Pluto energy (back when Pluto was a player and not relegated to the farm team).

The night slides over me, a languid ink that colors my pupils in full dark and serves to highlight the gold and silver on my head and on my fingers. It leaves me gracefully as the sun rises low in the sky to my left, to the East, thankfully, as I don't have to look at him to my right, watching me from the bed, openly staring from where there's no dark left to hide behind. 

Maybe I should have left in that cover, hours ago, but instead I slept easily in good sheets and climate control, in the arms of a man who wasn't going to hurt me so that he could feel good and all I can think at this age of twenty is how I can leave Cole so I can have this. This man doesn't hate me. He is lonely and he wants someone to take care of and somehow in sponsoring Cole's photography equipment and trips he has become my quiet saviour. He puts money in my personal account every month whether I see him or not without fail.

Come back. I'll take you home later. We'll have some breakfast and then you'll be home before you're missed, Batman says with a smile. Really lonely. Probably more than I originally thought.

I turn to look at him. Where's your wife?

London. 

Oh. 

Bridget. We're not together. We just haven't bothered getting divorced yet. You know this.

Every man says that. Did you know? 

He chuckles. This isn't a fling, Bridget. You're important to me. 

I swallow a lump. I wonder if he knows every man says that to me too. I turn, letting the full sun hit my naked skin. If there's one place I have power, it's right here. Can we have eggs benedict? I change the subject. And champagne? 

We can have whatever your heart desires.

(Can you save me from the brothers Grimm?) And fruit! Kiwis maybe. I never get those. 

I'll make a call and have it sent. 

From where?

A restaurant that can do that this early. 

Restaurants deliver breakfast?

No, my assistant will deliver it. Jasper. Remember?

Yes. But I had forgotten. I met him once and I wasn't sure exactly who he was but he brought papers in to be signed and we were half-drunk already and headed out dancing and Jasper seemed annoyed. I assumed he was a colleague or a coworker. That means he can't be annoyed by me, as he serves Batman. That means now I have to see him again.

You forgot. 

It wasn't a proper introduction so I was a bit iffy on who he was. 

My apologies. But he's my conscience. 

Is he now. 

That's a challenge to my statement. Why? I get that Batman is both patient and looking for an equal that I can never be. I'm young and despite my years in unsavoury yet worldly environments I'll never be jaded nor sophisticated enough to spar with him verbally but I'm going to give it my best shot nonetheless.

Is he your confidant though? 

No. But maybe he sees things and wonders. 

Wonders what?

If you're old enough to be here. Who you belong to. 

Oh. 

What should I tell him?

Lochlan's face flashes through my mind like a reflection on water that suddenly forms a wake. Tell him it's none of his business. You're his boss. I say suddenly, annoyed. I've already decided that if Jasper is going to judge me, or Batman, for that matter, then I will judge them right back. When you can bring the world to its knees in such a weirdly powerful way at such a tender age you end up with nothing but false bravado and misplaced ego, and I suddenly have so much of both I can't hold it up anymore and I collapse on the bed beside him. He leans up on one elbow and kisses me. 

You are right and I would be wise to remember that. It's hard when I'm here in this city. I don't know anyone except for you and Cole. 

You should meet Cole's brother. 

Is he an artist as well?

No. He's a rich lawyer (and he's going to want to kill you (and me) when I tell him about you).

Maybe I know him already then. 

He lives in Toronto. 

What's his name? 

Name me the lawyers you know and I'll tell you if you're right. 

You don't trust me. He is amused suddenly. I would think this is a respite from Cole and from his brother. If you don't trust me, are you telling me you trust them? Bridget, you've had twelve years to believe them when they show you who you are and maybe I want to exist as a respite to all that?

Who told you this?

I can find things out easily enough and I don't think your army is functioning the way you hoped it would. 

My brain explodes and I don't say any more. It's been twelve years? It's been half that since Lochlan bailed on me due to pressure from Caleb and ten years since Caleb started touching me and I didn't think anyone knew about it and I don't know how Batman knows about it or if he knew before and he's trying to save me or found out recently and is just trying to save me after the fact. Maybe he just wants a piece of the action. Maybe he's pretending to be a good guy in a bad world and maybe this is just a test from Caleb, just like everything else and I've already failed and he probably is going to kill me. 

Actually, save breakfast for another time. I should go. Cole's going to be worried about me. 

If he was worried about you he never would have let you come to me. 

There's my confirmation. I can trust Batman. He doesn't know Cole (or Caleb) after all or he would know they really get off on this. 

