I poke my head into the hole, pulling the day down over me like a sweater. It gives my hair static cling but I'm ready. The sleeves are too long and the bottom is unravelling. Kind of like my life, I guess, except I can't just fix it so easily. This color might not be good on me. The wool is a little bit itchy and the cut barely flatters and-
Yes, I know.
Stop with the allegories and get to the dirt.
There's no dirt today unless I feel like pointing out that the Devil has congential assholery and has been trying to weaken Ben's confidence by walking around talking about how Lochlan may have (*may* have, there's your disclaimer straight from the Devil's mouth) won the game against Caleb. That I might be settling in at last, having made a conscious or unconscious choice here and am content with it, something surely the Devil doesn't buy for a sweet second but wants Ben to be aware of. You know, to help out.
Seriously. Some days I fantasize that I ask my army to toss Caleb over the wrong side of the cliff and I don't cry when they do.
(Some days. Other days he has a heartbeat flutter in his sleep and I lose my ever fucking mind.)
Ben tells me not to worry, that he stopped listening to the Devil years ago, that he humors him as an old man who wanders the property meddling in our business. He makes me laugh and then he picks me up off my feet and kisses me hard before he goes off to a meeting so he can actually learn how to make more courage because he gave away what he had on hand.
Lochlan is too busy today to run interference, too busy to throw punches. This is deliberate thanks to Batman who sees, who knows more than he ever lets on.
Sam tries to keep it all together.
Cole threatens to tear it all apart.
Jake just doesn't want to be here.
And I'm trying to see if maybe there's another day that fits better than this. Something softer, smaller, better-constructed and in a more flattering shade of black.
