Be right with you.

Seventeen days with no breath at all
You fall off a ledge and your world dissolves
And no one listens to the sounds you make
and no one listens to you when you say
Save me from pain

For whatever reason my narcolepsy came back with a vengeance this morning and Benjamin bore the brunt of it as I kept completely checking out, my chin hitting my chest and my eyes flying open so many times I lost count before I scowled and fell asleep again. I didn't even ever feel it coming on. Usually I feel so overwhelmingly sleepy but today I just keep waking up.

Maybe it's dangerous and foolhardy to give up coffee.

Maybe I'm just dangerous. I just know I've always been this way whether I get nine hours of sleep or three. Same with the black circles under my eyes. They're always there. Genetics fucked me over bad. Bailey is perfect with her curly golden hair and tall willowy figure, perfect black eyelashes but no black circles, flawless hearing and normal alert levels.

I believe I may have been abandoned with her family by leprechauns passing through the village.

No, seriously.

It would explain the wanderlust and the love of potatoes and cake, you know.

And whiskey.

Shhhh.

I mean Zzzzzzz.

The reluctant survivalist, the insane surprise.

So this is my once upon at time
So this is my star-crossed wasteland

I cut my hand pretty badly on the mandoline. I wasn't even using it. I was moving it, fumbled and instinctively caught it. By the blade. I've never seen that much blood at once that wasn't period-related and it was hypnotic, seductive. It was incredibly bright and tepid and slow-growing, absorbing its surroundings like the shadow of the mountains when the sun dances from east to west.

It was properly bandaged four times before it stopped bleeding and before PJ would relax and crack a smile again. Then I washed some dishes and got dressing number five. Then six and they sent Dalton out for more first aid supplies and Sam took over the dishes. Odd how you can't seem to find steristrips in Canada in spite of the fact that everyone seems to carry them but is always magically out. We bring them back by the case from America. I'm going to sell them on the underground, I think (notes potential source of income for the future).

Because in the future my hand is healed but I'm left with a wicked white scar you can only see when I raise my hand to shield my eyes from the bleak whitewashed sunrise, to shield my heart from damage and my soul from theft. I can't see a thing but I feel everything. It feels uncertain and dangerous and yet hopeful, that if you just keep on walking, single-file, quiet as mice, that eventually you come into full sun and things will turn lush and green and certain once more. That people like Joel who claim to be helpful yet only cause more problems are memories that have faded to the point of unreadability and that the pain has too. That only the happiest recollections that make your heart skip and your eyes sting are there to greet that day.

And no blood.

No blood spilled. No blood shed. No blood drawn. No blood painted until it turns black against the white wall and when I step back I see a picture of me.

Don't you dare fuck with Bridget and her friends, both real and imaginary.

They say you've been living up the street
Well, I'm sorry boy, yes indeed
Back from the war and down by the creek
Well, a 'sorry' ain't what you need
Heard you've been trying to tell the truth
But I think I've about had it with you

The high point of the morning was when Ben started threatening to use me as ammunition against Duncan, who refused to budge. He was sitting on the big couch in front of the fireplace reading and Ben asked him three times for help moving a huge armoire before promising to throw me at him.

Duncan shook his head and said, I'm not catching her. 

You will. 

Nope. 

Oh..you will! And Ben picked me up and tossed me squarely at Duncan. At the last second I screamed and Duncan threw his arms out and missed and I managed to nail both his Adam's apple and his balls in one amazingly uncoordinated but reasonably soft fall.

I was horrified but they all laughed at Duncan, who could not speak or stand up for several minutes. They're too rough sometimes still. You think they're going to outgrow it as they mature but apparently that never happens. The maturity part, I mean.

The low point of the morning was when I gave Joel his notice. Ninety days to find someplace else to be. Ninety days to stop psychoanalyzing me on the run, ninety days to break the habit. Ninety days because the rental market is hard here. Ninety days because I might change my mind. Ninety days because I'll change it back, come hell or high water.

Oh wait, we have both here. Out he goes.

Ninety days to fight with Caleb who does not want me to dismantle the safeguards he put into place for me just because I got my feelings hurt when I was called out for talking to the garage walls again. What a hypocrite he is too.

A good day for black.

