Instead of fluffing your ego I'll mulch your soul.

This is how I act when someone famous walks into my kitchen:

Oh my God, Katatonia just dropped a surprise spring release!

Is there a single?

Yes, but I didn't love-love it. I'll wait and see what the previews sound like. It's very...different.

He nods and smiles. I guess he's used to people fawning over him and not randomly talking about other things. I wonder if I should point out that I only actually do fawn over Ben but that's mostly because I love him more than life itself and I will always be his biggest fan.

Can I make you some coffee?

Please, but only if you'll have some too.

Of course.

Of course! Why wouldn't I want coffee at eight o'clock at night? Who does that? Wait, alcoholics do that. I take down two mugs and fire up the Keurig. He opens the fridge to find milk while I put the sugar and a spoon on the island, in case he takes it with everything. Coffee shop jobs die hard.

What are your other favorites these days?

 I rattle off a handful of up-and-comers and beloved ride-or-dies and he nods. Pleased he has a walking crystal ball in front of him or maybe he's happy to pretend he has a wife to make his coffee for five seconds. I can see he's still wildly rattled that I haven't gushed or asked for a photo or something.

Do you want something to eat?

No, I'm fine, thank you.

What are YOUR favorites these days?

Oh, well, I'm working on a good assortment. He rattles off three bands I've been listening to for years. Yeah, I know. But he seemed far more comfortable talking about himself and we both know it.

Ben is lucky.

Okay, don't-

I mean, I can see the stability is good in this environment. He's very content. You're a constant strength.

It's the other way around. He is the strength.

I see. Anything I can do to help?

No, thank you. We're doing great here. 

I see that. (OMG STOP SAYING THAT.) If you do need anything, however, here's my card. I'll put my personal cell on it. He writes a number on the back and holds it out while I look at it, pained expression all over my face.

If I've overstepped-

Do you know how many of these cards I have? 

He pulls out his wallet and tucks it back inside. I see. 

I don't know if you do. 

In my life I have to take my chances when I see them. It's lonely at my house. I'm looking to make it a home. 

I think there are websites for that. 

It's not the same. 

I see (TAKE THAT, FUCKER). More fun to swoop in and steal supposed surface-girlfriends from your artists? 

'Surface' girlfriends? 

You know, the ones that float. In the shallow end. With their purchased...assets. Ready to jump to the next pool that glitters more brightly. 

At the risk of sounding awful, it usually works-

It won't work here. (I give him mental credit for going for it even though I'm close in age to him, at least and not some naive twenty-year-old with wide eyes and Big Plans.)

Bridget, please accept my apologies for my assumptions and my terrible behaviour. May we start fresh? 

I don't think I'd like to do that. 

I understand. 

Beware the surface girls, hey? They'll suck the life right out of you. 

But isn't that better than a life alone?

I don't know if it is. Something to think about, anyway.

Still bothered but also here's a fun story for you.

(I wish I could keep as many boundaries with friends as I can with strangers.)

Ben had what we like to call a 'blow-through' yesterday. That's when his people come to him, instead of meeting in far away cities where things get done, where they disparage where he lives because it's not 'close to anything'.

Okay, he'll say, naming at least ten huge bands that record here. Every tour starts or ends here. Everyone rehearses here. But whatever.

People from LA are outward, vacuous assholes in this industry. If not, it means they want something from you. New York is a little better. A lot friendlier but a lot less patient. Put the two together and it's mildly hilarious. But I was still on my best, these people are way up there and I've seen their names in my liner notes.

So they show up, we host a huge barbecue, the rain holds off a little, thank God, the meetings wrap up and a final cocktail hour winds things down before they're all off to the airport to leave this godforsaken remote wilderness.

I'm on the beach with Ben and a few of the executives. They love Ben. He is fiercely talented, dedicated, has his shit together at last with a newfound industry respect for it and also he's fucking crazy. They've heard the stories.

