So don't tell me why he's never been good to you
Don't tell me why he's never been there for you
Don't you know that why is simply not good enough
So just let me try and I will be good to you
Just let me try and I will be there for you
I'll show you why you're so much more than good enough
The fluttering and stuttering began some time shortly after dinner, a quiet affair in which remorse rang loudly throughout the halls of this stupid house, echoing off the walls, settling on our heads like plaster dust when someone dances hard one floor above.
Bridget-
It's fine. I'm fine. (I'm so not fine right now. One of the beautiful side effects of condemning the boys for the past is falling the fuck apart. I do so good keeping my shit together most of the time. You wouldn't even believe it. I've been written about in psychiatric journals. They make me sound fucking insane. I'm high-functioning insane though, and that's the important part here. What you see is what you get. I have my coping mechanisms. Someone should charge admission to read here. Jesus Christ.)
You're not fine. Put that down.
Three glasses of wine didn't even put a dent in the movements, they didn't help the words flow. Lochlan comes over to me, kisses the tip of my nose while taking my glass, marvelling at how I haven't spilled it yet, brushes the plaster from my hair and then leads me down the hall, where I am zipped into my fleece jacket before he takes me all the way down to the beach.
I screwed up, Bridget. I took a moment and ran with it. And then I dug a deeper hole and you fell in it and I don't know how to find that balance for you. Ben could but Ben's gone half the time and I hate myself for this but I'm trying to make you happy.
We'll figure it out.
I wonder how long it will take.
The rest of our-
Lives. I know. I'm so sorry, Bridget. Happily ever after wasn't supposed to come at such a price.
Bridget-
It's fine. I'm fine. (I'm so not fine right now. One of the beautiful side effects of condemning the boys for the past is falling the fuck apart. I do so good keeping my shit together most of the time. You wouldn't even believe it. I've been written about in psychiatric journals. They make me sound fucking insane. I'm high-functioning insane though, and that's the important part here. What you see is what you get. I have my coping mechanisms. Someone should charge admission to read here. Jesus Christ.)
You're not fine. Put that down.
Three glasses of wine didn't even put a dent in the movements, they didn't help the words flow. Lochlan comes over to me, kisses the tip of my nose while taking my glass, marvelling at how I haven't spilled it yet, brushes the plaster from my hair and then leads me down the hall, where I am zipped into my fleece jacket before he takes me all the way down to the beach.
I screwed up, Bridget. I took a moment and ran with it. And then I dug a deeper hole and you fell in it and I don't know how to find that balance for you. Ben could but Ben's gone half the time and I hate myself for this but I'm trying to make you happy.
We'll figure it out.
I wonder how long it will take.
The rest of our-
Lives. I know. I'm so sorry, Bridget. Happily ever after wasn't supposed to come at such a price.