Give me my WISH!
I fairly screamed it at them, my inner nine-year-old shining so bright I thought she might step out beside me. They stopped, unbelievably, pulling each other up to stand in front of me like two schoolyard bullies who just discovered the other was taking their turf, only to be reminded neither one of them can lay claim to it.
Which is, I suppose, exactly what's taking place here. Originally it was an agreement that started as 'they' and morphed into 'I' through a combination of jealousy, teenage indignation and ego and I'm trying to shift it back to 'they' with a heavy emphasis on 'him' because he used sweetness, magic and imagination, romance and beautiful promises to get where he is. Caleb chose to use force.
And so here we are.
It's now Christmas Eve and I sat up abruptly at six in the morning, sun not yet awake, head full of terrible nightmares and both of them sleeping soundly around me, Lochlan on my left, Caleb on my right, the remains of the night a distant, melancholic memory of a game of tug-of-war, forced generosity and burying hatchets so deep we are scarred for life.
The more the Devil digs in the harder the Magician holds and that's not a bad thing, in all honesty. My inner nine-year-old would tell you that without hesitating. She would tell you triumphantly that she got her wish after all and then she would promptly burst into tears.
I fairly screamed it at them, my inner nine-year-old shining so bright I thought she might step out beside me. They stopped, unbelievably, pulling each other up to stand in front of me like two schoolyard bullies who just discovered the other was taking their turf, only to be reminded neither one of them can lay claim to it.
Which is, I suppose, exactly what's taking place here. Originally it was an agreement that started as 'they' and morphed into 'I' through a combination of jealousy, teenage indignation and ego and I'm trying to shift it back to 'they' with a heavy emphasis on 'him' because he used sweetness, magic and imagination, romance and beautiful promises to get where he is. Caleb chose to use force.
And so here we are.
It's now Christmas Eve and I sat up abruptly at six in the morning, sun not yet awake, head full of terrible nightmares and both of them sleeping soundly around me, Lochlan on my left, Caleb on my right, the remains of the night a distant, melancholic memory of a game of tug-of-war, forced generosity and burying hatchets so deep we are scarred for life.
The more the Devil digs in the harder the Magician holds and that's not a bad thing, in all honesty. My inner nine-year-old would tell you that without hesitating. She would tell you triumphantly that she got her wish after all and then she would promptly burst into tears.