I watch Batman sleep thirty years later. Long-divorced. Jasper is long gone too. The head games are gone, and Batman doesn't even try to pretend he isn't lonely but he also won't make any moves ever again to change that. He and New Jake watch movies together and cook elaborate meals a few nights a week and every few months (or years) I show up and he's marginally less lonely but somehow serves as a huge memory cache for me now as I can put every interaction we have ever had down as a puzzle piece and the big picture is suddenly so clear. He's not an agent of Caleb, an outlier or a whim. He's my true guardian angel and I didn't know it until now.

Drive-by Millionaires.

What are you doing, Neamhchiontach? Caleb kisses the top of my head. The boys are putting all the camping gear back into place in the garage. We did inventory this morning. We are officially out of space, both for storage for all of the out of season clothes, snowboards, sleeping bags, car parts and hair products the boys keep on hand plus boys themselves, as there is no longer any switching up as Dalton and Gage no longer travel and with Asher becoming permanent (did I tell you? We're keeping him) there is not even a spare bed here. Next door there is, as only five of them live at Schuyler's and at Batman's house there is only two so he has loads of space. 

There is no space here. 

(Also Caleb doesn't camp. Hahahahaha.)

I found a place. Seven bedrooms and thirteen bathrooms. It isn't finished yet and so maybe they could throw in three or four more bedrooms. Probably an extra level on top. I don't know. Figure it out. 

Do you want to move?

Sometimes, when I feel overwhelmed. 

Where would we go?

Home. 

That isn't home anymore. Besides, you're the one who always reminds us home is where we're all together. 

Yes but when I'm homesick I feel differently. 

I feel like the pain is talking for you, today.

Maybe. It hurts a lot. 

It isn't feeling better?

Nope. 

Hmmm. Did you want me to try and get better pills for you? Another kiss on the head but he pauses, lips on my hair. Waiting for my response which comes in the form of a shrug. 

Maybe just enough so I don't want to run. 

Bridget, we have the means to do whatever your heart desires. 

I know. I choke it out. A whisper. I'm so ridiculously aware of his means, and his ability to keep score that I'll just hold tight. 

He sits down next to me, lounging in the chair so gracefully, considering my face as if he's never seen it before. I believe we could add on? A second level for the stables for a guest suite? That would buy you the room you'd like. Or maybe we could expand off the guest wing here. 

I don't want to build to the property line. Maybe the stables would work. 

Well, we can't build vertically so our options are limited. That or you could have Asher live at Batman's. 

He did, remember? It wasn't really working. 

Batman has a lot of space. 

I nod. I could lean on him to house boys in a pinch but he's militant about his privacy. 

There is also more space above the garage we could convert so that there is a second self-contained loft. 

I nod. But it's more work. More construction. More noise and upheaval. 

How about this? When you decide what you'd like to do, come and tell me and I will make it happen.

I nod again dutifully.  

The sky is the limit, he reminds me. 

One final nod from me to show I get it and he stands up, checks his watch and is gone with a final kiss to my cheek. Going for a massage. Do you want to join me? 

I shake my head. I won't let strangers touch me. He always says I am missing out. I always point out that I'm not.

My inspiration for picking up my violin just went to heaven and I don't know what to do.

https://www.nbcnews.com/pop-culture/pop-culture-news/robby-steinhardt-violinist-vocalist-kansas-dies-71-n1274433

I am so sad.

(Falling on) Deaf ears.

I was dead on my feet and Lochlan pulled me down into his lap with enough force that I couldn't pull away, arranging my legs so they were on the sides of his, then putting his legs up so I was pinned there. He made short work of my sundress and what little else I had on (a bracelet, a necklace that he fussed with for a moment before leaving) and then he was whispering a mile a minute, pushing inside me, pulling me down hard onto him before lifting me up slightly, a rhythm that seemed to match the waves for its slow molasses-crawl. I couldn't hear him, I couldn't focus, it was abrupt and fierce and overly-warm and I just wrapped my arms around his shoulders and rested my head against his ear as he did all of the work and reaped all of the benefits too. 

I can't hear you- I tried to tell him but he didn't seem to notice. 

Can we slow back down- I implored but again, no one's paying attention. 

He finally took me by the arms and pushed me down on my back, coming with me, face to face. Attention paid, at long last. 

You're not listening, I told him. Borderline angry now, not really interested in finding out the litany of words he left in the night. Does it matter if a Lochlan speaks in the forest and no one is there to hear him? Is he talking to me, to himself or to God? If he's talking to me, why wouldn't he wait for a response? If he's not, why is he doing it out loud? 

It's not important, Peanut. He resumes a tough pace and I have to fight to keep up again. His hands are vise grips, his heart is iron and his teeth are steel-numb, gritted closed and pressed against my temple as he pulls us into a whirlwind finish, both of us gasping for breath, both of us overheated and red-faced, both of us now annoyed with the other. 

What was it?

A magic spell to keep you safe from the devil. 

Will it work? 

I think so. 

Why didn't you do it before, then?

I do it every fucking day, Bridge.