Burn down my house
And make something happen
Stab me in the heart
And make something stop
Because I am so distracted
I am slightly shocked
By how things can keep going
Like a dead man's clock

Jacob is pacing in the darkness, feeling his knuckles with the pads of his fingers from his other hand. From it distance he appears to be wringing his hands, from close up you can see he's rubbing out the soreness from his fingers from where his hands have been clenched into fists. There is as much salt in his hair as sunshine now and I can't tear my eyes away from him even as my heart beats so hard it's making me blink involuntarily.

He looks older, and stronger and more tangible than ever today. My tactile dream, my dead preacher, my love. He used to love lying in the dark at night as I told him stories from the show. He would laugh and say, but how did you feel? and I would answer so easily. Throw-up-excitement, dread, exhaustion, bursting happiness, contentment, endless hunger. He would frown or smile depending on my answer and work on his knuckles in the dark, rubbing them, cracking them. I wasn't sure if he was arthritic for he never complained, or nervous for he never admitted or maybe it was just one of those things, one of those endless unconscionable habits one picks up and then can't seem to put down anywhere later.

Jacob smiles when he sees me. You look good today, Princess, he tells me because he was used to this. All black from head to toe. Hundred-button boots, delicately cabled tights, black wrap dress in a pretty drape, tied so tightly and the whole thing covered with a long black sweater with buttons so small I'm the only one who can fasten them and the elbows are three-patches deep now.

Liar liar Preacher Boy. I say it softly, with a smile. It's an old inside joke, for he used to tell me I was beautiful when I was red-faced and in full ugly-cry, my eyes turned bright blue, lips quivering, nose running for the hills, fingers clenched til they drew blood. He would say that and I would laugh. I would laugh so hard. Incredulous and say he was a liar but the Preacher Boy disclaimer brought appreciation and affection for his efforts, just as my black clothing brings the night around with me, like a shadow. Like a shroud.

The more he talks the more I think he's real. Ghosts can't feel things. They can't be concerned or worried. They can't show emotion or be held to earth with negative energy so I'm not going to do this to him or to myself foremost. Today I must protect myself, standing behind the shadow of my presence, standing in the glint of silver and gold. Just standing here.

Because I don't know where to go next.

Winter of eight.

We are fire
Burning brightly
You and I

I had the lighter in my hand, standing perched on the driftwood log at the top of the snowy dunes. My tongue is sticking out of the corner of my mouth and my fingernails are blackened underneath and all around the edges but I told him I wanted to light the fire tonight. He gave me one lesson in how to light the lighter and then he went about finding fallen wood.

But I'm not strong enough to hold the flame. I keep getting it to light but then my fingers slip off the button so fast. I'm so frustrated but so determined.

How's it going, Fidget?

Almost got it! Bring tons of wood! It's going to be the biggest fire of the year thanks to me. He laughs and I jump off the log and sit down. I try to roll the wheel against the log like I've seen him do but all I get from that are sparks. I bang the lighter repeatedly and grunt my displeasure at not being able to do this. I wipe my hands on my skirt and tuck my hair behind my ears. One more chance. My coat has black sooty flinty fingerprints all over them, my face too, streaks in my hair that would take five washes to come out.

He comes back with the last armload and dumps them on the pile and looks at the balled up paper I am holding. No luck? 

Almost. I have sparks. I'm almost there!

You have sparks because you're soon to be a flame, and someday you're going to grow into a roaring fire but for now you just show a hint of your light, protected from the wind and rain. Someday a little rain won't make you sizzle and a little wind won't blow you out, someday you'll be the most powerful thing in the world. But for today you will only show as a tiny spark so I can find you. He takes the lighter and with a practiced, easy motion conjures a full flame that he holds up to the paper and then tucks the paper under the edge of the bonfire. Soon I'm warm and sleepy and I don't care at all that I'm not at full-flame yet. Someday I will be.I think it will be when I'm as old as he is. Around fourteen. I can wait.

.81 cents on the dollar and falling (It's like 2002 all over again).

Today I slept until nine, drank tea until two pm, replaced another hard drive in another macbook (like lemmings, they are), bought bad RAM (FUCK), developed a new respect for Shia LaBeouf's emotional music video catalog (themes, holy themes!) and finally got to watch Lucy while I drank some coke and Kraken. Oh, and I went to Dairy Queen, because onion rings and Benjamin, dammit, it's a deep fried mutual admiration society there.

