Fifty to zero.

Woke up screaming. Jake was calling my name, his voice breaking over and over, a sound so lonely it curdled my blood as I slept fitfully between Ben and Loch and finally I sat bolt-upright, shrieking for him and he wasn't there. In the firelight Loch held me close and told me it was just my brain adjusting to the changes, that Jake is safe in heaven and he's not at risk. He can't be hurt and he can't get back to me because I released him to a better place finally. Ben nods on top of my head, squeezing both of us, barely awake but alarmed at the sudden outburst.

But I'm not having this. He's still there. I fight my way out of the bed, them grabbing for me and I start shrugging into my clothes, Ben tackles me against the wall, half-dressed, half-crazed. He's not there and you're not going there. It's just stress. Come and sleep, Baby.

But that isn't possible and within the hour half the household is awake and in the kitchen, tea steeping, lights blazing, Joel holding court with five o'clock casting a shadow over the room, wired and tired, attempting to explain what my brain is actually doing (processing. Grieving. Thinking TOO DAMN MUCH, everything hair-triggered by such an intense few weeks). I am given a sedative and sent back to bed. No dreams. No Jake. No memory of walking back up to our rooms. No desire to get out of bed today except that Ben forced me to. I whined and pushed against him as he physically pulled me out of the bed and stood me up against the closet door.

This is payback for me putting my faith into Lochlan making it through this intact, isn't it? Yesterday I called Lochlan the hero. Every day we fall a little more back into the love we used to have and every day Ben becomes a little more of a stranger.

He stands back and looks at me with irritation. No, Bridget, this is me wanting to take you out for breakfast because I keep venturing off into my own world when you need me in yours. And for the record, he's the hero in my story too. Tights and all. 

He doesn't wear tights. 

He should. He has nice legs. Now get dressed and let's go before they switch the menu over to lunch.

Stockholm syndrome for two.

I want to have a gin and tonic and watch Captain Fantastic. Can't find any takers except Rocket-Locket but he's working and three hours out from getting home. I want to lie in the sun and not die from it, withering into dust under a gaze so intense it cooks you from the inside out and I want to call the shots.

All of them.

I want them to be lethal.

I want the devil to understand that the days of his quiet coercion are over. I wasn't made aware that these last couple of years I wasn't even his primary victim anymore in his own special brand of threats and promises, which are frightening and too believable for comfort, for easy dismissal. I didn't think he would stoop that low, and I didn't think Lochlan would remain quiet, failing to say a word when all this time he's been allowing himself to be crushed under the weight of Caleb's efforts to find a way to destroy us, any way he can. Loch wasn't going to be a rat but he's not going to be a martyr either. Not anymore.

While it was a soul-crushing revelation, thankfully I don't have a soul so it's also liberating. Game-changing. A relief for Lochlan now, a lesser burden spread amongst the rest of us. For that I am grateful. I'm also so much tougher than I look after all and for that I'm oddly thrilled about that. Out of the two of us I turned out to be the strong one? Yes, me, the littlest one who stood there and cried when she dropped her ice cream in the mud because it was dinner and it cost our last two dollars for those ice creams and Lochlan gave me his, saying he wasn't hungry, but his growling stomach kept me up all night that night and the next day I worked double time conning hearts (and stealing wallets) until we had enough money for food for a week. Then I could sleep. Then, so could he.

Now I'm going to make my drink and snooze in the shade while I wait for him to finish up, reaping the spoils of my war with this hollow materialistic victory of decadence. At least that's what Caleb calls it. I call it bullshit because I didn't ask for this, and Lochlan doesn't deserve to be punished for it. All the pools and expensive tile floors and big electric gates in the world can't make up for what the devil has done to us.

Fuck it all anyways. Claus leaves today. He said it's not going to happen until I make changes and find boundaries. He said what we've done is striking, touching and incredible nonetheless and if I'm going to lose my mind this will be the safest place in which to do it. He said Lochlan's tougher than I give him credit for, which I hope against hope is true in the end, because I want him to be, I don't want him to be hurt by Caleb any more, I don't want him to be second best and I don't want him to be hungry. I believe he's going to be the hero of this story and I don't believe it's over yet.

