Ordinary average Thursday cliches.

I'm not sure who moved faster last night, in hindsight, as Caleb's voice cut the magic hour right in two but all I knew was the light was fading so when we dumped out of the hammock, Lochlan already on his feet, I ran straight inside. I didn't want to be in the woods, for it's always better to confront the monsters you know, instead of the monsters you don't.

Except I didn't confront, I hid. Lochlan had to go it alone, though I heard nothing so I'm hoping they haven't killed each other.

Then I hear Caleb. He flew for ten hours to get home early. He cancelled all of his potentially lucrative meetings and he recognized Bridget's descent into laying blame and casting at shadows and he showed up ready to be There For Her.

From what I heard, Lochlan absolutely set him on his fucking ear when he found out Caleb was mad, as if there's any rights there at all. 

He follows my steps right to the end, where I am tucked down between the end of the counter and the wall inside the butler's pantry, eyes shut tight, hands over my mouth. If I could have made myself smaller I would have.

Neamhchiontach. He reaches out a hand and strokes my hair and I let loose of my face and scream right into his.

Shhhhhhhh. He sits down on the floor, pulling me out of the corner and into his lap, into his arms. Safety in danger. Death in life. Everything in nothing. And he rocks. And he rocks. And the tears well up and stream down his face and he loses his words for a moment.

Like a child, I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life.

I would take it back if I could, he whispers. Tell me what to do. 

You need to leave. 

I don't have any place else to go, Bridget. You are my home. 

I can't be. This isn't working. 

It's just the time of year, the rest of the time you're okay with this, we do well toget-

Please. 

You'll feel differently in a couple of weeks. When you need me and I'm right here. 

At least I made up with Lochlan.

But the post. Well, it stays.

It stays.

IT STAYS, Caleb, and I don't care anymore.

For all those who think I'm so fucked up, rest assured. It's not me who's fucked up. It's them.

There's a subreddit called AITA (Am I the Asshole?) But then again, there's also one called BreadStapledToTrees.

I tried to call Emmett this morning to thank him for the flowers that arrived shortly after his visit on Monday with a lovely Get Well Soon! X, Emmett sentiment but his number wasn't in my phone suddenly. The flowers were gone too, not surprisingly, though I still have to track down the vessel they were in, it's my grandmother's vase. I asked Caleb if he had Emmett's number still on the phone and he said, Oh, trust me, I've got his number and in my feverish broken-voiced state I failed to grasp his meaning and instead implored him to just give it to me already. I could call the firm and deal with Ransom but I don't want to, frankly and am a little angry that I can't use my manners in spite of my poor behavior to show I'm not the trailer trash Caleb seems to think I am.

Or maybe I am, as I threw Emmett a bone and he seems hungrier than most, and this is how I end up with things like Collectives and all-male friends with benefits.

I think I did it because he reminded me of Ben. I say it out loud, forgetting I'm tethered this morning. To Ben, believe it or not and I tend to forget the details because he tends to forget to come up for air.

I'm right here. Ben laughs and then frowns. Lochlan wanted to send him a message. 

That said what, exactly? Stay away from my polyamorous nightmare of a wife? 

Yes, but not with words. 

Geez, I'm missing all the inneundos here, save for the dangerous ones. My ears are blocked along with my noise and my voice a hilarious raspy screech.

Do you have Emmett's number so I can at least say thank you? 

Bridget, Caleb sent him a Cease All Contact letter, so really it's not a good idea to poke the sleeping elephant here. 

Overkill! Christ, Ben!

A necessary evil to keep you sa-

Safe? I bray in laughter. Jesus, my voice is making me sound unqualified. We should let him in to keep me safe, you mean. From all of you. 

You're supposed to use the tools you've been given to keep yourself from getting out of line. 

I am. You're here, aren't you? I throw it back, suddenly able to get a purchase on my words. I am the asshole. Confirmed.

You can take it out on me if you want. That's why I'm here. 

Right because Lochlan wants nothing to do with me. 

This was his idea. He knows how you get. Especially when you two are fighting, and the very last thing he wants is for you to step outside of the Collective ever again. 

What if I want something new? Something different? 

Then go the fuck next door. I don't know but Emmett won't be back so don't push it. And Caleb's on his way home and he's just as angry as the rest of us and Lochlan can't even look at you right now so exactly what are you posturing for? Everything you need is right here but you keep running away from it like you're on fire. What gives? I thought things were getting better. 