I hope tomorrow is much the same. Though I have to return the RAM. Which is funny because today I returned some PLA filament that was the wrong size. A week ago I returned a snowball microphone and I feel like everything I buy is a two-trip minimum experience. Also the boys have weird and incredibly varied lists of things they need/want/ordered and so I mostly get to tag along as company or go myself as casual personal assistant.

I get paid in candy and hugs, so it's all good.

But that sleeping til nine thing. I can thank my dog for that. I really really needed that.

Chatty little cinnaskulls.

There's been times where I felt
So alone it tried my mind
But you always showed up
Made me feel like I'm alive

Today feels just like a normal average (read: completely uncharacteristic for me) day. It's Friday. It's been nine whole days since I had any coffee and I'm just a little too even-keeled for suspicions not to be raised here. My anxiety levels are down, my kidneys sent me a thank-you bouquet and so far I haven't fallen asleep once mid-conversation. I did fall asleep inappropriately during Hercules when Ben rented it on Apple TV but it wasn't inappropriate after all because the movie was so awful. I woke up just as the credits rolled. I didn't mind a bit.

No jitters. No wild mood swings. I'm not worn out or irritable or craving coffee. It's sort of like when I quit smoking once I realized I got nothing out of it except for bad headaches so I just stopped and then I felt so wonderful but I'm also one of those terrible people who refuses to have any vices or become addicted to anything and can just stop a fledgling habit on a dime.

Except I won't give up starch. Diets don't work at all. Someone mentioned we should go gluten-free again and I laughed and then ignorantly asked if that meant I had to give up cake and potatoes because I don't remember what gluten is again so no, I'll eat those things still, please.

Well, within reason. I need more protein and vegetables. Not bananas. I'm pretty sure I glow in the dark from all the potassium in bananas because I can eat ten in a week, easy. I'm weird with food jags like that. If I open a bag of pistachios it's game-fucking-over because I will eat the whole bag. That started with licorice when I was little because I didn't want to share with the boys so I would just demolish the whole bag in half an afternoon and then they'd never know, but they always knew because I would feel so sick afterward.

So sick. I ate a whole bagful over Christmas and yes, same result. I asked Lochlan not to buy it anymore.

Because I have no self-control, it's better to just not do it all.

You see how this extends to so many areas of my life, don't you?

Yes, I know.

It also takes the pressure off because while Canada heralds the arrival of 'flat whites' to our country's Starbucks, I can just file that name away with the other coffeeish beverages I don't know the difference between, like lattes and...huh, I already forgot. So see? I don't even need to care that I don't know what these things even are, save for that brief period when the castle was within walking distance to a Starbucks and I would go (like five times in five years) and get mochas that were sickly sweet and seemed like inconsistent hot chocolate that cost five dollars.

Also how the FUCK can anyone get one of those super huge drinks? I'd have to pee for months afterward. Does being short mean my bladder is also extra-mini? Don't answer that, I think it is.

But yes, I'm very happy with my one little cup of tea in the mornings and Ben says now if we get a midday date out somewhere we'll have to shift to ice cream!

Sold.

Though I would happy to continue going to the little coffee shop we like best (not a chain, just a counter with two surly employees and a few dirty tables but their music. Oh, their music. Today they were playing Merriment) because they have cinnamon rolls the size of my skull and I've always wanted to try one. I wish someone would make cinnamon bun skulls, that would be cool. Covered in royal icing with dark cinnamon pockets for eyes and a nose and then raisin teeth. I would just pick it up with both hands and sink my own teeth into the forehead and it would be the best thing ever and I would become addicted so fast everyone would wish for the days when I bummed cigarettes off them and tried to pretend I was cool.

I'm not cool at all. That's okay too.

I bet Ben would unhinge the jaw on one of those buns and make it talk. It would say Bridget.....you want coffeeeeeeeee....and I would laugh but shake my head no.

Nice try though.

Friends with penalties.

While Lochlan went to figure out all the details of his soon-to-be imaginary job working for Batman (again) I rolled out of bed headfirst and went out to breakfast with the Devil, who was in such a wonderful mood the only place I wanted to be alone with him was in public. He offered fried potatoes and I'll take those even if they come with a side of death.

