38. Gotta Want It
SOUNDTRACK: You Don’t Know What It’s Like by Sleeping Wolf
~ brIDGET ~
Gerald was pouting. If I hadn’t been so strung out myself, I would have been taunting him relentlessly.
He sat in a chair across the coffee table from where I usually sat, legs crossed and his jaw rolling.
“I didn’t lie to you, Gerald. I really was at the church. You can call them and ask if you want. I have the Priest’s cellphone number. You can stop being butthurt now.”
He sighed and made a note on his papers. “You refused to speak to me when you canceled the appointment, you didn’t answer your phone for the rest of the day—not even a text, Bridget. You have my number too. And then when you did finally text, you didn’t respond to my questions.”
“I was… preoccupied.”
“Were you? Or did I touch a nerve last time and you’re retreating? Because we’ve been here before. And you told me you wouldn’t play childish games again.” He pinned me with a gaze over the top of his glasses.
I glared back. “I’m not playing games. I’m the same loveable hot mess I’ve always been… just a little extra itchy.”
“Which is all the more reason to be here with me.”
God, I wanted to strangle him sometimes—and not in the good way.
“No, Gerald, it’s not. Because you don’t get it and that’s fucking hard work when I’m already spinning out.”
He leaned forward, eyes locked on mine, his expression grave. “No, Bridget. That’s where you’re wrong. The whole reason you think I don’t get it is because you always run when you disagree with me so you never face the questions in your head.” He started counting things off on his fingers. “You don’t trust my motives, but won’t ask me what they are. You don’t like how easily I read you because it makes you vulnerable, so you run instead of asking me if I can help. That means we never take the next step—”
“That’s bullshit.”
“One time, Bridget. Tell me one time you have actually asked for my insight? One time you’ve sought anything beyond my analysis?”
“Are you seriously playing the victim right now?”
“Don’t be ridiculous—”
“You get paid for your fucking insight and analysis— an extremely noble undertaking, I’m sure. But you and I both know Jeremy only insists on this to save his own ass if I off myself! If he stopped paying you, I’d never see you again. Don’t tell me I don’t know your fucking motives!”
Gerald’s mouth was tight, and he was shaking his head. “Seriously? You think I gave you my personal phone number for the cash? You aren’t that lucrative, Bridget.”
“Oh please, I might be unhinged, Gerald, but I’m not stupid. I’m a poster child. One whispered word about my dad and suddenly everyone wants to hang on every word you say—”
“I have never told a soul that you’re my client—”
“Not even at your clinical conferences? Really?” I needled him.
He arched one brow.
“Really, Bridget. Because I do actually get it. A lot more than you realize. I understand that in your world you’ve always been a commodity—either an asset or a liability. I get that you grew up in a home where you were used as a pawn in your father’s game against your mother. I get the severe trauma of what he did to you. And I get that you retreat from people because you think you’ve never found anyone who gave a shit just because they cared about you. And I do actually get that you think I’m just one more cog in that wheel. But I’m not. I give a shit, Bridget. I give a great many shits. I didn’t sleep for three days last week. And no one was paying me for that. ”
I broke his gaze and glared at the wall instead, because even though I knew he wasn’t the noble giver here, he also wasn’t an asshole and…
“I thought you’d be proud of me,” I said through my teeth. “I did what you told me to do the week before, and I was excited to come tell you about it because I thought it would make you happy and prove… prove that I don’t just sit here ignoring you all the time. But then shit happened, and that’s real. It was a shock, and it made me really shaky, and…”
Gerald dropped his pen and clawed both hands over his bald pate and through the whisps of hair that circled his skull. “Don’t you see, Bridget? That’s exactly when I can help you most! Why won’t you let me? You really think I don’t care? You think I just want to use you? Have I not proved myself to you before now?”
I turned back at him, a venomous cutting judgment on my tongue—a torrent of hilarious blades that would emasculate or marginalize or make him small to get him the fuck off my back . But just as I opened my mouth, it hit me…
Judgment.
I hated it. Despised it when people took one look, or heard one story, and decided they understood me. It made me rage when someone decided for me that they knew what I could or couldn’t handle.
And it finally hit me that that was exactly what I was doing to Gerald. Had been doing to him for two years, in fact.
Shit.
