He put the dinosaurs here.

(Title is a reference to the new Alice in Chains album. It's an epic full length pole dance earfuck from start to finish. Low Ceiling and Phantom Limb are early favorites.)

(Also New Jake, Jacob, since we are calling him that now (HURTHURTHURT shhhhh) went home today. Sam and Not-Matthew took him and I've talked to him four times since six and boy is he pissed that I managed to wake him up each time in the process so he's definitely feeling better.)

I have touched some nerves all around here lately, I think. Mr. Aloof Scotsman never actually came around and yet I still am drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

How truly fitting, pun intended if yesterday's hesitant, awkward post is any indication.

Except that we are the only ones who think we're special. Everyone else was almost visibly ragey and demonstrated such, beginning with Ben who acted like he didn't care which clearly meant he does, right through Batman who refused to let Jacob off the hook employmentwise (how can you refuse to accept someone's resignation again exactly?) to Caleb who said no more guests, permanent or otherwise. This is the roster. There will be no attrition or additions or reuptake here, unless I buy him out. He's not selling. Even if I could afford it which I can't.

He said he is sparing me from spreading myself so thin and that Jacob is just about old enough to be able to manage his disease just fine without me and that maybe I should think of him instead of being selfish, how once I crawl under their skin they cease to take interest in anything or anyone else ever again.

Don't project, Diabhal.

Oh, I'm not. Not in the slightest. Also please ask the rat to remove his crap from directly behind my car.

Oh, your son's unicycle, you mean?

He looked at the floor and then when he looked up again we had a new subject to discuss. I'm taking the summer off. I'd like to know if there's anything special you'd like to do.

I am confused and taken by surprise so I say nothing. He smiles and we picked up right where we left off. Oh, and I'd like an explanation of why you felt it prudent to write about things long buried in the past, figuratively and literally speaking, for once.

Oh, there it is. I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop and now I feel like a ragdoll that someone has by the arm and they're clapping it repeatedly against the side of the barn to try and get some of the dust off it. Ow.

I'm guessing Lochlan wasn't all that happy either.

Lochlan loves me unconditionally.

Christ, I'm going to wind up back in the ICU.

No, you're not! Don't you pin that on me.

Why not? It happened because of that, because of what you wrote.

BULLSHIT.

Not bullshit at all. It just happened. Don't think for a second I wouldn't try to prevent that. I've never felt so awful in my life. But the last thing I want to see on a fine Tuesday afternoon is a line condemning me and everything I've worked to become in favor of a twelve-year-old child looking for validation from her past.

If you're going to dismiss her so readily as superficial or unimportant than how did she manage to derail your entire week and put you in the hospital?

Touche.

Exactly.

I don't give you enough credit, you know that?

You never have! I was nothing more than a trophy to be fought over.

You were more. You are more.

Can't have it both ways.

Don't write any more about the past, Bridget.

Sometimes I have to.

At what cost?

It helps me. I don't do it to stick it to you or to Lochlan. Writing helps sort me out. You KNOW this.

BUT I DON'T LIKE IT. You're too close and you need to stop.

Well, tough, I guess because I have to put me first. Which you always say I should but you only mean when it's safe for you.

He nods and looks out the window, saying nothing.

Caleb. Caleb, LOOK AT ME.

Bridget. I'm tired, demoralized. and the bad guy yet again because I'm not willing to add any more acts to the circus you run over there. I'm not willing to.. he stops.

To what? What aren't you willing to do?

I'm not willing to tilt the odds away from myself with another soul on this point. And you think you can write something inflammatory and cancel your grand plans to see this through, but I survived at least long enough to tell you you're not going to get away from me that easily so make things easy on everyone and just stop. Enough. You ARE a child. You're a child who has to be reminded repeatedly that enough is enough. No more. 

You first. (I expected myself to say that, oddly. They want to keep me frozen in time as a child forever then that's exactly what I'll be.)

Lochxygen (ha, JESUS. A portmanteau for breakfast).

I don't own you but I know you're mine
Never disown you, never treat you unkind

But once in a while, you get on my nerves
Once in a while, you get what you deserve
I need you ninety-nine percent of the time
Ninety-nine percent of the time

Lochlan caught me like a boomerang on the way back from refilling tea cups on the porch for those who had retired outside to play guitar and discuss the fate of the world. I left a plate of much-appreciated cookies there too and I'm sure they were gone before the door closed behind me.

