All the eggs in one nest.

Super hardcore drugs now to the point of ambivalence even if my dress were on fire and the plan is the same as before, only with tweaks now to fill in the holes left before, a pattern of errant gunfire blasting through our thin facade of normalcy, a street war waged with hearts soaked in gasoline and sparked on the crooked pavement, thrown through the windows, lighting our world on fire.

This morning PJ was upstairs packing a bag. Caleb's bag. With his laptop and chargers and clothes and his hard drives, a few toiletries and some other highly precious and needful things. It's being delivered to wherever he is right now, as he didn't return yesterday and I'm thinking we're going to do another drought, another vacation from each other until tempers around here lose their lava-glow and everyone remembers that I have a preference and that is that I prefer Caleb to be here, with us and not Elsewhere. 

It's punishment that's almost worse for me and I didn't do anything wrong here, unless wrong is a term you draw a line in the sand with, catching on the g and just glancing through until it digs deep on the end of that pesky w, and then well, I can't help you. We have an arrangement. Or rather, an agreement. 

Right now you and he have nothing, Lochlan reminds me as I am pulled along to see off Caleb's things as they depart with the courier, who will put it directly in Caleb's hands. He can't be that far, then. 

The rain starts to beat against the glass as we run back into the house and my phone beats a single heartbeat against my dress pocket. I know it's Caleb but I will wait until later to look at what he has to say. For now I am to listen to Lochlan because the shots are something he feels the need to call. I know he's running out of patience, and that Caleb has broken every simple easy rule Lochlan has given him. I don't know if I can blame him for the way he feels but I also know there's no twelve-step plan for being addicted to the Devil.

Sticking points (in my soul).

The pretenses were dropped over breakfast as I was washing a pan in the sink and I felt a rumble and turned in time to see Lochlan lunge at Caleb, who pushed his cup away as he backed off from the table and it splashed against PJ's back as he threw himself in between. 

PJ is fine. Luckily Caleb will sip his coffee even after it's cold. One of the rare things we have in common. He switched to instant too. He's not all that picky, in the end. 

Dalton has Lochlan by the arms at this point as PJ swears the instant the cold liquid soaks into his shirt. 

Just let me get one good one in-

Locket-

Bridget, stop defending him! 

Go. I look at Caleb and he looks defeated and rights his cup on the table before striding out of the room. I hear the chimes as the door opens and closes and then the soft hum of his vehicle driving up past the house. Only then does Lochlan relax enough that they let go of him. 

What did he say to you? I'm talking to Lochlan but looking at Dalton and PJ. PJ heads away down the hall as well, to change his shirt, and Dalton points at us as he backs toward the downstairs steps. 

If you need me, yell. 

I nod and turn back to Lochlan, waiting for his answer. 

I'm not a rat, Peanut. 

I need to know. 

Why? There are no dealbreakers with this guy for you. What difference does it make? As long as the money keeps pouring in you let him do whatever he wants. I didn't raise you to be like this. The money isn't supposed to be the important part in life. 

It's punishment. I'm taking it all. 

He's GOOD at money, Bridget. He never seems to run out. How much is enough? Take that and cut him loose. 

I want all of it. 

The irony here is the cost to you. And the cost to all of us. I don't think we can afford to have him so close any more. When is this going to be enough? Just answer the question.

I don't have to iron any shirts this time.

It's easier to iron things just before they are worn because when they're in closets, jam-packed against other things they wrinkle so easily. 

I wore my striking green dress, it's too big and too long but it somehow worked and I wore my emerald earrings and I carried the cake down and then set it up and everyone kept coming up all day saying You made that? 

Yes, it's a weird rare side-hustle and this was the most stressful cake I have ever made, because it was for Ruth's wedding. 

No pressure. 

(She loved it.)

The wedding was so beautiful. SO beautiful. Of course I cried. I still can't believe she is married. I can't believe she grew up and it took forever and then suddenly she was there, a woman standing next to me, drinking her champagne after the toast. Being charming and shy at the same time, like Lochlan. 

Just like Lochlan. The red curls, the endless freckles, the easy jokes, putting everyone into a relaxed mood as we watched the ceremony and then took photos, and then the reception was well underway by mid afternoon and I was underfed, dehydrated and a little bit good-drunk by ten. It was so beautiful. The skies opened up multiple times and we ran through the rain in the grass with umbrellas. Lochlan lit the torches and gas firepits with magic and we warmed ourselves near to them all evening. We marveled at how this tiny dynamo turned into such an accomplished young woman, now a bride. 