Little things.

 

Caleb handed me a large heavy bag last evening and inside was this beautiful ink haul. The Lady Rose in Gold limited edition ink along with a Cotton Candy in Blue and a Frivolous Lime and even some fun Glow in the dark ink that he thought I might enjoy (I do! Summer of secret notes begins now!) and then for good measure a dip pen for drawing or writing that I have been eyeing for a while and the coup de grace was a Ferris Wheel fountain pen, which you can't not have if you're buying FW Press ink in that sort of volume. 

Did I miss anything? Did you need paper? 

No. I have lots. 

(Do I have paper. I should show you my sketchbook cupboard. It is full and stacked to the top with unused, new sketchbooks. It's my favourite thing in the world. It's mostly Canson and Legion papers. I have a small problem with collecting sketchbooks and then saving them but I'm getting better. I am technically cut off from buying any more.)

Thank you, Diabhal. I didn't think anyone had any locally, and I didn't want to pay thirty dollars to have a single bottle shipped-

You ask for nothing, Neamhchiontach. 

I ask for the moon and the stars-

No, you don't, actually. I enjoy treating you. 

I smile at him and he smiles back, kisses my forehead and leaves me to play with my new beautiful things. I even let Asher try the dip pen, as I couldn't use it right anyway with my cast.

You'd call it a microscope, I'd call it showtime.

Sam had to put out an email to stop people from stopping by with food/fruit/flowers/wishes for us as per news of my hand being twice as broken as a week ago and while I was truly enjoying the irony of having distanced conversations with people who have never talked to me (and wouldn't) before but are so starved for socialization and contact that they're reaching out all around, he's right. There's a quarter-century+ of adults here on the point at any given time. One going down is not going to mean they all starve. 

But we know you do the lion's share, they wink at me, nameless.

No, actually he does his own share and then some, because I think they mean Lochlan and then I wonder how they learned that nickname. Lion. No one calls him that very often though..

They draw back, confused and dawned that I am probably medicated, and possibly dangerous. They've heard tell of the pretty woman in the floral sundresses, surrounded by an army as if she is the queen. 

Close, I nod. Not a queen though, just a princess. 

They've heard she was raised by wolves. 

Yes, but I've almost domesticated them, I point out. We're close now. They can wear clothes and sit in a room with humans and you might not even notice the difference. I bare my teeth in a smile and they run for their lives, flinging well-wishes and hollow offers over their shoulders, words drowning in their wake. 

Sam smiles in amusement.

Cover your teeth, you're scaring the locals. 

The gall of not understanding that a commune can cook meals en masse-

They aren't here to help. The cost of a closer look was a pasta casserole. 

I'm aware. 

But you let them in anyway. 

It's an appearance, Sam. Like your suit. So they would think we are fine and they would leave us alone. Life is just an act. I get to play the tortured princess. 

The smile leaves his face. Shut up and eat your flowers.

Cake weekend.

 Fifteen years ago Jacob refused to conduct the funeral service for Cole because it was Henry's fifth birthday and Jake decided that was more important to him, that he be with the children who were old enough to know what was happening and he wanted to one hundred percent dedicate his time to them and he called a friend in the church and the funeral went on. I don't know if anyone realized. I don't know if it mattered. But Jacob's decision meant the world to me because I couldn't get out of the emotional quicksand and the guilt of feeling like I was the one who killed Cole. I couldn't be a good mother in that moment, to tell everyone it wasn't the right day, that it was Henry's birthday and we weren't going to do it that day. 

I never did, and I never got rid of the guilt either and Cole would still be here if I hadn't broken his heart but if I hadn't done it the way I did I would have done it when he found out that Henry wasn't his after all. And he wasn't Caleb's son either. He was Jake's. 

And boy is it obvious now. Over six feet, lanky, blonde and bearded. He has my eyes and temperament and Jacob's easy moral compass. He has a crazy work ethic and time for everyone and everything at once. He lives in button-downs with the sleeves rolled up and he loves cake and hamburgers and animals. We have a big dinner planned for tonight. All hands are on deck. We managed to decorate before he woke up this morning and he was impressed at the LED balloons and efforts and the fact that it's a somewhat rainy Friday and we're finally cooling off. Usually his birthday is conducted during a hot spell with a melting-icing cake and all the doors wide open. Tonight we'll probably have to wear snowpants at the table but that's the way he likes it. If ever there was a rainy-day child born in the full sun it's Henry and I am so proud of him I have already burst ten times today and put myself back together. 

He won't let me call him Bunny anymore, or Henny, it's Henry or Henry Jacob, (please mom) but sometimes I catch myself and he never actually minds.

Notice I did all this without mentioning his father.