One of them tries to make small talk with me. I'm sure he's drunk and afraid. So young and green.

Are you Ben's...wife? 

Ex. We're still close friends. 

Ah. What do you think of...all this? He waves his drink, spilling a little, indicating the house, cliffside and view.

I love it. That's why I'm here. 

It's great that he invites you here. Ben's a generous man. 

I'm sorry? 

If you hadn't divorced this probably could have been yours. He's so smug.

I start laughing.

Did I say something funny? He looks pleased but doubtful.

It's my house, dude. 

I'm so confused. 

Then don't assume and you won't be. 

He said it's his. 

It is. I asked him to live here. 

Do you work in the industry? 

No, I'm a retired circus performer. 

Cirque?

Atlantic City, New York, eastern seaboard mostly, in the nineties. Nothing notable. 

I need to quit drinking. 

Probably. 

I didn't think the circus paid so well. 

Oh, it doesn't. You have to grift for your dinner in that industry. Just like this one, only you sing instead of dance, I guess. 

I don't see why you and Ben are divorced. Or how this factors in. Trust fund?

No, and it's a long story.

Dammit, I have a flight to catch. 

It's okay, I wasn't going to tell it again anyway. 

Stay with me.

Lochlan brought out two whiskeys in one hand last night and in the other, a bluetooth speaker, setting it on the railing and cueing up some Sam Smith, a modern spin on our endless beloved eighties power ballads. Maybe we're sophisticated now? I ask as I clink my glass against his and take a long sip.

I doubt it, he laughs.

He takes the glasses, setting them on the table and pulls me into his arms, leading me around the front porch while the rain pours down a few feet away, soaking our world with holy water, washing away the sins and mistakes, drowning the past, snuffing out ghosts and driving enemies away. It's just he and I. Just us and the rain. As ever.

A spin with my hand up over my head and he pulls me back in. We need a bigger camper, he says softly.

This size is perfect for us. I didn't know they came in bigger sizes. This is the first camper I've ever been in. It's the first alone-slow dance I've ever had too.The radio blares a noise and fizzles out abruptly, ruining the mood and Lochlan swears, dropping his arms.

I need more batteries, he said back then. The bluetooth isn't updated on this, he says now and the cold rushes into the space where he was a second ago.

He takes out his phone and lets it be the speaker instead, resuming the music, because technology now enhances our long romance, instead of hobbling it. Because the past is the present and the future too. Because he's here and it doesn't matter what gets into this space as long as I can still reach out and touch him.

As long as I can still reach out and touch you, you mean. 

I mean both, I tell him and he's in close again.

Happy to hear you say it. He has me up against the rail now, hands on my head, leaning us out over into the rain, laughing as we are drenched in seconds midkiss. He leans us back in and pulls me away from the rail and down to the hanging bench. Another long kiss and he is trying to take my clothes off while I fight to keep them on.

Too cold, no blankets. 

I'll light us on fire, he says, breathless now.

Upstairs, I plea and he groans.

That is the one thing I loved about the camper. We only had to take two steps and we were in bed. 

Soon we can move back for the summer. I take the speaker and he brings the glasses.

I can't wait for that. Privacy, finally. He finishes his drink and then mine too, leaving the glasses on the table in the front hall.

Rainy day people.

The best place to have an existential crisis these days is the gazebo. If you lie flat on your back with your head sticking out on the step you get the added benefit of only being cold on your head, letting the rain wash your hair while your clothes remain nice and dry and heat blasts down on your prone form, drying you out like a husk of your former self.

Duncan is beside me. He asked if I wanted to hang out for half an hour outside to get some fresh air. Lochlan agreed to the half hour because surprise, he's on a conference call because the person who took the job didn't know how to do all of it.

Duncan is smoking his annual new year blunt. Because he's not going to give up his lizard kingdom without a fight and because he's remorseless and as hypocritical as the rest. I call him on it. Giving back your coins?

