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~ brIDGET ~

The mountains are beautiful. And quiet. And calm. And quiet.

Happily, even though I was surrounded by trees, there wasn’t a Christmas ornament to be seen.

The Airbnb listing said the owners didn’t decorate seasonally, though visitors were encouraged to bring their own. I’d checked first to make sure they didn’t leave any of that shit laying around if people left it behind. They’d promised to make sure the cleaner removed anything the prior tenants might have left behind.

I was nervous walking in when I arrived, but a quick circuit of the house revealed absolutely no Christmas cheer whatsoever. I was so relieved I stopped feeling sad for a few minutes.

But as soon as I carried my bags in from the car and put them in the main bedroom and my stuff in the bathroom, then I walked back to the living room and… I didn’t feel better.

Dammit.

I just needed to absorb the magic of the mountains.

The house wasn’t huge, but it was beautiful. Nestled among the trees on the side of a mountain, it was two levels of natural wood, natural light, and dark accents to set the rest off. Architecturally designed, with a large peak over the main living area on the second floor, and a smaller peaked roof over half the ground-floor bedroom, it was utterly remote, had very patchy cell coverage, a generator and a freezer in case snow blew in unexpectedly, and nothing but very tasteful rugs, soft furniture, and time.

When I first stood in the middle of the living room looking out into the trees, sun poured in through the almost-entirely-glass front wall. It was cold outside, but warm in here. The sun heated the skin on my face and I didn’t know why that made me feel a little sick. I wasn’t cold. The house was centrally heated, though there was an open fire for ambience.

I’d rented a car to get here. I didn’t care if Jeremy found out I’d taken a car, because it didn’t have a tracker on it, so he couldn’t find out anything except where to watch for me to return in a few weeks.

Good luck with that, Jer.

I gave a few minutes to fantasizing about him doing the surveillance himself and wasting weeks sitting covertly in the street, forced to eat Burger King and piss in a bottle.

He wouldn’t, of course. Their systems were way better than that now. He’d just wait for the return receipt to pop on my credit card, then start checking my house and car again.

Thank God Sam had decided we needed to stick to the burner phones. I hadn’t brought my normal phone. I was still pretty sure Jeremy hadn’t figured out that I had a burner, but I knew he could track my normal phone if he wanted to. He was expecting me to dip, though. I did it every year. He hated it, but he’d leave me alone until I got back.

Those thoughts took a few minutes, but still left me standing in the middle of a strange house, alone, and disconnected.

I decided to eat. Cooking would take some time.

I was too scared to turn on the TV. Even the streaming services had a lot of Christmas crap at this time of year, but I had downloaded some movies and books at home so I’d have something to do.

In theory I’d only need to leave once a week to get milk and stuff.

In theory, because a small, grim horror was coming home to me now that I was here: This would be harder this year. It wasn’t supposed to be. Last year had been hell. With Sam in my life, I hadn’t thought it would get worse.

For the past month I’d told myself I wouldn’t go away this year. That I didn’t need to. And I got through Thanksgiving—which was usually when I bailed. I even made it past the first of December. That was a first.

But then I heard fucking jingle bells on a commercial on a streaming service and it hit me that having Sam didn’t take away having my dad.

Because of the trial I wasn’t supposed to leave the State. Usually at this time of year I took off to a country where they didn’t celebrate Christmas. I turned my phone off and got drunk and had sex with strangers for a month. But last year I’d been too freaked out by everything that had happened, so even though I’d gone away, I’d stayed alone. And that was bad.

This year I had Sam. Even if he couldn’t be with me, I thought it would be easier. When I realized I couldn’t stay home through the Hell-idays, I’d toyed with the idea of bringing him with me. I’d wanted to. So badly. I even picked a place in-state, though it was a huge risk. I knew he’d come if I asked him. Especially if I told him why . But I was afraid he’d get in trouble.