This morning I am coveting the Lady Rose in Gold Ferris Wheel Press ink and wishing that season two of Outer Banks wasn't still two weeks away. I am baking Henry's birthday cake for tomorrow (he's turning twenty!) and trying to be chill about it. He is heading out with friends for the day and while he's gone we'll decorate. We have his gifts, and his favourite colour for decorations and I made his favourite cake (hasn't changed since he was three) and am making his favourite dinner (which also has not wavered in at least six thousand years give or take) and it will be fun. I can't believe it. Still can't and never will believe my luck at how the children turned out in spite of everyone who told me they would be ruined. They THRIVED in this commune. They feel safe and protected and loved and nurtured here and that's all that mattered. 

They also have a great story to tell now. How many do? Raised in a commune? Jesus. It's a gift. 

(Might be better than being raised in a wolf den, but I turned out okay, right?)

For hand updates I have a pink cast now which exactly matches the colour of that ink. It is water resistant so I can swim, supposedly. I will be wearing it for the rest of the summer. Nice! They found two more hairline cracks way down in the metacarps (the long bones in the back of your hand, not your actual fingers) and don't know how they were missed (I do! Canadian health care is free but rushed and you have to advocate for yourself so fucking hard) and I got anaesthetic and a fresh reset and a lot of jokes with the doctor and Caleb glowering in the hall because space was limited but now I am restarting my healing and to make matters worse I tripped again this morning because I think my Birkenstocks are too big and that's hilarious and I guess I will wear my Nikes/docs/All-Stars instead because it will probably be safer. 

In any case, casts are great fun. It's fun to have a big hard pink gauntlet on. (No it isn't, I'm trying to be positive) They're calling it a cub paw and reminding me not to swat at them, that it hurts. I already asked Lochlan if he can take it off but he asked if I want pain or no pain and I said no pain and he said well, then we have to leave it. 

I am exceedingly happy that I don't need plates, that it isn't infected or open or mangled or anything awful and I am thrilled that I was right and something got missed and now it's healing and it wasn't in my head. So don't think I'm going to complain for the next six weeks, I'm not. I promise. At least it's supposed to be cool for the next two, at least. That helps. 

Jon Foreman you did it this time, kind of like every time but this is on a whole new level of incredible and I gave it extra time to make sure.

There's an ocean beyond the sea
That holds elixir for all who grieve
Only the shipwrecked could ever find it
By the ocean beyond the sea

In the forest beyond the trees
There sings a songbird who's been released
And the fowler could never find her
By the ocean beyond the sea

There's a valley above the sky
Above the reaches of human kind
And their towers could never find it
By the ocean beyond the sea

Beyond the scarecrows
Beyond the temples
Beyond the meadows
I heard a whisper
As soft as iron
As safe as lions
By the ocean beyond the sea

There's a highway beyond the road
Beyond where power is bought and sold
And the rich man could never find it
By the ocean beyond the sea

Beyond the tyrant
Beyond the sirens
Beyond the silence
I heard a whisper
As soft as thunder
As cold as fire
By the ocean beyond the sea 

This is the most beautiful song in the world. Haunting, dangerous, sweeping and still. Obscured, darkened and bright at the same time. It's a quiet moment and a rollicking adventure all at the same time. It's my all-time new favourite and odds are I'll never be able to play it again while I sing. I go see about my hand this morning, now. Wish me luck. I have a violin with glowing strings, a piano with aching keys, a gang of crazy boys I need to touch and a swing somewhere in a big tent full of people, under a spotlight depending on this working out in my favour or I don't know what I'm going to do.

Careful, Princess.

Oops, I found myself a daylight-vampire, in the form of a big Schuyler in pajama shorts and a t-shirt that just reads DADDY but only upside down which to me is hot and hilarious at the same time. Daniel is drifting in and out of a late-morning shady-cool sleep but Schuyler is awake and on fire and ready to listen, ready to shut me up and ready to throw me back to the other wolves but only after he's done. My hand throbs and other things too but he is just gentle enough for me to trust that he isn't going to touch it or hit it accidentally and that's all I need to know.

He was singing Silent Lucidity under his breath. That was so Schuy and also so strange.

At one point I believe I may have fallen asleep but was jolted awake easily enough. He finally calls time on the day and I am sent back across the lawn with a bemused smile on my face and an exhausted, effortful gait. Razor burn stings in the sun and the Devil watches me from the window at the top of the stairs, framed like a photograph of projected shame and ire. I don't care. I am tired. Schuyler is one of the true shining alphas of this Collective and he's also confusing as hell but no one, including me would ever turn him down. It's just not something we do here and I don't think that will change, ire or not. 

Maybe Caleb turned him down and has regrets. I would have paid to watch. Maybe he wants to watch. I don't know. I don't care, as I said. I need sleep.

(Update: Caleb wants me to delete this. So does Lochlan, oddly.)