Bridget continues to keep up appearances as Siobhan, but how long can a doppelganger evade the web of consequence?
You've Got Maelstrom
Chapter One
The Sleepless House of the Rising Sun
It was unbearable laying here, not quite fathoming how I got to this particular moment- in an unfamiliar city, perched atop a ridiculously tasteful high-rise, in bed with a strange man. Well of course I could, but laying here in the throes of the sleep of the world the only thing I could think of was the snow balling finality of my situation. Wherein the business of Siobhan's days dominated my every thought, it was the night which provided me with the refuge of unforgiving consistency and devastating draughts of the hapless pieces of my sanity, morality. I'd been at this for weeks now on contemplating my own personal dilemma, which of course was solely mine to carry: that of leaving her husband in the middle of the night only having him to fear the worse come morning.
But I couldn't do that, because somewhere between stealing what had once belonged to my sister and completely alienating my own identity, I had grown a conscience.
Now why the hell would I do that? My chest constricted asthmatically, tight chest and packed with too much for one person to carry. Dry mouth and a heavy tongue. I suppose it was still the recuperating addict in me wanting to make amends. What I had failed to do so many times for her while she was still alive, if I could only make up for what pain I'd caused her by even remotely repairing her family at my own expense- I would do it. Because I loved her and I didn't get the chance to tell her that I really, really fucked up and if it ever made a difference I would bleed myself dry for her.
But that was all water under the bridge and bygones of the past now. Little keepsakes of regret that would never truly have had allowed us to carry on and begin afresh. Like a rotten if not parasitic, stagnant relationship- we could never turn a new leaf- we were detrimental to the other. More like I was poison for her. Because even now, in all my altruism, I served to be at the winning end of a conflict of interest.
My sister at this point in time was quite possibly at the bottom of the Atlantic, being food for fish- perhaps even touring the outskirts of the Delmarva Peninsula. And all I could think of was not screwing her husband. My breath held tight between my breasts, like air being held too tightly in a balloon, as the guilt flooded in and like a moth to flame I was careening into desperation.
I didn't know her, perhaps I never did.
Here I was walking like Siobhan, wearing her things and flesh, talking rich and judging her world and her place within it. In answer to my teeth tearing into my lips, hot, silent tears flowed down my face freely. I had learned a long time ago how to grieve anonymously, quietly. Because after all Bridget didn't exist in all the bad, I was just a bag of meat good for fucking and whoring. There would always be the men to give the good kind of hurts and for me to make up the difference in peeling away the layers of me 'til I didn't even want to be me anymore.
She was right not to tell him about me, because somewhere deep inside me, I hated me too.
Andrew slept like the dead.
Which was a luxury I could only afford when drunkenly catatonic, and I begged for that in form of a fifth of Jack, straight vodka- Nyquil- whatever I could get my lips around. I needed it bad, craved it like a consoling friend. I needed not to be here.
A sob rocked me for a few seconds, bringing back all kinds of shitty phantoms of my past. The tiny jolts hitching my body in turn caused his dark head to stir a little in sleep, scaring me half to death. My eyes strained to the point of tearless desiccation, looking past the dark and small distance between us.
No man had looked at me like that. Like I was clean and worth more than making a living on my knees and spreading my legs.
And I wanted in every fiber of my being to reach out, simply to feel the heat rising from his skin, the light sweat inflicting him in slumber. But mostly I wanted to reassure myself that I was here, still here albeit treading the waters of hopelessness so fervently. This was so me, I could never quite get anything in my life done right, the golden girl of repeat self-saboteur-ing who did it so efficiently.
There was this guy named Quint back in high school and after two months I thought I was in love with him. So, I had given him the next best thing to my heart. And not too soon after Rob, Vic, and Anthony came along- all on the football team- right after Quint told them I was easy. I let them, let them take whatever they wanted because in some way that's what was expected of me.
Those memories, they weren't supposed to hurt so much because sure as hell from then 'til now there were a great number of men far in between. But nonetheless, it came back to me fresh- from deep within the rubble that was forgotten and it was like a piece of me had died. And what was left was a shell functioning through existence, only having the taste of memories as sustenance.
I slowly eased my weight from the marital bed, in a pathetic attempt at even momentary escape- away from the constant reminder of my immense guilt and self-berate.
There were very few places of refuge in a house built upon deceit and caution. This time of the year and night chill automatically ruled out the balcony, although I looked upon the fresh air with the veneration of a sense-starved convict. The bathroom, it might as well have been heavily trafficked.
So I settled for the closet, looking at the portion that I- Siobhan- let Andrew share with her. My fingertips trailed along his things, feeling the extremes of the textures from wiry wool to cashmere to satin. I could smell him upon them, beneath the exclusive, dry cleaner's detergent- I caught wisps of him, the subtle notes of his cologne (what he knew Siob preferred him wearing) and layered beneath that the fragrant masculine musk of his skin.