Obviously.

Caleb was being nitpicky, evasive and snappish so I responded by being sweet. I asked him if I could pass things and cajoled him to eat his stupid egg-white omelet with a cute smile plastered on that would have to be removed with threats and a lot of elbow grease.

Caleb is in over his head with me, I'm afraid. He can easily overpower me physically but emotionally he has no idea what he's doing, why this is so difficult or exactly how hard Lochlan worked to raise me so that I would be quite unlike any other human being on earth, at least to the point of the typical gimmes that Caleb encounters with most of the women he meets. Nope, I'm nothing like them, and nothing like their opposites either.

He should just walk away before it's too la-

Oh, right. Nevermind. *looks at watch*

He started with awful things while I nibbled on my food. Threats. Promises. Certain complete dismemberment down to my baby tooth. My eyebrows went up and he said those too. But then after I failed to react further (trying so hard oh please please stay stoic, Bee) he softened and warned me about spending intimate time with someone I don't know all that well (I do) and then asked if I was satisfied ripping Loch's heart open always just as it finally begins to heal.

I shrug at that one but he gets a reaction when my eyes spring a tiny leak.

Caleb notices and pulls out fatherly/kind but I don't want that. It's easier if he just yells out of fear than if he sits here and shames me to pieces using Lochlan's feelings as ammunition.

I swallow some of the crow that comes back up and point out that Caleb doesn't have right of first refusal and nothing I've done in the past week concerns him at all, actually.

Then he asks if he should add to my bonus, since clearly it wasn't enough.

I shook my head.

Jesus, most women would say 'how much'? You slay me, Bridget. 

Like a dragon, Cale. 

Like a dragon, baby. A...fire-breathing dragon. He realizes what he means and pushes back from the table, taking a final sip of his coffee. I finish my juice as he shifts his gaze to the floor and somehow I feel like I just ripped his heart open again too.

Velvet disease.

I had my little crow feast. It was disgusting. He grilled it bone-dry, burnt and twisted on the rack and I choked back every last bit until like me, the only thing left was a picked-over carcass.

I will spare you Lochlan's performance at the barbecue but it's safe to say he built me up and tore me back down. He got it all out. He vented at PJ and Ben and Batman too and then Caleb showed up and was promptly ushered out with excuses while Lochlan was tackled to the ground so he wouldn't go after him too. Let's just say it was about as pretty as the grocery store, but with a waterfront backdrop and it wasn't until I finished the meal that he was satisfied that I'd learned my lesson.

But Batman wasn't finished. Batman came back with a job offer. He told Loch he thought time with me was somewhat...sanctioned and then said he wanted to make things right and he doesn't intend to complicate things further. That set Loch back to yelling about how every single man here who wants to touch her complicating things and it took just about forever to settle him again.

And Caleb doesn't even know the details yet. Really, Lochlan's temper is nothing compared to what's coming.

And I think Loch might take the offer to work for Batman, personally, AKA Made up job. Nice paycheque. Very very little travel. This should be great. I give it five months like everything else. I asked Batman what he would be doing and Batman couldn't answer me because he probably doesn't know either so he said something like we can talk about it tomorrow. Come see me at ten because Batman doesn't like to get up early and I know this so I knew he would be home because I'm that evil.

But I'm not that evil and last night after I was done that terrible meal I was picked up and tickled into submission and that was Lochlan's playful cue that he is no longer really mad at me, that I am doing my best.

My best? No. I could do better but what I seem to do best is sabotage myself.

***

As it turns out too I have now managed to infect all four households with strep throat because I'm generous like that. Only the boys are big bearded babies when it comes to being sick and I just keep on going until I drop. They make little coughing noises and sprawl out on the couch, useless or clear their calendars and not even get out of bed. Matt is already feeling better. Sam is still coughing a fair bit but then again so is Ruth.

The only person well enough get anything done at this point is Christian and he showed up wearing a mask. Not a simple face mask like on airplanes, a full tactical gas mask with filter cartridges for biochemical warfare.

That might be overkill, I told him.

He shook his head. I read somewhere that the smallest things hold the most germs. So like pets...babies...Bridgets. 

Nice. 

You're the one who made the rounds. I'm here bored as fuck, minding my own business, the least you can do is shop local. 

Oh my fuck, Christian! You didn't just say that. 

