Sunday 26 September 2010

Please don't ask because I don't get it either.

(I am not a champagne and truffles girl, and I don't know why I'm telling you this.)

I think I proved it last night in spades with my tilty, beautiful belligerence that led to an abrupt reorganization of my dance card and saw the devil ousted in favor of the carnival comfort. The original freak. The one who doesn't look like a freak at all.

The big freak approved. Maybe, because just like me he chooses the lesser of two evils, and Lochlan isn't evil at all. Not in that way. Not in the way like Caleb is evil.

But anyway, back to the champagne, which seemed to be interspersed with heavier drinks that left me cursing the French bastard who invented stiletto heels and alternately chatting up the Russians like I did this every day or something. I don't. Jesus. I'm a deaf little freak girl who lives in the dark in a commune full of bearded musicians and artists. I have few interpersonal skills and endless affection. I hate to cook and I love to love and...and I don't belong here, so yes, I will take another drink, thank you so much.

At some point I was convinced the stilettos were the reason I was still standing. Propped up with beauty rebar, I was. Reinforced concrete blonde. So thoroughly drunk and really not able to even string two thoughts together when Caleb walked me out by the railing and put his hands up to check for the hearing aids and then smoothed my hair over the collar of Ben's suit coat. Usually I leave my hair tucked in. Now it doesn't matter, it just barely reaches my shoulders. I curse in his face and smile sweetly, swaying just a little and he smiles and leans in as if we are sharing secrets.

All I can think is that I can't feel my tongue anymore. I want to laugh but I can't.

Having passed the hearing aid and wardrobe check I am held closer while I stare out to sea. I could will it to splash over me now, drowning me. Saving me from him. Instead I am treated to his aftershave, intoxicated by the power positively writhing under his dress shirt. I am fluttering and I wish it would stop, but again, more concerned with my tongue and where it might have gone and where is Ben?

I hear him. He is singing. In the salon. Just to my left if I can push off from Caleb and walk straight through the glass. But I can't because Caleb has me in his arms and I am captive to his threats, sorry, to his 'suggestions' whispered in my ear, melting it with his laundered-money dirty soul, bending it down with his expectations, all of which are just as realistic as my fucking shoes. I still don't know what Ben said to him last week or where we stand or if there's any reason at all for me to be here right now at all.

I square myself in his embrace and focus on his eyes. No small feat. My useless tongue seems to be taking my other features with it to sleep. My eyes are all over the place, but not in the same place at the same time so I plant my hands on his chest and nod up at him.

Lochlan. I am still nodding, slurring. Ben. Not you, Cole. Sorry, baby. I stick my finger against his chest and I jab it in hard. Twice.

He laughs. Bridget, let's go cool you off a little. Maybe a long shower. He has my arm now and it hurts and I am being led down to the master suite and I don't want to go but my voice is under my tongue and I can't seem to pull it out. I see the hunger in his eyes but it's guarded for some reason. He has another drink and he gives it to me, saying it is juice, have some, sober up a little. I drink it down and then cough. It isn't juice. It's whiskey and lemonade and my new grand plan is to make myself sick, though I'm probably about to be sick anyway. Not drunker, oh, Jesus, no.

Congrats on the project and my condolences on the state of your personal life. I amuse myself saying that in a slur. I laugh out loud and almost fall down. At this point Caleb is holding me up, dragging me down the hall, eliminating a scene altogether when I think I would prefer to have one. I don't want to be alone with him. My kids are asleep in a stateroom at the end of this hallway, and what in the fuck does he think he's doing?

He opens a door and thrusts me inside and closes the door. What? Lochlan is waiting. Lochlan catches me in his arms and then Ben is there too and I am safe. Safe. I don't know why though, everything happened too suddenly. This is Lochlan's fault. I point at Lochlan and I tell him he should have trusted me because if I love you I will say so. I thank Ben for allowing me the chance to love Lochlan too and then I hit the floor.

I wake up late. The sun is licking the edges of the blinds and there is orange juice and aspirin on the table beside the bed. Ben's arms are wrapped around my neck. I am hot and sick to my stomach. Lochlan rolls over and smiles gently at me and I close my eyes and fall back to sleep for a while. Safe. When I next wake up I feel human and Lochlan is gone and I'm not sure if he really was there or if my brain has simply made room for him. Ben is kissing me, asking me if I feel better, anxious to start his day with a bang (snort) and I still can't feel my tongue.

I sit up and Ben sits up too. I lean back against him and his arms go out around me like a cage. I am not sure if it's to keep me safe from everyone else, or if it's to keep everyone else safe from me, I just know that something is off, something is different and inclined to be distant, he won't talk about it other than to reassure me that I am not a monster and that everything is fine.

I believe him.

I believed Jake too. He said this. He did this. 'Don't worry, princess. Everything is fine, just let me deal with it.' And look what happened, Ben.

It happened so fast. I am pushed away from Ben. The lamp hits the door and smashes into a million pieces. I can hear people running down the hall. Toward the noise. Toward us. I turned to Ben and he just shakes his head at me, desperate. Frustrated to the point of no return.

I'm not Jake, he says. Why won't believe in me? We're the freaks. Why would I lie to you, Bridge?

Caleb bursts into the room and smiles at the carnage. His work here is done. Payback's a bitch, Benjamin. You keep underestimating him, and I don't understand why.