled bonus because of the inconvenience.

Only Batman would call a ten-hour plane trip an inconvenience. I'd probably be dead on the floor, but only because I have toddler-level maturity when it comes to being trapped in a seat and forced to amuse myself for hours on end with nothing to look at but the back of another seat. It's hard to make up stories about people when the only parts of people you can see are a couple elbows across and up the aisle slightly. Fuck that. I'd rather take a boat and have an adventure! But then the trip would take weeks instead of hours and I'd like it if Lochlan wasn't gone that long, thank you.

It's difficult.

Or maybe it's just strange now when he's not with me and it's one of the reasons Batman has to pay him so much, or he would probably just quit because he likes to be here at home and pretend with me that we are norms and we're doing norm things. Like backflips in the kitchen and fire-throwing in the driveway.

Wait, what?

People don't do that?

Huh. Too bad.

But hey, if nothing else (excluding Loch's big fat bank account), Ben and Caleb get a do-over this weekend on the whole How To Convince Bridget to Fuck Up Just A Little More.

It'll probably work, because it's Saint Patrick's Day and my very own Saint Patrick not only gave me his flask again on the way home from the airport but offered to make me coffee this morning only there's no coffee in this and I could probably light it on fire and throw it without much effort seeing as talent is contagious and so is drunk.

Whatever.

Functional spirit.

I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
Your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone

Back across the driveway around eleven, before risking falling asleep in the wrong place. Heart rate back to normal, brain hung on a hook, askew inside my skull, thrumming a worried cadence of its own. My skin still feels phantom fingerprints, lips against my throat, legs against my knees, arms around my waist. He's a living wraith representing both a ghost and a friend and he's wrong but he's right and no one seems to notice. No one even cares.

I do.

Flat on my back, eyes open wide in the dark looking for the moment when he makes that change and missing it, kicking myself. I bite my lip and breathe his name like a prayer. He doesn't answer because that's not his name but the arrangement calls for things that aren't properly labelled and we're each getting something out of this so that cancels out who's fault it might be. When in doubt I'll step in front and they can level blame straight upon my bare shoulders.

If it comes to that.

Sometimes I feel like this is the only thing that keeps me alive. Sometimes I think this is the only way they remember who we've lost. Sometimes I think this is the only way out of this mess. Sometimes I think this is wrong but if I think too hard my brain throbs because it isn't properly set in it's place and sometimes I forget things, left on the bed or the table and they make their way back to me a few days later in the laundry or the sideboard or sometimes on the piano. But this isn't a game between us, it's a vow to not let him go if we can help it but it goes against absolutely everything August says out loud to the others.

Forgive me, he says in the dark, every single time for years now and I still never know if he's talking to me, God, Jake or himself. I'm afraid to ask.

Hyperpathetically speaking.

That cold wet grass served as a good cushion when Loch and Caleb took each other to the ground last night in the dark, in their endless multi-decade struggle to be whatever it is they think is best/first/most important/right/just/perfect.

PJ stood, dry and warm, just inside the double patio doors with a beer and watched. I asked if he was going to go outside and break them up and he said Naw, Bridge. Let them go at it.

So I stood tucked just underneath his arm, my forehead pressed to the glass, watching them slug it out and fall only to use one another as a crutch to get back up only to hit the ground again. PJ will step in if it looks like someone's getting really hurt. It doesn't matter who.

Loch finally stands up and backs off, putting the back of his hand up to wipe the blood from his nose, tucking his shirt in. Caleb gets to his feet and stands with his hands on his knees, staring at Loch while the blood from a cut on his cheek and one on his lip mingle into a thin rivulet down into his collar. He says something I can't hear and Lochlan laughs, nodding at Caleb as he stretches and then turns to make his way back up the steps to the house. I watch Caleb leave via the side gate.

What did he say to you?

Lochlan laughs again. He said 'Same time tomorrow?' but the mirth never reaches his eyes.

This is how I know we're getting old, when they don't even finish a fight due to ridiculousness, disinterest or other plans and that even the act itself is a source of (heavily guarded) amusement for both of them. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow we'll get somewhere.

Or they'll ruin two more shirts (and another Adirondack chair).

Cartoon-level villainous, this.

(Bonus round for you today because I need to put it somewhere that isn't in my head, alone to wreak havoc.)

The quick meeting was outside, by request, but also by request within the confines of the immediate backyard/patio so that PJ could keep an eye on me. Lochlan's already gone back to work (still mightily hungover, if you can believe it), Duncan and Ben are at a meeting of their own and Sam has been sleeping all day. Monday is his Saturday this month. Dalton is away in Europe (LUCKY) and August is running errands, I think. So that covers the house. The kids are at friends' houses. They are always here with a dozen kids or always somewhere else with the same crowd. It's great.