I imagined what it would feel like being held by him, after having made love. The gravity of his arms, the safe haven. I imagined these things because I never knew them, could never afford such appreciation but I knew in my mind's certainty that he would provide these things at moment's notice. This truth grieved me all the more, because I knew these were not for me.
My fingers flew across the small buttons, dialing by heart for the sake of usefulness. And I waited, almost with hope this time as the hot tears rolled along my skin intuitively. His voice came on, deep and baritone- familiar inflections stirring little butterflies in my stomach.
I sat there, cowered beneath the hemlines of trench coats and dresses in the depths of a posh closet, surrounded by thousands of dollars in rags and shit that in three lifetimes I could never afford and wept silently.
There was a lump in my throat the size of Texas and I was afraid I would never be able to speak. I got like this oftentimes when I was crippled with pain or fear or doubt or depression, mere guises of life's sense of humor in bringing humility to those deserving of it.
But I found my voice, which sounded lost and croaked a broken whimper, "I-I… I don't know what to say. I've been calling for a week now, you won't answer." And the flood gates flew upon, the emotion ravaged my voice and I knew I must've come off unintelligible. "Did I do something wrong? Please pick up, I need you."
"…To talk, to get me through this." It was static silence after that. I didn't know what to say, because all the convincing things I had lined up to say fell off the wagon. I did what I could only manage to do: hang up and dry heaved away the remainder of the lump resting on my chest.
I called again, several times actually before it resonated that I was finding myself behaving like a woman scorned. The voicemail box was full now, all that was to have been said was irrelevant now. I had lost the sole link to Bridget.
A soft shuffle, I almost didn't hear him approaching, the soft footfalls padding across the walk-in closet. I clutched the cell phone to my chest in fright, half so of having been found out and half genuinely being startled.
Breath sucked into him as I knew he was up and miles away from sleep now. "Siob?"
I didn't answer.
I fished around my general area, the shoes underneath biting cruelly into my ass, but I was set on stowing away my cell.
He rustled closer now, with a bit more speed and dexterity that I could never have in the half dark. "Siob?" His voice resonated with worry.
"I'm here," I said with as much strength I could conjure in my tone.
"What are you doing here in the dark?" He flicked the light switch on.
I recoiled at the sudden radiation of artificial lighting, a microsecond and he reacted, flipping it back off and uttering "Sorry."
He exhaled audibly and I heard him draw near, he paused before me extending a large hand. I must have looked as though I were oogling a foreign object because he sighed another exasperated sigh and folded himself as best as he could to the floor.
Andrew's long legs scissored mine, and he came level with me. And in the half light I could make out the intent, the frustration marring his handsome face. It wasn't the subtle lines of age wrapping about his dark features, it was worry- worry for myself, our supposed unborn child, and Juliet. It was work as well, it didn't take a rocket scientist to know that but it troubled me that I could offer give ease on either topic.
But I felt that I had created most of those worries, well Siob at least- I needed to remember that. Remember why I was here, why I'm staying. But nonetheless it didn't stop me from feeling the repercussions of her actions and how the people wallowing in them were.
He needed me, I knew it. Siobhan was not ready to leave them, she was needed.
His hands reached through the thick dark, his fingers losing purpose as he neared me and ultimately tapered off in indecision. I stayed as still as possible, hoping that would be enough of consent. Eventually, his hands did find me, they were tentative and careful and firm on their path of brushing back wisps of blonde curls from framing my face.
Selfishly I melted into him, craving the skin on skin contact. And that of his warm and firm certainty. It was the most intimate thing I've ever done, being touched by him, chaste and sweet and vulnerable. Because I soon realized that these were the actions of two starving people.
Almost like a mapping from memory, the thickened pads of his fingers contoured and made an exploratory trace of my skin, the apples of my cheeks, my nose, the bow of my lips. My breath became thick and there was a catch at the back of my throat. We needed each other. As much as I was saying that this family had needed me, I was very much now spitefully admitting that it was I who had come to need them. For once in my life, regardless how shitty my motives had ever been, I had found purpose.
He was close now, a breath away. Literally. His beseeching, chestnut eyes searched for mine through the dark, perhaps for me to find a way to break the spell. His flesh quivered upon mine and I in did in return taking in each sweet, breath expelled from him.
"I can't help you Siob," he whispered, his warm breath tickling my cheek. My face turned into his palm, to fully exploit more contact with him. "Not unless you let me."
"I couldn't sleep."
Even in this lighting I could tell the now familiar frown was strewn across his face. "You were crying," he stated.