Wow. Can't believe he pulled that one out. Has he met me? Hell, has anyone met me? I was raised by a wolf and his friends, and then abused from the age of ten years old by the Devil, who now expects me to be in a relationship with him which makes me feel worthy, honored and loved instead of horrified because my brain is fucked up from the rides and the lights and the...the...touching and the death and he wants to believe things can get better?

Well, fuck.

I have a proposal for you. He smiles with a boyish charm I remember well from the spring into the summer. He hands me a large hot coffee and asks how I'm doing first, pointing out he went to both restaurants looking for me. At the first they pretended they'd never heard of me. At the second they let Emmett know I was home sick today.

(Gee, thanks?)

How about instead of you bringing coffee to everyone else, I bring you your coffee every morning again? 

But the house is finished. And I already have a husband to bring me coffee. And a boyfriend. Or two, actu-

I mean as your boss. I need a bookkeeper.

Can you forward the details to my email? So I have it writing?

Does that mean you'd consider it?

Not necessarily but I do business in writing. It's a good practice to do so. 

It is. He's still smiling and it's starting to hurt like a sunburn. I will send the details to your email then. 

Thank you. 

Can I offer you a walk? I need to see how the pilings are holding up on the beach steps. Can you manage that? He shifts it back to business, emptying the chamber, clicking the safety back on.

If we go slowly. 

Of course. More time to talk that way. 

At the top of the steps he offered his arm and set our coffees on the landing. They'd still be warm on the way back. If not I can make us fresh. Good thing, that. He checked out his handiwork to make sure nothing was crumbling/leaning/sinking and then we walked to the end of the point and back very slowly.

It turns out he loves tattoos, doesn't take much time off and does very well for himself. Turns out he HATES paperwork and wants to be hands-on. Turns out he and Ransom are brothers-in-law without much actual use for each other as Ransom is in it for cash and Emmett for quality, but Emmett likes to keep an eye on Ransom because he and his little sister are close and supposedly when Ransom proposed to Emmett's little sister Emmett took FOREVER to warm up to him and now they work together virtually every day and it's been lucrative for both, though Emmett swears he would happy living out his days as a school custodian or someone doing small odd projects here and there. That he doesn't ask for much.

What about a family?

Nothing ever came my way.

That's hard to believe, I watch him.

Doesn't make it less true. I've hit a nerve and Emmett wraps up our visit. I'm not a need, I'm a want, clearly or he would have tried to drag it out. We head back up the steps, with Emmett stopping every now and then to pull on a railing or inspect a screw and then he picks up our coffees and proclaims them still warm.

Like my heart. I make the inevitable bad joke and instead of pointedly ignoring it like everyone usually does he says,

Why do you say that?

It's just a joke. I mean I feel dead sometimes but my heart still beats so I guess I'm alive. 

I hear you. I feel that way too most of the time.

Oh. A kindred spirit. I asked for help with him and no one came. He showed up at my work and asked about my heart already and I blew him off and it took him four months to come up with an excuse to come back and this is how it begins and I'm not sure I hate the process, but I am sure I hate myself and I hate him too right now.

Check your email later today. But call me to discuss any questions or concerns, okay? I like the sound of your voice, Bridget. 

I have strep throat. 

I heard it before you were sick, remember? Also if you're in the gazebo, you know it has a heater, right? 

It does? 

Yes. Someone was supposed to show you. There's a dial just inside the door, on the wall. It functions the same way as the gas patio heaters. Turn it for greater heat, or turn it all the way back to the left until it clicks off. It has it's own natural gas line. So maybe you won't get pneumonia next time you sit out there to write.

Perfect. It will take my mind off everything else.

Pneumonia and strep. A two-hitter. I already had pneumonia in April, I don't believe I need it again but here it is. Can a person just wear out? That's what I'm concerned about now, that I'm so run down all the time it will just get worse and then the really bad illnesses will find out and come inside. (The water's fine right?) Here I was worried about my legs and my body hurting so much from work and from overly-rough efforts to provide me with some affection I would never forget (I don't forget any of it, dear lord, I swear I don't) and my lungs and throat were all Hold my beer.

But it's fine because I have antibiotics and a throat gargle thing that has painkillers in it and after twenty four hours of that I don't dread swallowing. I slept in a little. I'm not going to work. I'm just going to take it as slow as I can.