Caleb is standing in the yard under a huge black umbrella. I join him but remain just out reach of the shelter of his offering and therefore out of his reach as well, watching his face change from delight that I'm there to dismay at the condition in which I present myself. That is, bare feet on the cold wet grass which simply can't absorb any more rain and so it's soaking up the legs of my ripped, faded jeans like liquid through straws. My grey Leafs t-shirt is already soaked, outlining the navy blue camisole underneath it. Wet hair. Wet bracelets. Goosebumps. I am accessorized by my reaction to the weather but I love the feeling of cold wet grass under my feet almost (okay, not even close) as much as the feeling of damp sand.

And I still hate shoes. The Louboutins were gifts. I don't give a shit about them. I only wear them when he asks nicely and even then I scowl the whole time. Red soles for a soul's ransom, I guess, only if I pay the price I'm still never getting my soul back from this man.

Lochlan had a good trip, I'm imagining? I saw the presents on the table. 

I nod. He did. 

He should be less cocky and more grateful. 

Maybe you can fuck him into submission too. 

I never thought of tha-

DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM! 

Oh, well. There's a nerve. 

I'm just stressed. 

Why is that and what can I do to help?

It's because you're pressuring me. Stop.

I can't. I'm growing tired of waiting and lonely from being alone. 

Then I guess you'll have to find something or someone new to do. 

Right. That's where picking on Lochlan comes in. 

I swear to God, Cale-

And what does God promise you?

That if you touch Lochlan I will kill you. You've already hurt him far beyond what a normal human can withstand. 

Thank your God he's not normal, then, Bridget.

I do that every day. 

Lit from without, lit from within.

That's how Lochlan described himself once when I caught up with him at the lake. I was eleven, and we hadn't yet gone our adventure that year. We were busy swimming with everyone and watching Caleb roll over from teenage to adulthood, like a life odometer. Like a boss.

What's wrong with you? I asked Loch as he struggled to navigate the path to the tire swing.

I am, how do they say it? Lit from within! He announced with the typical bravado of a sixteen year old boy.

Did you drink the gas from your torches? Are you poisoned?

No, it means drunk, Bridgie. It means I've caught fire on the inside with the help of a little juice and I'm burning up. 

Juice?

Not that kind of juice, sweetheart.

***

Sunday afternoon was much fun after I greeted Lochlan with my violin roundabout noonish, playing an agonizingly slow, frightfully loud rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star but he grinned with his eyes closed and bore it, saying he slept more Saturday night than ever in his life. I wasn't sure if I get credit for that or if he was just happy to be home so I ruined the good humor of the day and asked what the fuck he meant when he told me I should have gotten it over with. He wins so he concedes first place? Wants to share his trophy out of goodwill? No longer cares? Come on, what gives?

I didn't say that. 

Yeah, you did. You said I should have done it while you were away and Ben was around, in case. It's the stupidest thing I ever heard. 

Most stupid. 

Yes, that too! 

No, I mean-nevermind. What I said was I thought you had gone and done it while I was away, and that Ben was there to protect you. That's why I came home lit from within to get through having to hear about it. The emotion was relief that you didn't, not regret that you didn't. Jesus, Peanut. What kind of monster do you take me for? You need to put your ears in. 

No, then the violin is too loud. 

But if you don't, you're going to get your feelings hurt and it will be your own fault. 

I'll think about it. 

And Caleb can wait for you for the rest of his life and then some. It's called Hell on Earth. He brought it, now he can live it. 

Oh you came back in fine form.

Actually no. I came back in shameful condition. I won't do that again. 

But it was a good trip? 

Very productive. Got my bonus. And wait until you meet Alfred. 

What?! Alfred isn't his real name, is it? 

No, but neither is Batman's, so we may as well keep with the theme. 

Monsters come in many forms.

Lochlan did make it home yesterday, alone and drunk from the plane because Batman had to stay behind and finish up and Loch was ready to leave. He drank the whole flight away to combat boredom, exhaustion and fear.

I get that. I drank on the ride to the airport.

(No, I actually did. PJ had a flask. No one tell him it's empty now, shhhhh.)

He's home now and that's all that matters, and not the fact that Caleb is now tapping his watch, reminding me I've crossed over into borrowed time and there will be interest to pay. And not the fact that Loch actually told me last night that I should have gotten it over with while he was too far away and too busy to worry about it and while Ben could bounce Cale if he crossed the line.

Wait. What??