Hey, he said. He pulled me into him so hard I lost my breath. He kissed me, pulling me up the steps, unbuttoning his shirt, steering me down the hall until we can get past the doors. He unzips my dress but then pulls up the hem. Forget it, leave it on, can't wait. His arms are so tightly wrapped around me I can't breathe. I bite his lip and he changes gears, pulling his head back to stare at me, barely focused on my eyes, breath coming fast against my nose.

I know she's in there, he says abruptly, both hands holding my face firmly now so I can't look away. Instead I kick at him, frowning. A child's response. All I've got now, because he's going to systematically dismantle the wall I spent all week building.

Bridget, he says. Peanut. Mine. His hands tighten and then he moves them back to pull my hips against his.

I'm sorry, I choke it out. It hurts to even say it. (LOYALTY RESTORED, says my brain in a deep booming voice like when you play Quake and it announces things like QUAD DAMAGE and INVISIBILITY.)

Me too. But you can't hide from me, Peanut. I don't work that way.

I know. I didn't know what else to do. I put my arms around his neck and he pulls me up into his lap, tucking my head down against his shoulder, pressing against it with his iron jaw.

Shhh.

His arms are locked tight, his legs taking all the work, his hands forcing me to move when I want to stay close. He fights with this for a while before pushing me onto my back again, his arms underneath me, his face against my neck. He finds his rhythm, slow, harsh and colorless. He loses himself, holding me so tightly I have to fight for space to breath or everything will disappear and I don't want it to. Not with him. Not now.

Finally he says my name in the lowest rumbly-jagged voice ever. Bridget. With that, whatever work had been done on repairing my stupid, shattered heart becomes the biggest waste of time that ever was because it's ruined again and we're back where we started.

He stops moving gradually, pulling his hands up to my face once again. He kisses me gently. Softer than usual, slower than usual. Taking forever and I've decided I might be able to live without air after all.

But he starts up again, pulling me in close against his skin, pulling my tired limbs up around his own, always tensed. I tell him I can't. That I need sleep and he says what I need is right here, it's this, us. I'm still nodding as he lifts me up and turns me over. He puts his hand down on the back of my head and my goosebumps form a barrier between us. It makes him laugh. He's up on his knees, pulling my hips into him for so long I get cold and the goosebumps turn to sandpaper to the point where he turns me back around to face him and holds himself up slightly, just enough to make me want him more.

I don't remember when we stopped but I do remember he didn't move away and we stayed locked together tightly all night like we used to when all we had was a rickety little single cot, no heat and no plans as to how we would stay together, just that we would, no matter what.

I wake up with aching lungs and his eyelashes for a view. He senses when I am awake and his eyes open slowly, halfway only. He peers at me, his green eyes confused and grateful and sated.

Morning, gorgeous. Hungry?

No. I'm pretending I'm not awake yet so I can stay here with you. 

He smiles so wide I almost get pushed onto the floor except he's not letting go.

Favoritism.

I think pretty soon all of my care and feeding will pass to Daniel, who is really good at choosing a nice wine, a big blanket and a whole stack of records and taking me by the hand up to his bed where we gossip and lounge and listen and snooze and be existentialist nobodies.

Today he also went back downstairs for chocolate, because every slow song or hard question made me cry and frankly I think I need a vacation.

This ran on for three hours straight until I was piss drunk at four in the afternoon and both Ben and Schuyler were starting to complain about the lack of participation by either of us in the day, proper.

Not like we actually cared, but for the sake of everyone else we finally emerged, weebly-wobbly and full of lyrics and showmanship and sugar and booze.

Makes it really hard to make dinner though. But I did.

One home, one to go.

Two interesting side effects of what has been a very long week that isn't over yet, is that Duncan has become very aloof and matter of fact and so has Lochlan. Interesting when the stars of the house show don't get their requisite amount of hours in the spotlight.

I would expect this from Lochlan, even though I don't approve of it, since Henry is very unhappy. Dad may tell little white lies about how he feels to get Mom's focus but Dad did not lie about this. I saw the numbers. I saw Caleb on his gooddamn knees from the pain and I thought it's about time God takes you down a notch even though that was mean.