But it still sucks and I don't think I fully have chance to get better. When I had this in April it was just before/during my job and I started work with a deficit that seems to grow and grow and I can't even catch my breath so maybe I should quit. My boss called this morning, shorthanded, Where are you? You're late and I told him I called in yesterday and spoke to his third in command so I'm covered and I wondered if he would tell me I was fired and I realized I wouldn't be sad I'd be relieved so bring it and then I can find something less hectic, less rude but probably not.

I need to be able to sleep during the day.

I need to feel better than this.

Lochlan pushes his head against mine after my phone call this morning. Stay in bed. Let's sleep.

So I tried but I couldn't. And I looked out this morning and squealed as the tops of the other houses were covered with frost and briefly it's exciting. Because winter isn't forty degrees in the shade.

It's ten, here in the rainforest. Which only feels marginally different, unless you're in the water (It's fine, right?).

I'm going to go try and will myself to get better today. Lochlan is close, the fire is blazing beautifully in the kitchen fireplace and I have an unlimited supply of tea and honey.  He has an unlimited supply of presence, patience and affection (gentle or rough, depending on the time of day and our moods) and he's absolutely one hundred percent sure he can look after me, just like he always has.

I believe him today. I didn't yesterday.

I don't know what this is.

He was like a broken record for a while.

Every second sentence out of your mouth begins with "Lochlan". Every thought in your head starts with him. Stop putting him on a pedestal. He cut you free. He doesn't care about you anymore, Bridget. 

It was knives to my heart. Knives that twisted and turned down pathways paved with flickering multicolored lights instead of blood. Being human wasn't keeping me alive, being weird did.

You've got to stop thinking about him. He left. You're mine now. 

Cole's broken record played a song I'll never forget, verses reminding me I was never good enough, the chorus a litany of everything I wasn't and everything I would never be. That song was stuck in my head for so long, even as he would wrap me in his flannel shirts on very cold nights (just like Lochlan used to) because my shoulders shivered so. Even as he happily pushed me off to Lochlan for random drive-by affection as only Lochlan could ever get away with, the song swelling loud in my brain like a siren heralding his proximity.

And Lochlan was a safe thought even as Cole let his brother rip me to shreds on his whims, showering me with deposit slips afterward as if I was a commodity he was investing in.

I suppose I am and he was, looking back now.

And I learned to put up a wall between myself and Lochlan. An ice-cold division made of silence and payback. A bitter, painful memory that ballooned in an open festering wound that time and reunification seem to do very little to fix. His promises have been reinstated. The past is the past. The silence stopped abruptly and the music swelled up once more and still...

Still...

It's far too easy to look for comfort from someone, anyone else. I used to think it was because I was afraid I was cursed and that I would kill him too somehow but now it seems like it's so much more complicated than that.

I don't know the words to this song, Lochlan whispers to me in the dark, helpless as I refuse to let go of the wall I put up between us, on this night named Duncan.

Hum along and eventually you'll figure them out, I snap back quietly. At least you can hear them. 

Meanies.

I have to go to London.

He looks at me for what feels like an eternity. I'm busy stirring honey into my coffee. My throat is knives. I took Henry to the doctor yesterday and he has strep. Why wouldn't I, right? Henry's on antibiotics and I'm just plain stubborn. I have six days to get better before an event and no way could I get on a plane.

If I had the time.

If I even wanted to.

I have something I want to check out and then I thought we could have a little vacation. Take a few days-

I'm sorry. Maybe Lochlan is free though. 

It's not on offer for him. It's work and I need my assistant. Not a busker. 

Well, sorry to say your assistant is a busker so when you insult my husband you're lumping me in with him. 

Caleb realizes I'm not going to let him off the hook and tries again.

Bridget, I'm sorry. I don't appreciate offers of replacement, I guess. I was trying to turn a work trip into a pleasure trip. God knows you could use the break. Honestly if Lochlan saw you talking to yourself as I have he'd-

I wasn't-

DON'T say it. The only way I can sleep at night is to consider you talking to yourself to cope. Please. 

Ha. Newsflash-

Do I have to force you to go. 

You can't. 

I don't know if you've noticed, but I do what I please.

If it doesn't break your heart it isn't love.