I stopped drinking. Keeping my coins.

Alcohol is a drug, Dunk.

Don't grind my gears, Bridge. He growls it at me, getting up and stamping out his treat, smudging it into the concrete pad at the edge of the step. Better?

Talk to Ben about that.

It's once a year! It's a ritual, not a crutch. If it was a crutch, I'd do it more than this.

What's wrong, Dunk. You're far more short-tempered than usual.

Second. He's looking over the grass. We have a visitor approaching. I look sideways and see a blur but I know their gaits. It's New Jake. For fucks sake. What does he want?

He reaches us at last with a smile and a wave. Duncan stares him down. New Jake fails to notice but nods in his direction and addresses me upsidedown as I look up at him from the floor.

I need a passenger for this afternoon. I put new rear shocks on the bike and I want to see how it drives. Hoping to add a hundred pounds or so. Would you like a ride today, Bridget?

It's raining. Duncan says it before I can answer.

It's only a sprinkle. What do you say, Bri-

She's busy today. Duncan looks in the other direction, at an imaginary plane. Try PJ.

That's twice as much weight as I want to test.

Sorry then. Another time.

New Jake takes the hint and tells us to have a great day. I respond warmly with the same while Duncan ignores him. I wait until he disappears far away around the side of Batman's house and turn to look at Duncan.

What was that?

He sniffs around you like a hungry bear. I'm just trying to keep you from getting eaten.

I point to my ear. Too late, don't you think? You going to tear Caleb a new one as well?

Pretty sure PJ and Lochlan are doing that right now.

I jump up. You set me up so they could hurt him?

No, Bridget, I distracted you so they could teach him a lesson.

Thought you were my friend.

We thought Caleb was your friend.

He's never been. You all know this. And with that I'm gone, flying back to the house to try and stop whatever's about to happen.

***

He's fine. PJ held him down, Lochlan bit his ear until it bled. What an interesting twist and amazing payback because now he knows how much it hurts. Caleb now has two stitches (with Lochlan's assurances that he 'held back', so I transferred the appropriate amount to his account. We're so mature.

Scarred on the inside.

That title is my t-shirt today. It's supposed to be edgy and emo but everyone misreads it and says Scared? Of what?

I will stand straight, pulling it out and usually they'll continue to ignore the letters and try to cajole me into saying what I'm scared of. It's maddening.

But it's true. My scars are bigger and more prolific on the inside. On the outside I'm rocking a lot of little dings and dents, a couple good size permanent marks in the checkmark under my nose from the skateboard and two caesarean section scars that healed pretty poorly, truth be told. There's also a burn mark on my neck but I can hide it under my hair and it's not as visible as you would think. You have to look for it. I'm also missing virtually all of my fingerprints so touchscreens are fun.

Inside I've got my rebuilt motor of a heart and a hundred million stab wounds from where they've tried to kill me with their love and missed, leaving so many holes water pours out freely when I swim but my heart remains only mildly affected by their efforts.

Lochlan scowled at me, lifting his arm up to let me pass underneath as he held the door open.

Get what you wanted? 

No, I remind him for he knows the ever-present craving for the ghost looms large and that the Devil is the only one who can fulfill it.

Christ, Peanut. You make me crazy. 

I want company where I am, here in crazytown.

You don't need him, then. Here. Let me check your ear. There's been some concern about blood flow and coloring and I'm a little excited because I've been promised I can see a surgeon and get elf ears if this doesn't work and I still really, really want them.

Aw, it looks great. And with that those hopes are dashed but at least his own are back on track now. As long as I'm physically intact (only scarred on the inside) he can pretend I haven't forced a devil of a boyfriend on him, which is an incredibly unrealistic depiction of what this is but no one needs a refresher.

He's not coming back around this week. It's not a question, exactly.

No, I told him I'm taking a bit of a break now. I need time to think. 

Good. I have some news. 

News?

Info, maybe. I cleared the week. 

Really? 

