Declaration of dependence.

I want to tell you I dug more splinters out of my fingers from pulling roses almost two weeks ago. I need thicker gardening gloves or maybe a better method besides wading right into the thorns and attacking from the centre out.

I want to tell you I was safe in my bed last night but I wasn't, instead waking up in PJ's arms at two in the morning when he found me in the wrong place and went with it, keeping me until sunrise, not sorry in the least. His excuse? I'm not Caleb. Also, finders keepers. And he winked like a shithead.

I want to tell you I'm ashamed of that, but I'm not.

I want to tell you Ben washed his hands of all of this because he's so into self-preservation he had no choice. Two for one. Always a bargain, Bridget is, on sale, low-rent, picked-over last digs for a song, folks. Not that anyone minds. Like when you're eyeing the runt of a litter of puppies and true to form it's the only one left after all the others have been claimed.

That's me.

I want to tell you I'm ashamed of that too but again, I'm not. I know what my pedigree is, my history. Nothing we were ever proud of outside of survival, nothing we could ever survive outside of pride.

Nothing to be said about another rainy Monday with sporadic power and underreported hearts other than to point out it's almost over. That's good. Because I want to tell you I called the Devil and asked him to come back because Lochlan said to me point blank that running never solved a thing in his life so it wouldn't for anyone else either and he meant me but if he does that, he has to mean everyone and so Caleb might as well come back and get his moment in the sun to explain why he had to scare me so badly now, of all times.

I want to tell you why I couldn't dismiss it suddenly but I don't know, honestly. Joel could probably tell you. August and Sam for sure, and probably Caleb too but they don't share these things with me. It's just better not to. I want to tell you I don't understand that, but I do.

I want to tell you a lot of things but I can't.

Living up to his name.

What if he dies next? What if it is you? What if your ghosts consume all that you love?

But it wasn't voices in my head that gave me this doubt, it was a voice beside my ear, bending low so that I could hear his soft words before I turned to gaze into his medium blue eyes, cocked and ready to destroy everything I love.

You can't keep him safe, Neamhchiontach.

That confirmation had me running. Maybe if I ran fast enough time would unravel, the clocks would go back and I could undo the damage, mitigate the danger and save Lochlan's life. The fear built into my mind that I could push away, pretending it isn't there came rushing out, regret flooding in to fill its place.

Oh my God, I told his face and Caleb smiled.

They found me with the fuel and our wedding clothes on the floor of the garage, blubbering nonsense to Jacob. Apologizing for finally having the stupid nerve to go behind his back and marry Lochlan, admitting that Henry was his but I hadn't had the nerve to come and tell him because it was busy at the wedding and on my honeymoon. What a stupid, reckless, foolish and damning attempt to rewrite history that's already been written on my behalf. What a risk.

What a shame.

I lit the dress up like the fourth of July and all the sprinklers went off, smoking out the whole garage and making a mess. I didn't leave, wouldn't leave, sinking down into the smoke and when hands finally landed on my head, Lochlan's voice broke in a yell,

I've got her! He faltered on the sound but I was taken off my feet and out of the garage into the fresh sunlit air, covered with soot, my fingers burned and part of the sleeve of my sweater, inconsolable, exhausted and still fiercely determined to undo everything we did in case the Devil is right. In case the Devil comes for Lochlan next.

What were you thinking? Lochlan asks me and I turn and stare at him, eyes pouring tears, mouth agape because he knows this was a bad idea and he blames me for it to, because we both knew damn well Caleb's never going to let us be together and everything he's done thus far has been a show of force to make sure we never forget what he's capable of.

I'm sorry, I tell Lochlan. Sorry that he fell in love with me. Sorry that he's still in love with me. Sorry that I thought we could have a life together. Sorry that I told him I could handle this, that I wanted this, when I should have protected him better.

What are you talking about? His own fear and confusion made me absolutely hysterical, and the last thing I remember was screaming, trying to sit down on the floor, trying to get out of his arms, trying to implode so that I wouldn't have to deal with that fear anymore.

This fear, I mean.

The one that doesn't bother me so much when I have this much quicksand in my blood. The one that can't catch me as long as I outrun it, trick it, do anything but this.

I spoke by phone to Claus, telling him that everything is bullshit, that Lochlan can't stand there and tell me he's going to live forever. I've watched people die. I've made people die. I've got enough presence of mind to understand when a person can't make a promise they want to make so badly and fright sent me reeling once again.