He held my face in hands and I realized that I had become immobile, forced to look into him. His fingertips outlined the flow of the now dried tears.
I laughed uneasily, afraid that somehow I couldn't flesh out a new gambit. "Hormones, I guess. I didn't think it was necessary that both of us lose sleep over me and my… hormones."
The air changed between us and I was left wading in the water at the carpet being so unexpectedly swept from underneath me.
"Seriously?" The chuckle rumbling in this throat was dry, bitter almost and I feared the worst.
"I could give a flying shit about sleep. We're in this together, right. Yeah we are." He shifted again, his limbs awkwardly maneuvering in the small space.
"Is it safe for me to pull you out of this morass?" He chuckled again, this time ages were stripped away from him and it was like-like I could barely hope- that all that existed was me and him. And that we were happy. "You must be freezing, Siob."
"Yes," I laughed- the happy sounds coming from me half recognizable. He somewhat quickly rose to his feet then pulled me up in tow.
We stood there for some time, our bodies flush and almost touching. And I thought this guy was going to make me cave as his hands found themselves restless and began unconsciously stroking the length of my arms. My eyes fluttered back and so very badly wanted to become lost in this ease. We've been tip-toeing these past few days since we came back from the Hamptons, he was especially nice. Considerate, even.
"Penny, for your thoughts."
And that shocked the hell out of me and sent me slamming back into Earth and shell shocked in a crater. It made every transgression that I've done that much worse. Siobhan lived in those words. She would always say that to me, Pennyforyourthoughts, it was something we had shared. When we used to share our secrets. When I had chased myself so deep into my own head, she would be there coaxing and baiting me out. At one time, maybe, she had possibly loved this man. With Andrew, seeing what I had of him, no one could've been so hardened to him.
I swayed for a few more moments in silence. Not ready to part with the electricity flowing at our touch. "I'm worried about Gemma. She won't return my phone calls, it's been days now."
Something like relief expelled from him, he rocked forward still prolonging the up and down movements along my arms. "I can understand that. But please, she has things she needs to figure out in her own life. Be there when you can, but what matters are you and the baby. I don't want you stressing yourself out," he stilled holding me out and looking upon me intently. "Promise me."
"Ok," I agreed. I didn't expect this. He moved in quickly, his lips lingering at my temple but yet remained distant in body, he held my arms and I wanted more.
"Good now come to bed. You must have a sore bum, from the shoes." We both laughed, uneasy but it was like an awkward truce of getting along. I noticed he touched me as much as appropriate called for. He'd kept me warm and now our skins slid apart as my fingers were locked in the crook of his as he led us back into the bedroom.
I hobbled on first in the dim morning twilight, sliding back into my space and he followed me pensive and silent. For some time we lay with the covers strung about our hips, both of us caught up in our respective worries I supposed.
I was worried about Gemma, half the time terrified at what she might do with this newfound power but I knew I had to uphold my poker face.
"I wasn't around as much as I should've been with Juliet," he stated. I was a bit surprised at hearing him, wishful thinking he had slumbered off- but as I said beforehand Life had a few tricks of the trade up her sleeves.
"But with this baby, it'll be different."
I lay there, trying to work up the pretense of sleep, but Andrew deserved better. "I know."
"Has the morning sickness set in?"
"It comes and goes," I provide. "But I'm not complaining."
"I would like to be there, for you." If that wasn't the biggest icebreaker, then I don't know up from down.
"I'm not perfect, but I promise you that I'll be there. For showers, birthdays, finger paintings, the most absurdly irrelevant things- but I will be there."
I would've given anything to have seen his face but I remained fixated like a deer in headlights. Siob, he could've been so good to you I thought. And I wasn't Siobhan so I would have had to suffice for now, and it was the thought that counted- that he would've been there and done those things he's promising.
An alien from outer space might've invaded by body, because I didn't know what the hell got into me. My hand snaked behind me, searched for his and squeezed tightly. "Thank you." The tears were close, I know that.
Andrew must've taken that for invitation because he was soon there mousing closer to me, his hand perched at the top of my hip. "Can I? I know it's too early for much of anything to be there but…"
I knew what he asked, and it was wrong of me. But since I was halfway to hell, what did it matter?
I turned on my side and he sidled closer to me with his ever emanating heat seeping through my thin shift and his large fingers flexing across my abdomen.
It was like being born again. It was like seeing the birth of some kind of endangered species, I make light of it but I could say it was like magic. And I didn't expect that I would feel these things either, I didn't want to label myself too early right away, but I was sure this all stemmed from gratitude. It had to.
We both fell asleep like that, wrapped up in each other.
And at the moment, the concrete jungle below us dozed and trouble was at bay just at the cusp of the horizon. We had the night. And if for only this moment, we had each other.
ᴙR