I'll be home. Job's been passed on to another person who wanted it and I don't want it. 

What'd Schuyler say. 

See you tonight?

Oh, so he didn't mind? 

He's always surprised if I take a gig. 

Okay. 

So we can do some special things. Spend time. Heal your ear properly. 

With magic? 

If you want. 

(I need to find a shirt that says TOO EASILY FORGIVEN.)

Amends.

No church today. Instead homemade french toast, bacon, fried tomatoes and Jesus in the dining room as everyone linked arms, hands on shoulders on either side just like at bible camp or a Switchfoot concert (I love those moments) and prayed for Caleb's blackened, violent soul. We're going to fix it if it kills us or him, and we'll do it together as a collective.

I sent all the money back and he sighed audibly and had it transferred again, telling his favorite private banker that a miscommunication on our end led to it being rejected. This time he had it broken up and dropped into seven different accounts. Just to be a jerk but a loving, benevolent one. He has apologized to everyone and taken all of the blame for his efforts to hurt me, as he well should. This went beyond imprints. This was weirdly surreal and nostalgically brutal.

Last night after our big Burns supper he poured me a second whiskey and asked Lochlan if he could wash my hair for me. It was an intimate gesture from a man who doesn't know how to care for people so it caught us by surprise. Lochlan said yes so hesitantly it was audible in his voice, which caught me by even more surprise. We waited until late, heading up to Caleb's wing where he ran a hot bath with Himalayan salt and lavender bubbles. He rolled up his sleeves and undressed me carefully, taking caution as he lifted my camisole over my head, looking positively stricken to see the aftermath.

I stand there trying to decide if he's a hungry bear or a scary wolf or maybe some new undiscovered hybrid of the two, staring him down, bleeding him dry. He meets my eyes and stops moving. Just staring at me. Near tears but not quite because he is strong and this is matter over mind.

I'm sorry, Bridget. I meant to teach you a lesson. I did not mean to wound you. I wish I could take it back.

I wait for more.

It won't happen again.

Oh for- You say that every time, Diabhal.

Then I need to have more self control.

And how.

 It's difficult for me. Around you.

Then fix it with your money.

What would you suggest?

I don't know? It seems pretty straightforward. Don't bite people. Don't draw blood. Don't get so excited that you can't control your actions.

I can do it with most people.

Except the ones you love?

That's the irony here. He lifts up my hand and helps me step into the tub, wordless finally. It's so hot. It feels nice.

I rest my head on my knees and slide back to make room, thinking he is joining me but instead he's beside me, on his knees on the mat, scooping handfuls of warm water over my back with the washcloth. I close my eyes and startle almost immediately. I didn't sleep last night. I hope that changes tonight. He turns me around so I can rest my head against his arm while he gently washes my hair, being so careful it's as if he's a different person.

Finally he pulls the plug and turns on the hand sprayer, standing me up, rinsing all the bubbles off my skin and distracting me from the fact that I'm standing in pinkish water. He rinses until the water is clear and then helps me step back out of the tub and into a towel that he wraps around me, pulling another one off the stack to wrap around my hair, gently.

He bends his head down and kisses my shoulder, suddenly pushing the towels off me, pulling me in against his shirt, getting it wet. A long kiss on my mouth and he brings me down with him, into his lap while he fights to get his belt undone, to get his clothes off. He is gentle but fiercely affectionate and forgets my injury, pressing his head down against mine, on the left, as ever and I cry out. He stops on a dime, bringing me away from him, out into the cold before resuming, this time on the right side of my head, unknown territory as we have our ways. He locks his hands around my hips, bringing me back in over and over until I build into a release and then he keeps me in close as he joins me in a release of his own.

A long exhale and we have started over. Again. As lovers instead of bitter enemies of the heart.

Stripping off the rest of his things, he takes us both in under the hot spray once more and checks my ear for any further damage but it's fine. He kisses just above it now.

Okay? 