August caught me as I went past him and I hyperventilated so hard I blacked out. When I woke up I was in my bed, safe. Lochlan was there, safe. Ben too. Sam and August. PJ. Joel, who got an eleventh hour phone call because the last time I did this they cornered me in the castle and shot me up on the floor or I would have gone right out the fucking window. It's Cole. Cole is back to life in Caleb's form and he's going to kill all of us.

He can't hurt you any more.

Sure he can. Look who lives next door! Look who started it!

But a week later I'm still exhausted and not as panicky anymore and while I'm aware that Caleb's words are just that, words, borne out of jealousy and covetousness, I'm still not so sure that he's wrong.

Nothing in history disproves his observations and I don't know if I want to take risks anymore.

Too late, Lochlan reassures me. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I could have told you that before you torched my hat. And your dress, Bridget...we can't replace it.

I don't care about things, just people. Just you.

He doesn't have a right to take your happiness or your memories, Peanut. 

Too late.

Admit two.

Two missed calls from Caleb and my phone was fired out the patio doors into the grass of the backyard in the pouring rain and then Loch disappeared behind the locked doors of the library to make a call.

For the next nine minutes I could hear indignant but otherwise unintelligible heavily-accented shouting coming from behind the door. 

Nine minutes. That's almost a record. Usually Caleb grows weary, then amused and will hang up on Lochlan, who will always, always finish his sentence into dead air before giving up and putting his phone down. 

At least his isn't a shorted out paperweight now. 

PJ was comforting. Let him get it out of his system. We'll get you a new phone in the morning. 

A new phone arrived twenty minutes later. Not a new iPhone 7 but a regular six, in the same color that I had. With a headphone jack and everything else I needed. 

If only we could restore your life at the bad junctions, said the note. Love, CXC

Yeah. 

If only. 

That phone lasted six and three-quarter minutes and Lochlan fired it at the general direction of the Boathouse, this time from the side door off the kitchen. It landed in several pieces in the driveway after hitting the rock wall.

Could you stop it please? I need a phone for the kids. 

They'll call Padraig. 

They text me. 

Bridget, I'm not doing this with you right now. 

YES YOU DAMN WELL ARE, LOCHLAN. 

Don't you defy me! 

WHAT THE FUCK. IS THIS THE 1800s?

YES. YES IT IS AND YOU'RE GOING TO LISTEN!

That's not going to work.

It did before. 

Right. And I've done NOTHING wrong so stop yelling at me. I didn't make you angry, Caleb did. 

I'm not angry with you, Bridget. 

Then why are you yelling?

I'm afraid.

Prescribed burn.

He watches the flames.

Don't bring fire into this. It sanctifies you.

I know. He baptized me in it last night, a graceful trip around my being with a tiny singular flame. A humble consecration, a reminder of how we use that fire to connect, to identify. To breathe.

He is using the fire today not to teach but to warm himself. His favorite sweater is no match for the heavy rain and so flannel shirts with waffleknit layers take over and a heavy element jacket on top were grudgingly applied, slowly and with disdain.

He and some of the others were out late last night bringing the camper back to the house, away from the edge of the cliff. They moved all my flowerpots up under the overhang by the patio doors and brought the telescope in. All of the pool chairs have been stored in the garage and PJ is already fretting because his precious jeep had to be put outside in this weather. His jeep weighs far more than the big chaises, which weighed a fair bit themselves, towed two at a time on a trailer pulled behind Ben's truck.

We're like some sort of incredible, dysfunctional resort.

The storms are here. All of them. Psychic and environment-based. Emotional and physical too. I was told if I wanted to do anything online to hurry up. So here I am.

Caleb missed all the fun. He's gone to the East Coast again for a bit to get away from me Lochlan the violence things. I'd be jealous but I always miss him.

Loch touches my face. I wonder if I could burn your brain down to nothing like the farmers do to their fields, so you could grow back new and unscathed. 

Let's try it and see. 

But he just stared at me for a moment in surprise at calling his bluff. Then he put his jacket back on and went outside to finish up.

Listening hard.

My ring slips off too easily. It's cold out now, my fingers are shrunken, my skin is tighter still, stretched across my bones in a tension he can tune with a fork and a very good ear.

He frowns, picking it up from the bottom of the tub. We'll get it re-sized for you, he said, sticking it down over my middle finger instead. It's fine there for now, a subtle fuck you to the universe, an easy dismissal of the rest of the world outside of his extended reach.