So, I’d been toying back and forth with whether or not to go. I wanted to get out of there, away from people and tinsel and painted windows that were unavoidable at this time of year. But every time I’d talked to Sam at night I had been torn.

My instinct was to be alone . But I didn’t want to be. I wanted to be with him.

When I called him and he had his prayer guys there, it was because Gerald had commented that I hadn’t run away this year, and how he was so proud of me. He didn’t know that I’d come to that meeting planning to tell him I’d be gone for a month—and that it wasn’t because I was going to kill myself. That I just couldn’t stand it anymore and I was getting away.

But he was like a proud dad when I walked in, gushing about how he knew how hard it was for me to stay and this was the longest I’d made it…

I chickened out. I left feeling like a bitch because I knew I wasn’t staying. Then I called Sam to tell him to come with me, to try and figure it out, but he couldn’t talk .

When he showed up after all, I knew it was meant to be. Until he told me about my dad.

God. I shook just thinking about it.

That threw me. Big time. And even though I wasn’t mad anymore. But I felt so exposed.

When I woke up the next morning, and Sam was gone, my heart was already thudding uncomfortably, anxiety pumping through my veins and making my fingertips tingle. I couldn’t be home anymore. And I didn’t know how to tell Sam that I needed to be alone.

I thought I’d fake it. I’d just go. Talk to him from here after I’d already left. Keep seeing him on the phone. Maybe he’d come out for a weekend or something. I didn’t know. I just knew I had to get out.

But now, I was here. And it was beautiful and calm and quiet.

And I didn’t feel better.

I didn’t fucking feel better because he wasn’t here, but the thought of him being here and maybe telling someone else—my dad!—it made me nauseous with nerves.

So I tried to distract myself. I got in the jacuzzi on the back deck that was completely private, only overlooked by the squirrels in the trees.

I cooked food I’d brought in the fancy kitchen but couldn’t get through half of it.

I had three glasses of a nice wine that I brought with me. But it just made me feel spinny and anxious.

My phone was in my bag in the bedroom. I needed to get it out. Sam would be freaking out wondering where I was. But it made my body freeze up when I thought about looking at the messages.

Another couple glasses of wine did make the time pass faster.

I passed out on the couch at some point and woke up when it was already lunchtime.

Still alone.

And now hungover.

God, I was such a mess.

I pushed through the day playing solitaire and trying to read without taking in any of the words, but my chest kept pinching painfully and I couldn’t breathe right. The clouds moved all day—sometimes sunlight bathed me on the couch, making the living room glow. Then I’d be plunged into twilight when heavy clouds passed across the sun.

I ate a lot of junk food. Couldn’t be bothered cooking.

But when it grew dark and nothing had changed I started feeling scared. Suddenly, all that blackness around the house wasn’t a hedge of protection from a world that celebrated things I couldn’t bear to see. Suddenly it was the kind of shadows I hated. The ones that held threats you didn’t see until they were on top of you.

I could feel the oppressive weight of the darkness outside. All the creatures out there—animal and human. Any one of them might decide to come for me. If they did, I was screwed because no one knew where I was. Not even Sam.

I was losing my mind.

It wasn’t until I found myself curled up in the bottom of the shower, knees to my chest and water dripping off my hair that I realized it wasn’t worth it.

My father wasn’t worth living like this.

Sam wasn’t worth giving up.

Being alone wasn’t worth being lonely.

I was on my feet and drying off before I’d even made the decision. I ran naked and still half-damp into the bedroom and dug through my bag for my phone.

It didn’t have coverage.

On the verge of tears, I held it up and walked through the house, waiting for those bars of coverage to flicker.

They finally did in the living room, standing right in front of the big window and looking down the mountain.

Two bars.

Then my phone went crazy.

Text after text after text. And they all said the same thing.

Where are you?

I’m worried.

Please. Bridget… please.

The screen blurred over and over as I read through them, but then I got to the one that said to listen to his voicemails.

Three. No, four of them .