I nod, shivering and he grabs another towel, wrapping me up in it and he gets one for himself too, tying it loosely around his waist before embracing me again. He whispers against my good (uninjured) ear, thanking me for giving him enough trust to make it up to me. That he's going to work harder to be the man I want him to be. I nod. I hate promises than can't be kept. Be who you are, just don't rip pieces out of my ear, for Christs sake. Otherwise I love the intensity. I love being wanted so much it physically hurts him instead of me. I love the game. I love his passion.

It means he's alive. It means I am too. I sleep like a baby in his room knowing he's probably not going to change all that much but just enough to be trusted by the rest.

And my ear feels a lot better today, truth be told.

We can all hate each other and we'll do it dipped in gold.

When Lochlan saw me he didn't say a word, he just pulled out his phone and called the old doctor. The one who is kind and does not question anything. He arranged a car for him and we waited in the front hall in silence. By now it's been a few hours. My ear is still bleeding but only a little. It'll stop soon I think. There's blood in my hair though. It's truly minor. Lochlan doesn't agree, based on the fact that human bites are dangerous though I've pointed out PJ can stitch me up or whatever. He's so angry getting the words out is rough but the anger isn't directed at me. Well, maybe it is. Every time I try to explain Caleb to my own mind things get worse. Every time I try to explain him out loud things disintegrate. Every time I try to put a definition down on a page to what this is he physically rejects it and we go back to square two.

Square one was when things were good, when I had a crush and he merely exploited it to get at Lochlan, before he found his voice, I mean. Before he learned he could use force in any area he couldn't use cash or law.

He is textbook.

Yesterday afternoon I got seven stitches. Three in my ear and four in my scalp just above my ear. On my left because that's where he goes. That's where he'll be, head ducked down against the top of mine, too tall to match up. I can't feel the head wound but the ear one throbs, making it even harder to hear for the blood pounding through it.

Last night's emergency meeting on the beach saw Caleb on his knees. Last night's meeting brought a whole new fear as Lochlan wondered if we should banish Caleb or just drown him. His words eventually got so tight and so low with rage that Schuyler had to take over because Lochlan couldn't get any more words out. More than once PJ tried to talk me into going back up but I needed to be there to advocate for Caleb. More than once Batman suggested Caleb have some real-world consequences, maybe legal ones since that's the only thing he seems to understand.

I stood there with my throbby ear and numb skull and cold hands and reminded them of everything they forgot, everything they try and revise and everything we are. That they know damn well the fault lies with the catalyst and that's me.

Stockholm-

It's not, Locket, it's-

But it IS. 

Lochlan can't do this. He's too close. He's got my hand in a death grip and that's fine. Ironically it's hurting more than anything else and you think he's going to let go if I ask him to? Not on my life.

Get help for this, Diabhal. You're losing her. 

Caleb stares at me. How do I fix this? I can let them drown me, if that's what you want, knowing I'll be with my brother again. I'm ready, if this is what you want. 

It isn't. 

See? Caleb stares evenly at Lochlan. She's not going anywhere. 

Lochlan takes his advantage and swings. PJ stops him, with effort. He's on his fucking knees. He's already where you need him. 

Pay her. At the very least. Lochlan barks at Caleb and turns his back. He pulls me with him, up the beach, up the steps, inside where it's warm and my ear really starts to throb now in time with my head.

 This morning Caleb has had a hundred thousand dollars for each stitch I had to have transferred to my account. This morning the throbbing has stopped. I don't know if it's related. But it's more than enough to go and get supplies for our Burns Night supper. I'll figure out the rest later.

Lies.

Here I stand, helpless and left for dead

Close your eyes, so many days go by
Easy to find what's wrong, harder to find what's right
I believe in you, I can show you that I can see right through all your empty lies
I won't stay long, in this world so wrong

The fever returned some time during the night between when the sun ran away and when I went out to call in the tides, hoping they might pull the sun back. They refused but at least the water is nice and cold.