He lets the frown slide away and puts his hand on my forehead as I lean back against him in the warm water. I put a bath bomb in with us. We smell like jasmine. We're covered with purple glitter. It's a far better moment than some of the previous week and I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He leans around from my left to see my face.

Okay?

I nod but I don't say anything. A kiss lands on the top of my head. Then he is gone. Cold rushes in to coat my skin and I shiver violently.

Let's go. 

I nod again but I don't move and he reaches down, pulling the plug out of the bottom of the tub. I sink down until my head goes under, making no move to resurface. He reaches down once more to pull me up gently. I emerge covered head to toe with glitter and he laughs.

Rinse off in the shower. We've got twenty minutes to be downstairs. 

I dutifully duck under the hot spray and when I emerge, still mostly covered with shiny tinies he is there with a warm towel, wrapping me in it, glancing another kiss off my forehead, arms tight around me. I shiver again but it's not from the cold, more like from survival and surprise that I'm here.

***

I watch him stir his coffee. He'll lay the spoon upside down against the edge of the plate and let his eyes travel the whole way around the restaurant before he speaks. I'm not wrong. I've studied Lochlan's movements since I was eight and he was thirteen, since before coffee, and violence and baggage. I've watched him change and yet he remains the same as always. He doesn't actually change. He forces the entire world to adapt to him. He refuses to compromise or bend. His will is iron, his code of right and wrong carved in the rusted metal of a platform for a thrill ride, or in the words of a verbal contract with a handshake to seal the deal. There's no reason to question him, for he's never had even a moment of grey area. No ethical pause, no consideration of less than what is good and what isn't.

I didn't listen. I ran ahead or fell behind. I had my head in the clouds, pretending all the time. He indulged me because one thing that was right to him was the desire to make me happy. He went along with it. He humored me when I couldn't remember the rules or didn't hear the orders. He was lenient, full of grace when he should have lifted me off the ground by the collar of my dress long enough to make sure I was paying attention.

I got burned and by default he did too.

Some days we're unscathed. Lucky. Beautiful and new.

Other days we are burned beyond recognition. Disfigured and ruined.

This is an in-between day, in which the scars are visible to the naked eye but they're a little numb, that's all. A little closed-feeling, a little bit forgotten, if you're not paying attention. A little bit better.

I think we should go. I think we should go now. And if you won't then he has to. 

I can't banish him. 

At this point you don't have any veto powers here. Not anymore.

I stop running down the path in the waning light and turn and look back at him. I drop the trilliums I have picked on the carpet of pine needles coating the forest floor. Something in his voice is different this time and it scares me.

Too small to do any damage.

(Ironically I drew the Hierophant card today:A card symbolizing rules, laws and doctrine. Your freedoms may be limited today.)

It's National Take your Teddy Bear to Work/School Day and I just...don't even get me started. I brought my teddy bear with me to my laptop. His name is Ben and if he sits up straight in my computer chair his knees hit the underside of my desk, lifting the whole thing off the floor.

I swing my legs because my feet don't touch the floor if I'm sitting in the same chair.

He's been keeping close, which is nice because the minute he turned his back the Devil whispered in my ear last week and I'm still mostly reeling from that. I don't want to talk about it though. Not today. Today is for bears and big guys and for getting on with things and not for stunts or drama or fear.

We went out for breakfast, which was nice. I'm still mostly asleep on my feet in the meantime. Joel heralded a group decision which is to keep the princess under chemical control until she can prove she can do it herself. I tried to point out the futility of their argument but every once in a while it's nice not to feel anything. Just so I can catch my breath. Then I'll dive back in because I have to feel something or I'm not worthy of remaining alive.

That's how the Devil put it, anyhow.

But I'm a-okay, well-fed and cuddled today and we've battened down the hatches for the coming October storms. We've got groceries and I scrubbed the bathrooms and the house is clean and the trucks have gas and the generators too and the trees were all trimmed so bring it. Bring whatever you got. I'll stand behind Big Ben and fight you from here.

An actual conversation.

Since it's National Coming Out Day (where the fuck are they getting these 'holidays' again? Someone please tell me), Sam decided to...er...go back in. Since Matt didn't work out and he has a few other craven issues here, he's hopped the fence. 

Again.

He set up a Tinder profile and unhesitatingly selected female responses only. Then he sat down to wait, as if the Internet fairies would send him the perfect woman within seconds.

Sam, I think that's a hook-up app. 