These days pass me by
I dream with open eyes
Nightmares haunt my days
Visions blur my nights
I'm so confused
What's true or false
What's fact or fiction after all
I feel like I'm an apparition's pet
But you haven't lost me yet

Jacob still doesn't like this. When I come into the kitchen this morning Caleb is already present, making coffee, reading on his phone. He's wearing a soft t-shirt and worn jeans. Bare feet. I wonder if I've ever seen him in my house without shoes before. Maybe only in my room. I don't know but it seems odd and then perfectly natural, like the first thing a man does when he's home is kick off his shoes. He takes his mug and his phone and heads to sit down, right where Jacob is already sitting, leaning forward, elbows on the table, worn sleeves rolled up. Worn jeans to match only Caleb prefers dark denim. Designer. Probably Balmain. Jacob lived in his Levis from Sears. $39 in the big and tall section. I only know this because it's where Ben goes for his. Or used to. Now Sears is gone and I don't know where to look.

Caleb puts his cup down and sits back in the chair. Good morning, Beautiful. Did you sleep?

Jacob disappears as the cup lands on the table, reappearing beside me. I almost die from shock but flinch almost imperceptibly inwardly instead, nodding.

I did. You? I turn to stare at Jacob and he frowns. That wasn't necessary.

I'm not allowed to greet you now? Caleb looks unimpressed.

Not you. Just-nevermind.

Jacob laughs. Told you you can't handle more than one man at a time. This isn't who you are-

I know who I am! I hiss in his direction.

I know you do. Caleb is waiting, alarmed.

Sorry. Just thinking out loud.

He's here, isn't he? Caleb is the Devil. Of course he can see angels. He used to be one.

Who? I shoot him a look of confusion and what I hope passes for irritation and I hurry out of the room and back upstairs. Anywhere Jacob isn't.

Captive audience.

(To set the scene, I'm using Ben as a pillow today while I nurse my bad arm by the fireplace in the great room today. He has his laptop and we are watching Things. I'm not going anywhere. My arm is very sore. I don't think it should hurt like this when weight is put on it but then again, I heard what it looked like that one time. But this isn't about my arm. I'm about to have an opinion, here. Look out.)

I'm at the point where I've absorbed enough direction and have enough confidence to watch a brand-new music video of an acoustic rendition of a song and give it my own running commentary.

(Slow it down, just a little. You can't breathe while you sing this. Black anad white would be better. Add some noise. Some film grain maybe. Some local cameras. Stop with the wide shots already. The composition could be tightened on this by a monke-Hey! This goes right into Memphis May Fire (God they're young).  Stop. With. The. Wide. Shots. End it with the song, we don't need a cheesy afterstory. Do more of THIS. PLEASE.)

Ben is very patient while I rattle off all of the things I would change. Sometimes he takes full advantage, as I am a ruinous, rabid music lover as well as the subject of more than a dozen semi-infamous music videos so my suggestions (or rather, my opinions) come from a place of love.

Well, what do you think?

I think you're jaded. Maybe they calculated this for humility. 

Yeah. I doubt that.

A subtle image change for them. Like 'hey, it turns out we're not perfect'. 

Okay, in that context it works great. Sort of like these bands that are like 'hey, we know a guy with a drone'. 

Worked for your last music video shoot, Bridge. 

It sure did.

So...don't quit your day job? And he laughs, because they would love it if I did.

A little laugh, a little scream.

Today I got home, kicked off my shoes, dropped my purse by the door, my nametag (still says BABY) on the table in the center of the foyer and walked straight through the house, out the back patio doors, across the back lawn on the lovely new flagstone path and climbed straight into the hot tub. The pool is empty now (sadly) but the hot tub will stay since we can cover it and empty and fill it with ease. Caleb laughed, as he was the one who followed me out, watching as I climbed in dress and all.

I sat there refusing to speak, as I reached that point in my week where I feel too beaten down by life to respond without committing murder and I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

That bad?

No, just tired. Where's Loch?

Helping August, I think. 

With?

A wifi issue, I believe, unless that was a ruse.

I go to get out of the tub, suddenly panicked and Caleb shakes his head. I sent Ben with him. Everything's fine. 

Okay. I settle back warily. I'm still leery of Lochlan going off on August if he even breathes the wrong way. Not that he will, but that he might.

Besides, he knows you're going to be busy. I don't think he'll make any extra work. 

Busy with what?

You're going to have to help Andrew pick out his dress. 

I don't know why it was funny but it was and I laughed and then I let my head go below the surface in defeat of the day and Caleb got scared and pulled me right out of the hot tub by one arm.

The bad arm.

The sound I make. Holy. It scares even me.