We're still doing that, to be honest and it's a feeling that doesn't seem to want to leave me. 

My dress survived, my shoes did not, the pictures are incredible (and those are just the ones we took, not including the photographer). The suits survived, the umbrellas did not, the champagne never ran out but we also had none left, and there wasn't a dry eye in the house. I've never seen so many grown men sobbing openly as Ruth took her place in front of her groom. He is a good man too, and cares for her in a way I couldn't have even imagined, and she is so happy. He is happy too. 

They left on their honeymoon early yesterday morning. I had to tell her to stop texting me and go enjoy life twice already. 

I am happy too. I am insanely tired.

She's like a pet. I think I'll name her Bex.

Happy birthday to me! I took the dog outside in between baking sessions and I'm glad I did-sometimes I just open the door and let him go wander for ten minutes but I like the rain (a lot) and so did the bear the size of my Jeep that was lumbering around the backyard. I opened my mouth in a quiet O and scooped the dog back up and then stood to watch as the bear wandered up the driveway around the corner and then lumbered back down. As she came down I backed around the patio and up the steps, put the dog inside and just waited by the door, hand on the handle, dog waiting inside wondering why his trip out was cut so short. As the bear came back around the corner to the backyard, Lochlan pushed the door open all the way and took my hand. 

Your birthday bear, he said softly. Come inside, Bridget. 

In a minute, I say, not looking away.

Now, he says.

I had a wonderful pre-birthday celebration since tomorrow is a wedding baking day. We had chicken pot pie and ice cream cake and I opened presents from everyone and everything was a perfect gift and I love everything so much. I'm about to have a third piece of cake and then maybe a walk around the neighborhood to burn it off before dark and then a good nights sleep and it's all hands on deck for tomorrow. We bake tomorrow and decorate on Friday and also have to decorate the arbour, tent and tables. I'm so excited. SO excited.

The Bite Tax.

That's what it's being called and he paid it with an appropriate amount of hubris AND he showed his face to every man on the point and swore to them in person that he lost control and he is working on it. August wants proof of that. Lochlan just wishes he would go. Ben still wants to know what he tastes like (and I fear he'll find out the moment I turn my back) and Batman is holding all the cards again. 

Unfortunately for all of his assurances I know monsters are real whether you acknowledge them or not and sometimes it's not only physical danger you're in. 

Sam thinks we've all lost our way. 

PJ wants to crack skulls. More than one of them too, to be fair. Caleb didn't do this on his own and he's sadly not the only one to have an oops moment, even if he does bare his teeth on the regular even as he knows he won't be able to keep himself under control. The fine will only slow him down but August is going to be staying on him to make sure he maybe undertakes a program or some intensive work to cut this shit out. Not like he isn't already putting his money where his mouth was. 

Speaking of which, I heal fast. Everything is freshly scarred over and I am halfway through my antibiotics and no infection, no fever, no red streaks or fresh swelling and I can sit and my skin is crawling and itchy and so I'll be in the pool by Victoria Day and that's all I wanted. Also I want to not have this hanging over our heads and I went to see Caleb after Batman was through with him (and everyone else too) and I asked him why he can't manage sometimes but other times he's fine. 

Caleb just shrugged. Demoralized, stung even, as payback comes since Bridget no longer keeps his secrets, bound by threats she knows are no longer real. I think that's the part that surprised him here, and not the bounty he just paid in order to see me keep my own soul. 

Out, smarting.

Batman asked for a breakfast meeting this morning, which I don't have time for. I have to bake and iron and prepare for house guests and get this wedding together and besides, I know what he's going to say. But after a couple of quiet empty threats and an offer of having some people come and help I finally went because I'm not going to turn down a big huge breakfast of fried carbohydrates ever in my life. Or good coffee. Or bacon, frankly. Also I love the little squares of grape jelly. They're ten times better than the whole jar, and I still don't know why. 

I think it's from years of arriving at a Howard Johnsons motel and having breakfast when I was younger and knowing there would be a pool and a restaurant and a door with a lock on it and we were safe for a moment. Food always tastes better when you're safe. 

But I don't think this place will have the squares. Nope. This is too fancy for foil-packets of jam.

He orders for us and then we sip our coffee and wait. This isn't a HoJos, that's for sure. Caviar on my Eggs Benny. Half the food for three times the price, Lochlan would say. 

Caleb needs a time-out, Bridget. He's not reasonable. 

He had almost all of Lent and look what that did. He was worse than ever. 