What? No it isn't. You're thinking of Grindr. 

No, that's definitely for sex only but it's for gay people. Tinder is the version for straight people. I think.

Oh, well, shit. What's the app for actual dating? 

Tinder. 

I don't understand.

You don't meet someone online for any more than a casual thing. 

Oh. 

Well, did you meet Matt online? 

I refuse to answer that on the grounds that someone here will judge me. We all can't be raised by our future spouses. He stares pointedly at me. 

Right because we all see how well THAT'S going. 

So what do I do?

You need a Polish matchmaker.

I'm halfway there! I have the buckle! 

Right. Don't meet someone online. You need an uncurated soul. 

I need a Bridget, is what I need. 

Jesus, what? No you don't! Too much trouble. Also be quiet before someone hears you. 

Why? 

They'll take it wrong.

There isn't a way to take that wrong, actually. It's just...nevermind.

Oh. Then here, let me help you choose a photo. 

Checking in because once again the internet thinks I'm either dead or being held against my will, as usual.

I'm here.

I had a quiet weekend. Friday went to shit and ended very very badly and then I slept half of Saturday away and was brought back to life eventually, as Joel let the medicine wind down on its own. By early yesterday I had a handle on things and anything I still couldn't hold onto Joel picked up and handed to me.

He did a good job. It was reminiscent of the old Joel and for that I thank him. I had a huge stretch of uninterrupted, chemical sleep and for that I thank everyone.

I thanked them with a huge Thanksgiving dinner last night (everyone pitched in to help) and I am grateful to every single one of them because when I go down I go down hard. It's difficult and upsetting and horrible but they dealt with it and instead of giving up on me they're investing in me. Instead of turning their backs they offered their arms. I don't know if I deserve that but I'm grateful for it and Joel assures me that I'll get through it like I have every time before this.

I don't want to keep doing this, I told him late the other night when he checked in on me.

I know, Bridget. I know. 

Late last night.

When I woke up, I was pinned. I thrashed once and Lochlan's face swam into view.

Hold still, Peanut. Peace is coming. He's got my wrists held against the quilt. A sharp pain comes suddenly in my elbow and then chemical euphoria floods in.

I lick my lips. You're sending me to visit them, I tell Lochlan but he lets go and then Joel bends down over me. I smile at him in slow motion. Hi, Stranger.

Hi, Beautiful. Lights out, he instructs, and I'm gone again.

I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone

Read between the lines
Of what's fucked up and everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone

He sat in front of me on an old wooden stool while I sat on the top step of the camper, on the kitchen floor proper, holding my arm out straight in front of me, using my other hand to prop it up because this was taking a long time.

Hold still, Lochlan barks at me with pins between his teeth. He really did a number on this. 

He is unpinning my heart. Said brusquely that it can't stay there, that it needs to be protected, and if it doesn't fit then he will keep it.

You already do, I remind him as he ignores me, loud and clear. You've had it forever. 

Right. It's mine but you keep throwing it out there like a boomerang, and there are people in the way so it gets stuck in them and then you have to go dig it out and that seems stressful and unnecessary. Stop throwing it. 

I'm trying but they seem to need it. 

They will live without it. 

In my world that's not an offhand remark, it's a dangerous gamble. 

Well, what do you want me to do, then? 

Help me keep it locked up so it won't get out. 

Lock you down? Jake tried that and it made things worse. Ben didn't and you hardly left his side. Trying to sign up for the end already are you? 

Never. This is it. Alpha-Omega, baby. That's who you are. The beginning and the end.

He finally gets my heart unattached without further damage. I retract my arm and rub the sore spot where the pins went through my skin and he holds up my heart for inspection. I lean forward to facilitate him putting it back and he hesitates, cupping it in both hands like it's a bird about to fly away. I think I'm going to hang on to this for a bit, if it's all the same to you. 

Then stop giving me mixed messages. 

I already told you I fucked up. I was trying to hurt him and I hurt you instead. I just..I want things to be different, Bridge. I want to run the show again. I want it to be you and me against the world. He absently tucks my heart into his shirt pocket as he speaks, a bloom in red growing almost instantly on the front of his shirt. Just trust me and I'll make sure things are better. 

I nod.

Do you believe in me, Bridget? 

He asked me the same question on our wedding day and it rocked me then as much as it does now. As if I don't trust him to have changed when he said he would, as if I don't put any weight on his regret. As if I can't count on him to do what he says he's going to do, after decades of fighting it out.

I do.