The warning came violently, up against the door as I begged him not to keep me there. Teeth chattering, eyes drowning in a sea of despair I begged him. I whispered Gingerbread in his fucking beautiful face a hundred times over but he didn't listen, didn't stop, didn't put me down. He's lonely with no one to take it out on and so it stays bottled up until he explodes. He's angry that I was sick, enraged that I was absent, frustrated even as I threatened to tell stories about my life with him again. Let me rephrase that. He's scared. There's no statute here, no time limit if you do something as wrong as he did. No way out if I decide to call in my cards. No looking back, is there, Caleb? He says it's easy. That if it comes down to me or him he's not going to go out without a fight. He says I think he wouldn't hurt me but he shows me just enough pain to convince me, and then he goes a little further still, just so I don't forget. 

I've started calling his bluff. Just do it. Send me to heaven and I'll be with Jake and you can go to hell with your brother. That made him rage like I've never seen and I was pulled limb from limb, as he bit through the tough flesh of history with his teeth, leaving full marks this time, leaving streaks of blood and fear in his wake. 

We could do this all night but then the tide finally hears my plea, dragging the moon away, bringing the sun back up until I am wiping the tears from my eyes while squinting up into the light at him, wanting to hurt him back until he can't get up anymore.

I hate you. 

I can't mean this, can't reconcile it, don't want to say it but it's the only thing that leaves a mark on him, truth be told.

He smiles ruefully. No, you don't. That's what keeps me forever safe and you forever in danger.

Better.

I'm cheering myself up this morning with the first full cup of coffee in three days and a healthy helping (with seconds, thirds and tenths) of the first five (okay three), America records. Lochlan doesn't mind. He loves them.

Now it's embarrassing story time for him, as I share with you a fun thing about how this band came to be for us.

Lochlan was born here (in British Columbia) and then when he was still in diapers but not yet walking his family moved back to Edinburgh. He didn't come back to Canada until he was in grade school and therefore has a massive accent still that pops out like fire when he's mad or excited or talking with someone else who doesn't have an accent and you hear it so much more strongly.

But anyway, while over there, as a child he became obsessed with American music, or as he put it, 'music from America'. All of the records have it written on them, he said, and specifically he assumed everything else he heard on the radio was from somewhere else. He had an argument with Caleb around age ten (Caleb was fourteen by now and FAR more sophisticated) that he could SHOW him music from America because he had the albums! SEE?

The story goes that Caleb may have been responsible for opening Lochlan's eyes to a world of music, something Lochlan would later do for me, as soon as he got past the mental hurdle that the only vinyl records his parents owned were the first few America records. Namely America, Hearts, Homecoming, Hat Trick, Hideaway and Harbor, having been obsessed with the band as youngish parents.

I can identify with that, except I do it in gigabytes instead of vinyl because I'm impatient and I jump around alot between songs and I can't really catch the quality difference anymore without my hearing. Besides, I'm chasing down a feeling so format is less important than you think.

But yes, Lochlan sang Sister Golden Hair to me once and I was hooked. On him and on the band. He still sings it, though my hair has risen in value to platinum at this point. God, we're old.

Anyway, song's out, Bridget's up and I can't wait to see the warzone this house is after not venturing downstairs for a day and a half. Yes, I will do it slowly. No, I won't catch any boys along the way. I said I was better, never said I was perfect.

Earning my degree.

All told I've had nine offers of sleepovers when I'm 'better'. If you're wondering how I get so run down this is a clue. Caleb, Schuyler, PJ, Batman, August, Sam and Matt, Duncan, Dalton, Gage. Maybe they think offering me affection without rules is what makes me feel better.

Well, they would be correct. Though a stack of new Archie/Betty comics and Lochlan stripping down and coming to bed at seven pm to hang out helps a lot too. There's no 'when I'm better' with Lochlan though. I think he likes it when I run as hot as he does.