August's hand trails across my lips and down my face as he talks. I'm trying to listen, trying to lasso my mind back from where it's going, trying to stop my eyes from turning him into Jacob, trying to stop my body from liquifying when faced with his touch, Lochlan's eyes burning a hole in my skin anyway so not sure why I try so hard but it seems like it's going to be this way. It's going to be difficult and yet he means so much to me and I try to separate August from Jake but I can't do it. Not one hundred percent. Maybe sixty on a good day, seventy-five on the very best but still a huge, mutinous part of my brain screams with laughter and runs the other way.
August looks older, somehow. Gone just shy of three weeks and it's like he's been away for years. We've heard so many stories from his adventures, from the burn, seen the pictures he took, looked at the small things he did bring back and evaluated his mindset on return as the boys do for each other. Is he coming back healthy? In a good headspace? Mentally fit? Capable of a return to life or desperately grieving the hedonism that sent him out looking for it in the first place?
Well, August is also around seventy-five percent of himself, as it takes a while to adjust back to normal life. He is always a night owl for months afterward, staying up too late, sleeping in too long, forgetting to have meals and do chores at usual times. He walked in the kitchen last night at midnight to borrow tea, setting off the alarm, the dog and Benjamin. It took us a long time to settle down and he stuck around which made it better.
I shake my head. Don't do this. Don't touch my mouth. Don't make me want you. I close my eyes and his fingertips touch against my eyelashes. Goosebumps rise up on my arms and I feel Lochlan's hand wrap around mine.
Neamhchiontach.
I shake my head. Don't break this spell. I need it to be fulfilled. I need some Jake-time and then I'm okay. Need a little Preacher memory and then I can get by for just a few more days.
Goodnight, August. He says it gently and my lips are cold suddenly. August's proximity fades, his smell disappears. His hands let go. Then he charges back, a hard kiss landing on my cheek. A squeeze around the back of my head in the process.
Goodnight, Princess, he whispers against my head and then he's gone.
I am turned to face Lochlan. No apologies, no remorse. He pulls me in close. Come here, Bridget.
All yours, I tell him, palms out.
You're disappointed.
Yes, I answer truthfully, honestly. We don't lie to each other, we don't protect each other or soften the blow. Never have. Rip the bandaid off. Blow the lid. Make it hurt and then you'll know you're really alive.
Another time.
I nod in response. I know.
I love you.
I nod again. I'm surprised.
Why?
I'm...unloveable.
Not from where I'm standing. Not from their vantage points either.
In real life I would be.
Then let's stay here.
August looks older, somehow. Gone just shy of three weeks and it's like he's been away for years. We've heard so many stories from his adventures, from the burn, seen the pictures he took, looked at the small things he did bring back and evaluated his mindset on return as the boys do for each other. Is he coming back healthy? In a good headspace? Mentally fit? Capable of a return to life or desperately grieving the hedonism that sent him out looking for it in the first place?
Well, August is also around seventy-five percent of himself, as it takes a while to adjust back to normal life. He is always a night owl for months afterward, staying up too late, sleeping in too long, forgetting to have meals and do chores at usual times. He walked in the kitchen last night at midnight to borrow tea, setting off the alarm, the dog and Benjamin. It took us a long time to settle down and he stuck around which made it better.
I shake my head. Don't do this. Don't touch my mouth. Don't make me want you. I close my eyes and his fingertips touch against my eyelashes. Goosebumps rise up on my arms and I feel Lochlan's hand wrap around mine.
Neamhchiontach.
I shake my head. Don't break this spell. I need it to be fulfilled. I need some Jake-time and then I'm okay. Need a little Preacher memory and then I can get by for just a few more days.
Goodnight, August. He says it gently and my lips are cold suddenly. August's proximity fades, his smell disappears. His hands let go. Then he charges back, a hard kiss landing on my cheek. A squeeze around the back of my head in the process.
Goodnight, Princess, he whispers against my head and then he's gone.
I am turned to face Lochlan. No apologies, no remorse. He pulls me in close. Come here, Bridget.
All yours, I tell him, palms out.
You're disappointed.
Yes, I answer truthfully, honestly. We don't lie to each other, we don't protect each other or soften the blow. Never have. Rip the bandaid off. Blow the lid. Make it hurt and then you'll know you're really alive.
Another time.
I nod in response. I know.
I love you.
I nod again. I'm surprised.
Why?
I'm...unloveable.
Not from where I'm standing. Not from their vantage points either.
In real life I would be.
Then let's stay here.