Right. I didn't, actually. Carry on. (For the record, he wouldn't. He has standards that far exceed uh...any woman he's ever met, actually.)

If you don't mind, I'd rather not. I need to reel myself in here. 

Like a fish? 

Like a fish. 

Like a tiny little diseased fish you throw back. 

Yes, exactly. Or flush. We always flushed the sick ones. 

I don't think you'll fit. 

For once. Finally something I'm too big for. The toilet! We should go celebrate. 

Some bitch ate all the crow. The party's over, man. 

Ow. There's no love for me here at all tonight, is there?

No, you see, Missy? That's EXACTLY how you get into these messes in the first place!

Scene kids.

PJ and I had company grocery shopping this morning in the form of one pissed-off Scotsman, who refused to speak to me but also wouldn't leave me alone. He called in sick (more or less, when Schuyler came to get him) and glared at me the whole time and Schuyler was all you were fine yester-oooooh. Okay feel better, man and then he glared at me too.

PJ glared but at least he was speaking. Sam was cranky at breakfast and even John rolled his eyes when he came in and I asked how they suddenly all became these rabid girl-blog readers and Sam said For Pete's sake, Bridget, You don't TALK. How else are we supposed to know what's going on?

Well, next time I'll let you know in advance so when I do my walk of shame you can all come out and watch, like it's a parade or a fucking tour. 

Bridget-

Who was around yesterday? He was. That's it. Everyone else forgot about me so I forgot about all of you too! 

But I didn't mean it and the minute it came out of my mouth I wanted to stuff it back in and choke to death. Lochlan put his arm out and pulled me in close and asked me not to fuck with the millionaires already, that he's sorry he wasn't there. He's only half-apologetic though, the other half is positively bristling with a sparking, snapping current of pure rage. He didn't say any more after that and we resorted to stupid visual cues to navigate trying to shop for ten people, eight of whom eat a lot more than the other two.

PJ didn't say anything though I'm sure if he had right then he would have pointed out the irony of Lochlan apologizing to me because I went and messed around with Batman. I could see it all over his face and so I pleaded with him with my eyes to not say it out loud.

Further down into the store Lochlan lingered for so long at the meat counter I had to go back and get him.

What are you doing?

Selecting a nice juicy breast of crow for you for dinner tonight. 

I'm sorry, Lochlan. 

But you're not. Ben might not give a shit who you're with but I do. I do BIG TIME. He yelled this part and the whole store tuned in for the next part.  Just because we're in a commune doesn't give you permission to sleep with everyone there!

Then he looked around and asked what the hell people were looking at.

You, Lochlan. They're looking at you. 

Yeah, and they see a guy who used to have it all and now has nothing.

You have me.

You're not worth the paper you're printed on, anymore. You used to be such a draw. The crowd favorite. Guess I should be careful what I wish for, huh? The crowd definitely favors you.

I stood there with my lower lip vibrating, trying not to cry and finally told him to finish shopping by himself, that I'd be in the truck. He said FINE and out I went.

I did not have the keys so I climbed in the back and lay down flat on my back in the bed and looked at the sky. The clouds were tinged with 1982 and when I was just about fall asleep Lochlan's head appeared over the edge of the bed, curls damp, face sunburned, breath heavy and he said,

There you are! I was worried someone might have run off with you. And he grinned with relief that I never took seriously until now. I'm making his worst fears come true in an effort to fix mine. The tears came hard now with the sudden rain and 1982 is washed away again in favor of drops stamped clearly '2015'. Loch's face appears over the edge of the truck bed, curls damp and he says, Jesus fuck, I thought you ran off and then he stood waiting for me to need his help getting out because the tailgate doesn't work. The relief is visible in his expression and he asks if I was okay. I shake my head when my feet hit the pavement, No. Not if you're mad. 

If I wasn't mad I'd be a fool, Bridgie. 

So be my fool. 

It never paid very well, remember? 

I nod and he finally smiles slightly. Softening maybe? Nope. Not hardly.

Get in. We're going to go home and prepare your feast! He holds up a tiny cornish hen in one hand. This will be your crow though I imagine it tastes more like pigeon. Oh, well, nevermind, it will do. 

I'm not going to eat it. 

You'll do what you're told. Maybe for the first time in your life!