Um.... (yum!)

I fell in love with a sandwich today. It was on pumpernickel bread. Mustard, Swiss cheese, black forest ham, tomatoes, lettuce and bean sprouts. Sandwiches are second only to cake to me but frankly they're way more filling and they travel much better in a handbag than cake does. Also no one looks at you funny if you eat a sandwich while you're driving. Try that with cake. Try eating cake with your hands. Try eating cake and not having any dishes to wash.

Sorry, cake, I think you just dropped to second place. This was a really really good sandwich.

Fix one thing, break another.

So the mess is drawing forces
Outside I hear them say
Just come out with your hands up
So we can blow you away
And I walk out the door
Get blown wide open
By the things I put away
And I wasn't even warned
Just blown wide open
Now the mess is where I lay

Caleb is being as attentive in absentia as he possibly could. His ears must be fire. His life is not going to be the same from here on in. He called a few times but Claus has been working with us and the phones have been left upstairs on their chargers. He messaged and I finally had a moment and messaged him back late this afternoon. I'm sure he was expecting Miss you too or maybe You should come home sooner. 

Instead I wrote Maybe you should plan to move there permanently. I hit sent and I put the phone back on the charger and I went to join the barbecue. We're doing ribs, zucchini slices and endless chicken wings, with watermelon and homemade potato salad. Delicious. Later than I wanted to eat but better later than never. Like everything.

I forgot who was here this morning and came down late to breakfast in my customary and probably completely inappropriate bedhead, skintight baby blue lycra boyshorts and a fitted green t-shirt that says Pint-Sized Sex Machine on it. Saw Sam, August, Claus and Joel sipping tea at the island and turned around to go back up.

Good morning, Bridget, Claus said without looking up from the newspaper. Eyes shot all around the room.

Good morning, I tell the room as I decide to own it. This is my house. I head to the coffee pot and contemplate third degree burns to take the focus off my skin burning from Joel's eyes. I can feel them. But when I look back at them only Sam is staring at me like he's never seen a girl before. I'm not sure how to take that so I leave it.

Later, during a break Joel asked me if I dress like that all the time around the house. I frowned at him and said, Of course not. We have a pool now. Usually I just wear a bikini. 

Claus, for the record, has a military-issue poker face. Iron fucking clad. I want lessons.

***

Russian doctor today too. Double-bonus. Anyone else want to come visit me? I put on actual clothes because I don't need any more comments from him about how he can fix whatever he deems wrong with me via plastic surgery. My blood pressure is up a little but not enough for anyone to be sounding alarms and I've already stopped taking the anti-convulsants for my headaches. I gave them three months and fuck it all to hell. Debilitating migraines are a cakewalk compared to the side effects of the medicine, which were supposed to go away but steadily got worse.

I'm running out of ideas here.

Claus thinks if I 'reduce stress' the headaches would go away.

(here's. the. eye. roll. yup. do. it. slow.)

I just stared at him until he admitted he knew that it sounded ludicrous. I'm anxious by nature. Which puts it so mildly it's laughable, I'm a worry-knot of the highest order. Pills don't help. Booze helps but I'm not going to give myself more problems or stick a band-aid on a open fracture. Fuck it all. At least sex works. For now it's the only thing that works.

Hence the t-shirt this morning.

And I'm not sorry.

I could shoot for the moon but I have a hard time hitting the fence, you know?

It's difficult to focus on the conversation at hand this morning with thoughts of last night still so fresh, leaning back hard against Ben, who had one hand around my forehead and the other around my ribcage while I marvelled at Lochlan's wide shoulders, wedged between my knees. Had I been able to see his face I would have told him that's an angle I could surely appreciate but alas, he was very busy.