To his credit, Gerald clearly figured out that I was having a moment, because he closed his mouth and just watched me, one hand white-knuckled on his notebook in his lap. And then I saw his throat bob. Like he was nervous. Or scared. Or… something.
“You really want to hear it all, Gerald? Because it seems to me like you’re going to lose more sleep, not less,” I said quietly.
He nodded slowly. “I’d rather know. I’d rather have a chance, at least a shot at helping you through it, Bridget. If you’re ready to tell me, I’m ready to listen.”
“And what happens if you can’t deal?” I asked him honestly, surprised by the pinch in my throat.“What happens if I tell you and it’s just too much? I’m just too fucked up. What then?”
He leaned forward, his brow creasing. “Have you forgotten that I’ve met your father? You will not shock me, Bridget. I have zero doubt you’re going to scare me, but you won’t shock me. Tell me. Let me show you that you don’t have to do this alone.”
My heel was jumping up and down like the fucking Energizer Bunny. I had my hands twisted together in my lap. But I couldn’t break that gaze.
My guts were twisted up and I was having trouble breathing. But I was fucking done.
Maybe I was the one who couldn’t deal.
Maybe this was just going to tip me over the edge. And maybe there was something freeing in that.
“Better strap in,” I said through clenched teeth because it felt like they’d chatter if I tried to speak normally.
“Bridget, I’ve been buckled up for two years. Please, it would be a relief to know what’s really going on with you.”
I snorted because I doubted that, but I was suddenly feeling reckless and a little bit unhinged, so I threw up my hands and told him.
All of it.
The dude last year that scared me so bad I stopped sleeping with strangers, which Gerald kind of knew about, but didn’t really. Not the bloody details.
Then my father’s letter that I’d never told anyone about, and the way I just wanted to be done with him.
Gerald slumped in his chair when I reached that part.
I told him about the gathering darkness. And about getting drunk and losing my shit a few weeks ago. And the post on the dark web forum. I even described the bar—and Art introducing me to Ronald.
He tensed again when I got to the drunk night, and his eyes narrowed when I described Ronald.
Then I just kept going and told him about Cain and the arrangement we’d made.
Gerald’s eyes got kinda wide, which made me nervous. So I had a decision to make.
But then, because I remembered what Sam said about always stopping at the climax, I made myself keep going. And I talked about Richard. And Sam…
Gerald’s lower jaw went slack when I described actually talking to Sam, and how he’d let me put it all out there. His head dropped when I told him I ran.
“…and then it’s just been… hell. So, now I’m here,” I said in the end, clearing my throat because my voice was a little hoarse.
By this time Gerald had his head in his hands. There was a moment where he didn’t move or speak and nerves twirled through me. But then he cleared his throat and lifted his head, and his eyes were a little red.
“Have you heard from Sam since you told him your story?”
My teeth clenched because Gerald knew it had been my experience that people fled from me after they heard about my dad, and I let them go.
I shrugged. “He texted.”
“And what did you do?”
“Nothing. I haven’t answered him yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what to say!”
Gerald swallowed again and picked up his pen. “Have you tried… thank you?”
I squirmed in my seat and looked away from him. “No. Because I’m not sure that’s true.”
Gerald raised his chin. “You aren’t grateful that he listened and cared without judging you?”
“I don’t know. I mean… I’m glad he didn’t judge me. But he was trying to tell me how I was wrong and…”
“Bridget—”
“Don’t.”
We stared at each other and I hated this part, because I could feel him being careful, being nervous, worried that he’d upset me and I’d run. And even though that was exactly what I wanted to do, I was so fucking sick of people acting like I was going to break because it just made me feel even more fragile.
“See?!” I hissed at him. “You want me to tell you and then when I do, you get scared and now it’s Does She Need an Institution? Well you can fuck right off, Gerald. You know Jeremy wouldn’t allow it.”
Gerald’s lips twisted. “I don’t think you need an institution, Bridget. I think you need a hug. And as for Jeremy…” He huffed and shook his head, and it was the first time I felt like smiling, because Gerald thought about as much of Jeremy as I did. It was the one subject about which we’d always agreed.
Then Gerald took a deep breath and shook his head like he was clearing it. “Okay. Okay, fine. So that’s where we’re at. I’m… grateful that you told me. But I want to ask some questions, because I want to understand how this works. Cain will only kill you if you give him the right signal?”