But I would not expect this sort of silent outburst from Duncan. I'll have to sort out whether he just feeds off Lochlan's moods or if he's actively feeling marginalized by me, which I don't intend, but right this minute there is not enough of me to go around.

Back today but only having to go to one hospital will be far easier. I'm taking some drawings in to Jake. He wants to come here, to the point. He does not want to give up his employment though. I guess I'll have to talk to Batman too, and Caleb eventually, since it's his property and he has to have final approval, though it's not like I can't sway him pretty easily.

Caleb is touched that I am glad he didn't die even though he is fully aware that I'm glad he got such an incredible wake-up call. Don't worry, I said it to his face first.

You should have heard what he said in reply.

New-Jake has finally turned the corner. He's doing so much better today. Asked me what was wrong with my eyes, rimmed with red and leaking all over the damned place. Said it wasn't so bad. Basically made me want to smack him, but instead I told him of my phone calls to his parents, and I told him about the kids hula-hooping with PJ in the driveway. We are currently making space in the house next door for him, Batman be damned. Jake can't seem to manage his own self all that well so some nifty routines should help him with that. Then we can nag him constantly and he'll be healthy and not die.

***

I look at Ben and wonder how he does it. He's very forthright and curious here, very keen to know what's going on and to be of use. He's lost both his parents and two of his good friends and then some but he's as comfortable sitting in a hard chair in the corner of a room watching someone be helpless as I am uncomfortable at it. 

I'm a little wreck. The smell of the hospitals makes me nauseous, I worry and fret over every line, every beep, every person with a name tag who turns to talk with us and all I can picture is Cole, still and quiet at last, under a white sheet ripped down to his waist, the corners of the sheet pulled out at the bottom when they should have been tucked in, the unsteady beeps from the monitor beating my heart to smithereens as they slowed to a crawl and then stopped.

In contrast, Caleb's heartbeat is strong and steady. They've got his blood pressure and his pain under control. He has been ordered to get himself under control emotionally. This is not a choice, it's a requirement if he wants to live a full life, so he'll be healthy and not die.

***

I had to go outside in the courtyard/sidewalk/gift shop and pace and pull myself together more than once. As far as I can tell, we're doomed.

Bit stressed. New Jake is still in the hospital (DKA) and now Caleb is too (his blood pressure went so high his headache made his nose bleed wtf), albeit a different hospital which means I currently live on the highway, in a coffee cup.

 Waiting for a shower (there's a lineup) and in the meantime I have to go yell at Sam. Maybe God will hear me that way.

Butterscotch ripples.

I'm listening to Air Supply in the kitchen while I do preparations for dinner and ignore the messages on my phone. Let them pile up. Eventually the phone company will cut me off. Exceptions I will take are Corey (who is coming over with a big fat cheque for me for my artistic contribution to his latest music video) and New Jake, who is currently at the hospital with Sam because he fucked up his insulin again and no one is looking after him so I might bring him here so I can.

Oh baby, those memories come crashing through
and I just can't go on without you.
Go on without
It's just no good without
Yoooooooouuuuuuuuu

PJ thinks I'm insane.

Ha, you're very perceptive, Padraig.

Batman wants to know what we buried in the cornfield.

Perhaps I should tell him that it was loaded.

Speaking of evil things, Caleb switched gears this morning, telling me he wasn't feeling well, asking if we could defer Henry's dinner night to tomorrow (they go to a restaurant once a week or so and eat big huge hamburgers and talk man-talk). Fine. Need anything? No? Okay great, gtf away. I don't plan to message Caleb for the rest of the week. It's draining.

Henry was not impressed and thinks his father is lying because I am always nicer to Caleb when he's sick. He told Henry I was more cuddly and so I told Henry that yes, his father lies but only to be kind, like those lies we tell when we don't really like a gift or a food or a moment but we need to be polite and not hurt feelings. Henry then asked if PJ could take him out instead because PJ doesn't care if Henry gets mustard on his t-shirt and laughs way more than Dad. I said some dads just aren't that cuddly and Henry said that sucked.

Yeah it does. Come hug me. Better?

Yeah.

I'll always be cuddly for you. 

Yeah but mo-om, you're like needy-cuddly. I don't mean to hurt your feelings though.

Gee, thanks, Bunny. Next time lie.

Okay. Sorry. 

It's okay.

Will you check on Dad?