When I got too loud with my cries Ben's hand moved to my mouth and he laid me out facedown on the quilt and I don't even remember how many turns they took or how many times I was turned over but I remember waking up with hurting cheeks from smiling in my sleep. I remember waking up blissfully cool, as we left the balcony doors open wide and it dropped to twelve degrees overnight and I rolled back an inch and was pressed up against Ben, Lochlan high above me on the other side, my face against his chest, one hand over my head against Ben's shoulder, the other around my chin.

Caleb is trying to talk to me and has realized I'm not listening. He moves closer, tilting my head to one side, checking for the hearing aids I never wear.

You're staring straight at me and you can't hear me? He looks devastated.

I'm sorry. My mind is somewhere else. Then I crack up because like I said, I have no poker face at all and it's terribly inconvenient that I don't sometimes.

You think it's funny that I'm leaving. 

No. I think it's awful that you can't just live here and be happy without always turning the screws, frankly. 

I told you what I want. 

Then I feel badly for you. It isn't mutual. 

Sometimes it is and those are the times I want to exploit because I think we could grow it into something incredible.

Something incredible, alright.  Caleb, I-

I'm not going to fight this because I don't believe anything is going to change so there's no risk in going right now. Ben will cave in and need rescue. I'll be gone, your ghosts will be gone. Soon your team will be gone and Lochlan will prove himself as useless once again in taking care of you. When that happens, call me and I'll be on a plane. Otherwise I'll see you at the end of August. He gives me a hard kiss on the mouth and I almost fall over but he steadies me and then stares hard for a moment while I stare back. Then he bends down to pick up his travel case and squints up at the sun for a moment.

Bridget, I've never known you to push away love. Don't start now. 

And he's gone.

I waited many heartbeats to see if I would have a panic flutter set in but I didn't. I waited many more to let the realization that the exodus of this week includes three very central characters in my story sink in but nothing changed. Caleb will be back. The memory thief didn't take everything. I'll be okay. I've got my boys. There's lots of them left. No shortage, anyway. The touchable ones remain. The loveable and loved ones remain, the alive ones remain. Life remains. I hitch up my cashmere underpants, vowing to do so well while the Devil is gone that he doesn't recognize me upon his return.

Then I realize I have a cashmere wedgie and I'm incredibly predictable to boot so I dial it back a notch, readjust my outfit and go back inside for breakfast.

Exodus.

You want the good news or the bad news first? Bad news? Yes, I do it that way too. Always end on an up note.

The bad news is the lawyers can't actually do anything concrete. They can't even threaten. Privately, personally, they've told Caleb to stop it, already. That he's one step below harassment, and that he's being immature and obsessive.

He knows this. Everyone knows this. And of course he knows what he can get away with. He's a lawyer. He also knows Lochlan is legally the bad guy right now, still. Mostly because recently Caleb was the one who wound up at the hospital getting stitches, generously refusing to press charges for what was technically assault at the hands of Lochlan for the incident with the watch. While I didn't need stitches and was taken care of at home by the Russian doc. See how good Caleb is at this shit? Exactly my point. And I'm still not willing to blow our lives open and nail him to the wall for the past because it serves no purpose now. If he ever hurt Lochlan I would do it in a heartbeat but that would be the only way. So for now peer pressure from outside of the collective will keep him in check. They told him to back off already. They told him to leave us alone.

The good news? He's heading out finally. We've been struggling here since April. Since he admitted Henry isn't actually his though he continues to be the best uncle/liar/fake biological father in the world and they still spend a lot of time together, having thoroughly bonded in the past few years in a way that kind of humbles me. His legal rights have been removed but his honorary rights remain and no, they aren't conditional on his behavior. They're there as long as Henry wants them there. But Caleb and I have discussed the prospect of him taking an extended break from the point for a while now so that I can have time to deal with this without him here to interfere with the process and now is a good time, since Henry's birthday is now past us and Ruth's is a little over six weeks away. It's a perfect time actually.