Batman looks away, and then down, as he fucks with his fork and then his napkin, composing himself. They hate it when I can so casually reference this. 

Ben wants to bite him back. I laugh sadly and Batman rolls his eyes. 

Then he'll expect Ben to have the same punishment for the same crime, and that will leave us down a man. 

Ben is his size though so it doesn't count. 

It does now, after he hurt Ben, remember? How much damage are you going to let him continue to do, Bridget? How long are you going to let him off the hook? 

What's your magic solution, then? He goes away and he always comes back worse. 

What about a fine. A devastating financial hit. An expensive one. Pay to play. I hate that I just said that. But we both know his numbers and we know what he cares about. You and money. It's one or the other. 

How much? 

He tells me and my eyebrows go up and the server, who has just brought our plates, asks me if everything is alright with my order. 

It is, thank you. 

Batman repeats it once the server leaves. 

That's a...big hit. 

An expensive lesson. 

What if he says no? 

Then he leaves. And he never comes back. 

He'll pay it. 

I know he will. 

Who to? 

To me and then I'll hold it in your trust. 

Then you have power over me. 

You don't need the money but it's yours nonetheless. If you want Lochlan can act as trustee. I don't really care. 

What if he does it again? 

Then I will kick him back to hell. He won't be able to afford another mistake. 

He'll tell you to stay out of it. 

The days of discretion for him ended the last time he hurt you. If you're not going to care than I will be your proxy on this. 

I care, I just know why and what set him off and how easy all of this is to prevent if I just let him-

Your husband would like a little peace of mind here too, Bridget. 

Then he should have married someone else. Tears are flowing freely now and Batman reaches over with his napkin and dries them. More come and I'm sure the servers are lingering nearby wondering exactly how spoiled I am that I haven't touched my plate when it cost sixty-seven dollars and something and now I'm crying over it. 

He doesn't want anyone else. He just wants you to be safe. 

I'm not ten anymore. 

You never got a chance to be a ten-year-old, Bridget, and monsters aren't real if you don't let them be.

The sandwich wasn't THAT good and next time we'll just go to the diner and a million more rules like always.

No stitches! Butterfly bandages changed twice daily and some heavy duty antibiotics and antibiotic cream and I am standing on guard duty (since I can't really sit) in order to protect the Devil, who, like a classic abuser, couldn't help it, didn't mean to, and will never do it again. Oh, and he'll make it up to me. Also I make him into a monster. 

Of course it's all my fault. She believes him. I don't. I can't swim for upwards of three weeks to come. He may have ruined my birthday. Probably on purpose. I gave every safe word I had. All four of them. The gentleness in the beginning should have been heralded for the violence to come but I thought we were doing good. I thought he learned his lesson last time. 

I won't let Lochlan hurt him and I won't let them banish him either. 

Ben wasn't in the mood for negotiation. He looked at me for the longest time and then said, 

Then it's time somebody bites him back. 

They can fight it out, then. I'm not allowed any more input and I'm not allowed to leave Lochlan's sight.

Someone should burn the plane.

I know Gatlin isn't real. Apparently Children of the Corn was filmed in Iowa. Okay fine. Also the weather was bad. Sandwiches were really good. Fries were good. Grits were really really good this morning. They taste a lot like a not-very-well-mixed Cream of wheat but it could be that I am biased. And Canadian. 

Flew back in between storms with Rammstein's new Angst on repeat in my headphones for nine hours. Cracked a lot of gum. Bit my nails off. Caleb left a bite mark in an awful place and I can't get comfortable. Pretty sure this one will leave a scar. Or my asshole is gone. I'm a little afraid to look but I did since the bathroom is all mirrors and yes, there is not much left. This one might get infected and I'll probably need stitches but for now the whiskey works and the music works and the sandwich wasn't worth the price and I knew that but I had to follow through.

I probably could have left off that whole paragraph but at the end of the day I didn't die in a plane crash, I'm home safe and sound and honestly it's just another bite mark, just another x marks the day in history like every other day and eventually it will be forgotten and we'll do it all again. 

I was supposed to get the rest of my internet privileges back this weekend too but that probably won't happen now. Ha. Ow. Don't make me laugh. It hurts. I found a Vicoden in the drawer just now but I think it's expired. I took it anyway.

FLAT. LIGHTNING. BREAD.

We are in Lincoln, NEBRASKA. 

Actually. Here. Getting myself a sandwich. Long flight. Crazy storms now. I hope we can fly out tomorrow.

I told Caleb I wanted a real Reuben and he called my fucking bluff.