Monday 19 December 2016

Soul reversal.

He is a wolf. Maybe a wolf and a fox mixed together because of the red. Red fur around his jaw, red curls spilling over the shoulders of his flannel shirt, his hair almost flat on his skull due to the weight of those big curls. His hair grows so fast he looks like a wild animal half the time and as he all but bares his teeth at the devil I daresay he acts like one half the time. The feral references aren't just for me, they're for us, because being on the road is polarizing and savage when you're on the amusement circuit and is nothing at all like being on a tour bus playing gigs. We strip it right back to survival mode and anything else is sheer decadence and comfort, even the dumbest things I don't take for granted even today, like a working washing machine, a hot shower or a really long hug from someone Safe.

Safe is still (and forever will be) a four-letter word, spat in insolence and incredulity alike, ravaged in irony, fought for in wars. Not every war makes the papers though. Theirs is a long, slow burn.

It's not your worry, Diabhal. There are the teeth. Slightly crooked, perfect-sized, glinting in the light along with his flashing eyes. They got into it in the vestibule at church while we waited in line to find our coats.

Dóiteáin, I wasn't speaking to you, if you don't mind.

PJ hisses at them both. Take. it. outside. Better yet, take it home. We'll square you off in the snow and you can beat each other right.

They both look at him for a moment before choosing to drop it.

Then Caleb flipped the table in the foyer when we got home, and my gorgeous crackle glass vase lived up to its name as it shattered into a million pieces on the floor, mixed with the boughs of greenery and holly branches I had sourced to try and decorate when I am usually overwhelmed by the sheer size of the house and so I do nothing.

Sam? I thought you were being figurative, Bridget and you? He looks at Lochlan. You LET HER?

She can have anything she wants.

Maybe you should work on giving her what she needs. Oh, wait, that's my role here. To come in and clean up everyone's messes and get her back on her feet after you all take what you want-

Diabhal, stop it! He had nothing to do with it.

Bridget, don't defend him. If he didn't tell you he was fine with it you wouldn't do it.

It's not like that.

Please explain what it's like, then because all I see is him making you sicker, telling you to do whatever or whoever to get back at me. You think he has your best interests at heart? I think he's got his own interests at play here.

She's happy, Cale. Don't fuck with that.

But Sam? SERIOUSLY? I thought we agreed that this would never happen again? That we would never have to face a showdown with a preacher because we agreed to keep her from this. And you bring him to her on a platter.

She's fine.

She's not fine. LOOK AT HER! They all turn to stare at me and I try to hold my head high but I'm shaking.

Leave, please. I tell him.

I'M TRYING TO KEEP YOU SAFE! THEY'RE THE WOLVES, BRIDGET. I'm just a man trying to keep everything together here.

Lochlan slides his arm around my back and pulls me in to face him, tucking me against his chest, his scratchy wool jacket burning my cheek. He bares his teeth again and the walls fall away, leaving only the trees and the snow. She asked you to leave.