Is that my post today? I don't know. Maybe. Does it matter? Do you want to know that my hair grew last night while I slept? Or that I cut my finger rather badly chopping onions (it's always onions, and no, I don't cry when I cut them -onions, not fingers, I mean) and the bleeding didn't stop for like two hours and finally Sam took over and sat on me for twenty minutes holding a towel around my finger and finally it stopped but only when I stopped. I made a joke about my blood stopping and then my heart and all I had to do was not move and I could finally die and earned myself a trip to the library to talk to Joel about my gallows humor and how I'm not allowed to indulge in it forever and ever, amen.
Joel's being a total asshole. Just thought I'd mention that. Can he leave now?
No, Lochlan says. I indulged you. Now it's your turn to indulge me.
(God, give this one WHATEVER HE WANTS.)
I wait with a smile and a bandaid, wrapped far too tightly around my finger.
He takes me in close, lips against my forehead, hands on my face and tells me we have to do more. That we need to make this easier, somehow. That it's time I resume the hard work and leave the play for a bit. It hurts worse than the knife and each word slows my heartbeat down until I'm standing there dead.
We tried that-
There are some things we could do, Peanut. He says it so gently. So hopefully.
It's broken-
I know-
Not my heart, well, my heart too, but my head-
Bridget, don't say that.
It's true. Maybe you should move on. Go back to the living and leave me with the dead.
I made that mistake once already, Peanut. I'm not making it again. Go talk to the asshole. I'll be in with you in a bit. He turns me around and gives me a gentle shove in Joel's direction. Fine. But I may just listen and not talk. Talking rarely gets me anywhere.
Yeah, right, Jake says from his place leaning against the wall, laughing.
Hush, you.
Joel's being a total asshole. Just thought I'd mention that. Can he leave now?
No, Lochlan says. I indulged you. Now it's your turn to indulge me.
(God, give this one WHATEVER HE WANTS.)
I wait with a smile and a bandaid, wrapped far too tightly around my finger.
He takes me in close, lips against my forehead, hands on my face and tells me we have to do more. That we need to make this easier, somehow. That it's time I resume the hard work and leave the play for a bit. It hurts worse than the knife and each word slows my heartbeat down until I'm standing there dead.
We tried that-
There are some things we could do, Peanut. He says it so gently. So hopefully.
It's broken-
I know-
Not my heart, well, my heart too, but my head-
Bridget, don't say that.
It's true. Maybe you should move on. Go back to the living and leave me with the dead.
I made that mistake once already, Peanut. I'm not making it again. Go talk to the asshole. I'll be in with you in a bit. He turns me around and gives me a gentle shove in Joel's direction. Fine. But I may just listen and not talk. Talking rarely gets me anywhere.
Yeah, right, Jake says from his place leaning against the wall, laughing.
Hush, you.