I need this absence from him. I need to be away from Caleb to clear my head. To exist without his brainwashing. His powerful presence here always cutting into my thoughts. The odd kind of guilt I hold for him, taking responsibility for his loneliness, for his heart. For his own soul even though he has backup. Lochlan needs this break too, for Caleb has been on his back since he was thirteen without a break, up to and including when I asked Caleb for an extended break when the kids were very young so that Cole and I could try to sort things out. He responded by buying property within a few blocks of where Lochlan was living. He's never let up for a minute and I feel like we're just beginning to see the extent of his efforts, maybe it isn't just me in my mad efforts to keep everyone together. They said we can't get better with him here. So let's make him go and see what happens. Just for a little while. Just to see if it does make a difference.

His favorite part was the cliff walk at Capilano.

Today I took Claus sightseeing. I wore my big huge sunglasses and I cried as we talked the whole time, just me and him. I drove in places I've never driven before. I got lost seventeen or twenty-five times. I screamed trying to merge on an overpass that was particularly daunting and he was so damned encouraging I asked him to teach the boys to stop doing everything for me because clearly treating me like I'm still eight is only hobbling me terribly. We wore ourselves to smithereens, came up with a concrete plan for our sessions for the rest of the week (he's staying until MONDAY!!!) and then he took me out to dinner at the fanciest, most beautiful restaurant where everyone assumed I was his grown daughter and he absolutely delighted in telling them I wasn't and correcting them no further.

It was almost dark when we finally got home and he gave me a warm hug and told me he was exhausted but it was one of the greatest days in recent memory. I agreed. It really was. And now the work begins. He is staying with August in the spare room in the loft so at least he is close by in relative comfort.  I could feel my ears burning once he went inside so I'm sure he was sharing all of his observations with August but I'm really glad he's here.

He prefers the term 'Storyteller'.

I think I make them nervous with my big feels and half the time they don't even know what to do with me.

That's what I think. And slowly they'll approach, one at a time, as if I am a wild animal they think they can tame or perhaps a mental patient they feel they may be able to reason with, before realizing the folly of their way, retreating to the circle once more, the safety of their numbers.

It would be funny but it's sad.

Big feels aren't a strength and they're certainly nothing to be afraid of. They're a decided obvious flaw, an utter lack of dignity, a proof that any vestige of self-control has been stripped away and you now stand for all to see and judge without your skin, thick or thin. It no longer exists and everyone can see right through you.

Now, I've never been a liar. I've never been one to hedge or hold a poker face. I could run and I could steal but god forbid I got caught. God forbid you ever asked me a direct question in your lives, I would unload my entire conscience at your feet for you to pick through and disseminate. It's ridiculous and I envy people who can lie through their teeth, deceive and trick and pretend and cheat and fake their way through life seemingly without a second thought. It's a gift and payback comes eventually but in the meantime it must be nice.

I'll stand here while the wind sears my uncovered muscle and bone and bear it well.

Better? Loch asks roughly. He knew the salt would hurt. He's one of those people. An easy, seasoned liar who does whatever he's ever had to do to stay on the right side of a moment.

Yes. It's gotta hurt. That's how I work. What do I do now? 

What do you mean? 

Maybe you should send Sam down. I need to talk. The tears start again. Make them stop. Jesus Christ. I've got no ghosts and nowhere to hide and suddenly he's being stubborn just when I need him the most.

Talk to me. 

I would but you're not listening. You're busy being right all the time. Busy saying you told me so. 

I'm busy trying to keep you safe. 

This isn't safe, Loch. 

Why isn't it? 

I can get to myself. 

What? 

Nevermind. Just tell me what I do now. 

Let me entertain you. 

I looked up abruptly and he's smiling at me. It's not a big smile but it's there. The joke is so old between us it must have been covered with a layer of dust so thick it would have been virtually unrecognizable but he found it and hauled it out, cleaning it off, offering it up like a life preserver as I drowned in my own tears.

And I took it.

I just wanted to go to the beach. I wanted to go to the beach and I wanted to think and I wanted to spend some time watching the waves and unclenching my fucking fists and he said no.