Sam was desperate if he was leaving voicemails. I’d told him how much easier they were for the Feds to search because they were much bigger files and there were far fewer of them. He knew it was a risk, and he’d done it anyway.

I couldn’t listen fast enough. I mistyped the code three times, then it took forever to connect because the coverage was so patchy. But finally, finally I was hearing his voice—tight, worried, deep, beautiful, and soothing something in me that hadn’t felt soft since I drove out of my garage.

The first one was kind—he was worried. Sad. Afraid I was mad at him. Trying to connect.

But then…

“Babe… I just figured it out… what today is. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never looked it up. You should have—I mean… I want you to tell me. I want you to know you can tell me when this stuff is happening. I won’t freak out. I promise. But… fuck, Bridget, I’m scared shitless. Where are you? Where the fuck are you? Tell me, I’ll come. I promise. I’ll make it work. Just… please… tell me. I love you. Call me—anytime. Day or night. Just call me.”

His voice was deep and rough, like Cain—but so soft. Tender.

Something in my chest broke.

Self-loathing.

Disgust.

Hate.

Sam was only in trouble because of me. He was only stuck at home because of me. He had every reason to have told me where to put my crazy. And instead he was losing sleep and voice-cracking because he was scared I would hurt myself.

God, I was a shitty human being.

If Sam proved anything, it was that.

And it was the weirdest feeling then, because I felt little. Small. Worthless. Stupid. And… also loved, and wanted, and valued, and worth something.

I was worth something to him. And I knew it, because even though he didn’t say the words, I saw it in his eyes all the time, and I felt it when he touched me.

He loved me the way I loved him. Which made no sense. But it was the stunning truth .

I’d liked guys before. Even wondered if I was in love once or twice when I was younger. I’d wanted guys a lot. Felt desirable. Felt excited and exciting. Driven to be close to someone. But it always faded—and usually exploded.

They were never who I thought they were. Or they just became boring.

I’d never in my life felt like a piece of me was missing when another person wasn’t there. Life had always been easier alone.

Until now.

Even that thought sent a jolt of panic ripping through me.

Was this a trap? Was he just a good actor? Had I been fooled again, the way I was by my dad, by the guys in high school, by that guy last year?

I was an idiot. I made stupid, thoughtless decisions all the time. I hurt people even when I didn’t mean to.

I was nothing.

I didn’t trust myself, why should anyone else trust me?

But Sam did. He did.

And even though that thought made me happier than anything ever had, it didn’t change the fact that now I was left with this… hole.

Even in the middle of an existential crisis, my twelve-year mind wanted to pipe up with a crack about asking Sam to fill my holes. I laughed and hissed and dashed away tears that had appeared on my cheeks.

God, was I actually losing my mind?

Or was I just in love?

Because being here without him… knowing he was afraid and hurting… it made me feel sick . But knowing how much he loved me was awesome. Except it meant that for the rest of my life I would never escape this hollowness inside, right? And what would happen if he was convicted?

If Sam went to prison for years…

I grabbed a blanket from the couch because I felt very cold all of the sudden. But I was pacing and looking at my phone and reading those texts and…

God.

It was still more than a week until Christmas. Outside of this house, just thirty minutes down the country roads it would start—Christmas music that crawled up my spine like a spider. Pine needle wreaths and red ribbons. Santas and reindeers and… and all of it screamed death and terror .

It was the worst possible time to be home. I despised being in public at this time of year. I couldn’t even turn on a radio, let alone scroll the internet. I’d only made it out here because I’d known all that would disappear out here.

But Sam wasn’t here. Sam was out there, in the middle of everything I hated.

I realized I was crying when a tear splashed on the hardwood floor in front of me. I wiped my face and made myself think.

Which was worse? Being in the middle of that with Sam? Or being apart from it without him?

And that revealed that the decision was easy.

My hands shook when I dialed the phone. And when it rang, I prayed to whatever God cared about Sam that the connection wouldn’t drop.