Yes. 

Now?

No. I'm up to my elbows peeling potatoes. Why don't you check on him? 

Okay. Bye. Love you. 

Love you too. 

On his way out he asked if he could have ice cream after dinner. I said if PJ says it's okay then yes.

What if PJ says no? Can I override him with this conversation?

Absolutely not. 

Aw. Okay, mom. 

Second best fire juggler I've ever seen (evening postscript).

The Granville Island 'Cultural' Association has banned all busker acts involving fire and/or bagpipes. Also absolutely no deviations from the original audition script and no interaction with audience members will be permitted.

They're serious.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. 

Scatterminded.

Reading a ad-hoc bio for Lochlan from a website and it lists his current occupation as Tenor. I smiled and everyone else went WTF. Do the latin and you'll see. It means 'someone who holds'. He's crafty like that.

The rest of it reads like something from a bucket list filled with fireworks and circus acts (because it is). For someone so serious, it's an acute, abrupt study in contrasts. It's hard to believe but he is the same person who is directly to blame for my personality for he shaped it during my most formative, important years. Now do you see?

When he opened the cupboard looking for a stapler this morning he found seven different kinds of glitter but no stapler. He went to the desk and found sparklers, glowsticks and suckers but no stapler. I watched with amusement as he did a couple circuit of the main level before coming back and waiting for me to acknowledge him. He likes things orderly. Everything in it's place now. We've traded OCD for instruction in our old ages here, he is now difficult and rigid, I remind him to loosen up and have some fun.

I look up.

I give, Bridgie. Where's the stapler. He is defeated and doesn't even ask the question, he just says it flat.

I take the sucker out of my mouth and think about it. The sucker is breakfast, because I'm an adult and can choose to give myself a sugar high before noontime and I can choose to ignore the irritation in his voice because life is so hard for our tenor right now. It must take more effort to hold a heart surrounded by ninety-five pounds of total foolishness and utter bullshit than I realized.

The black one? The big office one?

Yes. 

It's in your hand. I wink at him and return the sucker to my mouth and he swears a blue streak and mutters to himself the whole way back down the hall.

Chelation

Late last night yet another message from the Devil pops up on my phone. Not a big deal usually but this time Ben was plugging my phone in on the dresser and he got to read it first. He shook his head, read it again and then deleted it. Then he made some lame, obvious excuse about needing his glasses out of the truck, that he would be right back.

Lame because I was standing there holding his glasses because I had grabbed them on the way up the steps.

Loch walks in and sees the look on Ben's face and asks him if he had a good sleep because Ben's been completely oblivious to Caleb's manipulations all spring. We're happy he woke up at last. He's made such a concentrated effort not to be the loose cannon anymore, I'm proud of him and at the same time frustrated that I can't ask him to deal with the monsters I make.

Tonight I didn't even have to ask and I wish he would pick a side already instead of hiding behind some magnanimous effort to see me sort out my life on my own when he's happy to throw wrenches into the works every chance he gets.

He came back an hour later tightly wound and unwilling to discuss it. I handed him his glasses and he took them and I asked if everyone was okay, sort of code for wanting to know if he's hurt Caleb, if I should go and check on him, if he needs a doctor or an ice pack or last rites. Ben stopped me before I could wind up too much and said all they did was talk and he didn't know what I had done but Caleb is a man haunted and driven by all of this turmoil lately.

Please, Ben. He plays you like my fucking fiddle. 

Does he, Bee? Does he really? How many men have fallen for you exactly and how is he pretending when the rest of us are brought to our knees? 

You can't even recognize when the Devil forces you to take his side. Ben, come ON. He doesn't have that power over you. You're not his to use. 

Ben stares at me for what seems like forever and then eventually gives me a nervous almost-laugh. Fucking Christ. I don't even know how he puts things into my head.

That's how he does it. It's frightening. 

Ben looked doubtful but relieved. Yeah, it is, actually. 

Don't spend time with him. He'll get under your skin. 

I just...yeah. I know. Fuck. I know.

But Ben didn't look like he felt better and so the moment I could extricate myself from his presence I sent a message to Caleb.

What the FUCK did you do?

Exactly what I warned you I would do, Princess. You chose to do things the hard way. I am just facilitating that for you. 

Fuck off. 

Hell, Babydoll. I'm just getting started.