I slumped in my seat and let my head fall back on the chair, staring at the ceiling. “No,” I said. “He was waiting for a safe word to not kill me. But the other night… the other night he asked me if I still want to die, and I said no because I thought he could take it, but he ran. And I haven’t heard from him since.”
Gerald frowned. “Wait… You’re saying the guy who was supposed to kill you left you alone when you told him you didn’t want to die?”
I nodded without looking at him. “But the problem is, without him… now I want to die again.”
Gerald gave a little grunt, like he’d been poked with something sharp. “Bridget, please… please don’t—”
“I don’t want to kill myself, Gerald. I want to die. They’re different.”
“And you told this Cain person that?”
I sighed and sat up to meet his eyes—which were locked on me and more intense than I thought I’d ever seen from him.
I didn’t know whether to be touched, or irritated. But I swallowed and answered.
“Yes. But… that night… before he ran, he kissed me. It wasn’t until I admitted that I wanted to live, that he ran away. And he hasn’t come back. I think he’s gone and I’m falling apart. He’s like me, Gerald. I can feel it. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who felt like that for me and it’s… God, I wish I could just be with him all the time. But now that I want to change the rules, he’s gone. He cut off the phone. He hasn’t showed up anywhere. Hasn’t answered any messages—I haven’t seen him on the forum… it’s like he never existed.” I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “And it’s so fucking unfair—when I finally find something that makes me feel like life is worth living, he doesn’t want me unless I’m dead and… You have to help me, because he made me want to live, but I don’t want to want to live. And how fucked up is that?”
I was home and pacing my living room, Gerald’s words running loops in my head.
…Find a different life. Replace the dark thrills with healthy ones and discover that they can satisfy you… keep talking to the priest…
None of it sounded like what I wanted, but I was literally shaking. And I didn’t know what else to do, so I pulled out my phone and added Sam’s contact to my phone, then clicked the message icon to reply, which brought up the thread.
SAM NOTPRIEST: Bridget, this is Sam. I’m really sorry I upset you last week. I’ve got some of Richard’s stuff for you.
SAM NOTPRIEST: I found your number in his diary. I hope you don’t mind me using it. I could bring this stuff to you, or you can drop by. I’d like to apologize in person.
Biting my lip, I tapped reply.
ME: Can we talk?
My phone rang seconds later, and I blinked, my heart thudding and bumping in my chest.
“Hey, Sam, I’m sorry I didn’t—”
“It’s fine, Bridget. It’s really fine. I’m just relieved you want to talk. I’ve been really worried about you.”
I huffed and scratched the back of my neck. “You don’t have to be. None of this is new for me.”
“But—”
“Look, I… I went to see my, um, therapist today and he thinks you sound like a pretty insightful guy and… he wants me to spend more time with people who are like that. So… thanks for not giving up on me.”
There was a beat of silence on the other end of the phone. “I get it, Bridget. More than you realize.”
I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see that. “I know. I mean… I could tell you’re good with the crazy stuff.”
He gave a little chuckle. “Bridget, I am the crazy stuff. Or at least, I was. I just…”
“It’s okay, Sam. You don’t have to fix this. I mean, you’ll be happy to know that I told Cain I don’t want to die and he disappeared, so… problem solved, I guess?” I wished I didn’t want to cry when I said that.
He sighed heavily.
“That’s… I’m glad.”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah, I gathered.”
Both of us were quiet for a while. I got tense because I could feel him trying to find the right words, and I was afraid they wouldn’t be. And then this would get awkward, or ugly and I didn’t want it to go that way. In my head he was sitting at that dining table in the cottage, shirtless, tats out and drinking coffee and…
And suddenly, I wished I was there too.
“Bridget—”
“Sam, can I ask you something?”
“Yes. Sure. Of course.”
I almost lost my nerve, but then I just blurted it out. “Can you be my friend? Or something? Can you just… be a person for me and not a priest? Are you allowed to do that?”
There was a stunned silence on the other end of the phone and for a moment I thought I’d lost him as well, I clawed a hand into my hair. “I didn’t mean to be weird, I just—”
“No, no, that’s not…” I could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m just happy. Yes, Bridget. I can. I can be not-a-priest in your life. But even more important… I want to.”
When I got off the phone fifteen minutes later we had made a plan for me to go have lunch with him tomorrow, and I realized I was smiling.
And scared shitless.
And alive .