Somewhere safe.He's called already. When you were working. Lochlan says the word 'working' like it's filthy and frowns at the floor. His hands are jammed in his pockets and I hear the lighter clicking and clicking furiously. I wonder if I should fill a bucket and carry it around behind him for when he fumbles and sets his cargo shorts on fire.
Is he going to call back?
No.
Did he want to talk to me?
No.
Wow. The look on his face is getting worse instead of better.
What did he say?
You know something? I'm like the cleaner. Someone makes a mess of you and you default back to me, get yourself together and take off for someone new. You're making a habit of this and you get burned every fucking time but you don't learn, Bridget. So here's the thing. I'm not the back-up guy, okay? You get that? If you're with me, you're with me and there's none of this...this BULLSHIT that goes on all around me. You are mine. You got that? I'm sick of watching this. Stop running to these broken ones and JUST. STAY. HERE.
I watch him as he melts down. He shines brighter and gets hotter as he goes. His cheeks turn pink and his eyes blaze and he finds a conviction that is generally too slippery and hard to hold on to. He finds his own worth in these little moments where he doesn't just up and shut down.
I watch him because he has me clutched in both hands like a rag doll, shaking gently with the emphasis on each word deployed like a challenge.
Just stay with me, Bridgie.
I AM!
He lets go but keeps staring and I burst into flames. Self-immolation is totally the new self-destruct. We're so doomed people run from us in the streets when they see us coming. In case it's contagious.
But are you? Don't answer me right now, just think on it and I'll ask you again later. You've got some hard choices to make here, young lady, and it's time you made the right ones. There are no fairy tales here, just horror stories.