Broke my brain, that did and so this morning I skipped church and went with Schuyler and Daniel to see 10 Cloverfield Lane. 

It was great. Really fun with perfect sound design and a breath-holding plot, the kind I like best, rooting for the heroine to see if she's tough enough to make it out alive.

(Or taking notes in case it comes to that.)

AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

LOCHLAN COMES HOME TODAY.

ALSO WE GOT TICKETS TO SEE PAUL MCCARTNEY.

Why am I yelling?

I'M SO EXCITED!!!

Keeping the peace (away from you).

(STOP FUCKING ANALYZING ME.)

I'm not one to waste my time
Searching for some silver lining
But somewhere out there past the storm
Lies the shelter
Of your heart

(I love it when a former grunge/heavy hitter quietly matures into someone who has to be one of the most prolific and under-acknowledged singer/songwriters of my time. I say this because this morning I tripped over my ears and fell in love with Chris Cornell's new album, Higher Truth. Especially Before We Disappear, but really the entire album is perfect. I've had it on repeat all day.)

Caleb, to his credit concerning yesterday simply pointed out it's been barely three months, thanks, but who's counting? 

He's a wee bit ragey that I failed to take a direct invitation and Ben and I continue to enjoy our mini-honeymoon together with fun pastimes like enabling, sabotage and demolition. Ben actually does this regularly and often and usually we ignore it because Ben is impulsive and thoughtless and a little bit removed from reality at the best of times. All things I can't actually fault him for. Whatever he didn't arrive with was taught to him by the rest of us and sometimes the idyll of a Utopia such as this is clouded by the feelings that sometimes get in the way. Sometimes we get jealous. Sometimes we get wild. I didn't say we were perfect but I'm also not going to make excuses for myself even as I make them for Ben. Ben's only endgame is sudden perfect happiness. Why do you think he's had issues with substances? He'll never understand that happiness isn't real or that if you always do what you want the rest of the world becomes a miserable place to exist and people have rules for a reason.

Bridget has rules for a reason because Lochlan tips the other end of the scale in that he always has his eye on the prize and any deviation or momentary comfort might fuck that up and so we continue to deprive ourselves for that contented almost-happiness where all truly is right with the world, or the world as we know it, I guess.

Everyone else basically went apeshit, including John, who took great offence to any real or perceived danger, in bed or otherwise and took a piece off of Ben for that. John may be slightly shorter than Ben but he has a great way about him that makes him almost scarier and God bless him for giving Ben that extra perspective.

Ben is trying to learn but again, there's that shitty impulse control that makes him so much fun. It's not like anyone actually feels sorry for me for having to put up with him, rather they give him all the sympathy and support in the world for his weird ability to put up with me.

But the true amusement of the evening is left to Sophie, who got wind (don't know how, geez. LOL) that Caleb might be..lonely...again...and managed to get her arse on a plane this morning to invent some reason to 'stop by'.

She came down the driveway as I was standing there with John (bodyguard duty until Lochlan dismisses him and no, I don't get a say). We were eating chocolate pudding, standing on the bricks with little silver spoons and everything. She got out of her car and smiled at me really fakely and crazy/excited and headed straight for the boathouse. John looked at me, spoon in mouth and raised his eyebrows in horror. I winked as I watched her come back just as fast.

Is he in your house? 

I shake my head and remove my spoon from my face. He's not home.

I can see that. Where is he? 

John's face is killing me now and I burst out laughing. I don't know. I'm not his secretary. 

She stares at me for a moment and then remembers why she came here again* and tells me she'll find him after her meeting. She gets into her rental A4 and drives out through the gate as I finish the last of my pudding. Or, you know, you could phone him.

*(Money. The answer is always money.)

Caleb calls me a half hour later. If she comes back don't open the gate, just leave it locked and pretend no one is home. 

What if we're outside?

Then pretend harder. This is something you're good at, Bridget. Don't play dumb. 

You really don't want to see her? 

I don't have time to waste on complications. 

Maybe she's as lonely as you are, Diabhal. This seems like serendipity to me. 

Then you're as impulsive and immature as your husband if you think the only interest I have in you is physical. 

All this time and it was spiritual? You actually took my soul so that it would be saved instead of destroyed? All of this to protect me? From what? But the minute I said it I knew and whatever heartless banter we were having was over.

From all of them because they don't deserve to have what should be mine. 

First of all, I'm a who, not a what and secondly, how dare you decide what another human being deserves-

I would have said more but John took the phone from me and pressed end.

Just don't get into this with nobody here. Please, Bridget. It's Friday and it would be nice to have a quiet weekend instead of a war.