I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone

Read between the lines
Of what's fucked up and everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone

He sat in front of me on an old wooden stool while I sat on the top step of the camper, on the kitchen floor proper, holding my arm out straight in front of me, using my other hand to prop it up because this was taking a long time.

Hold still, Lochlan barks at me with pins between his teeth. He really did a number on this. 

He is unpinning my heart. Said brusquely that it can't stay there, that it needs to be protected, and if it doesn't fit then he will keep it.

You already do, I remind him as he ignores me, loud and clear. You've had it forever. 

Right. It's mine but you keep throwing it out there like a boomerang, and there are people in the way so it gets stuck in them and then you have to go dig it out and that seems stressful and unnecessary. Stop throwing it. 

I'm trying but they seem to need it. 

They will live without it. 

In my world that's not an offhand remark, it's a dangerous gamble. 

Well, what do you want me to do, then? 

Help me keep it locked up so it won't get out. 

Lock you down? Jake tried that and it made things worse. Ben didn't and you hardly left his side. Trying to sign up for the end already are you? 

Never. This is it. Alpha-Omega, baby. That's who you are. The beginning and the end.

He finally gets my heart unattached without further damage. I retract my arm and rub the sore spot where the pins went through my skin and he holds up my heart for inspection. I lean forward to facilitate him putting it back and he hesitates, cupping it in both hands like it's a bird about to fly away. I think I'm going to hang on to this for a bit, if it's all the same to you. 

Then stop giving me mixed messages. 

I already told you I fucked up. I was trying to hurt him and I hurt you instead. I just..I want things to be different, Bridge. I want to run the show again. I want it to be you and me against the world. He absently tucks my heart into his shirt pocket as he speaks, a bloom in red growing almost instantly on the front of his shirt. Just trust me and I'll make sure things are better. 

I nod.

Do you believe in me, Bridget? 

He asked me the same question on our wedding day and it rocked me then as much as it does now. As if I don't trust him to have changed when he said he would, as if I don't put any weight on his regret. As if I can't count on him to do what he says he's going to do, after decades of fighting it out.

I do. 

Why I didn't want to be the poster child for dealing with grief, because clearly I can't and if I let anyone, everyone, all of you down I'm sorry.

(From The Book of Bridgeticus chapter eleventy billion, verse four hundred thousand and five: And on the ninth day, when he saw Bridget, God created Ativan. And he saw her on it and said that it was good. Or at least, better than the alternative.)

(With apologies to Sam for liberties taken with the Bible verses, but honey, I'm so high right now.)

In the warm dark early this morning he turned me toward him and ripped out my heart, pinning it to my sleeve, nodding as he worked.

I love you, Bridget. And I hate every second that I have to be away from you.

He looked at me fiercely as he checked his work and then he was gone before the sun could wake up and see him off even.

And then I woke up and Lochlan was there. I looked down expecting to see the gaping hole in me where my heart had been wedged tightly in place for so long and found it dripping all over the sheets, making a mess. Making my arm ache, for it's heavy. Dense with feeling, rich with blood, laced through with repairs done over the years.

He doesn't see it. Fuck. I am crazy.

What is it, Peanut?

I had a dream about Cole.

But he doesn't want to know what it was about (because duh, Cole) and gets up to get ready for work, asking Ben if he can keep care today when Ben probably (always) has other plans. Whenever my brain starts opening doors that are better off locked, imagining violence or finding trouble to make for itself he worries even more than usual, if that were even possible.

Yeah, Ben confirms to Loch as I stand there holding my elbow up in front of my nose to watch the blood drip off the end, watching as the puddle grows around my feet. Soon I will be Alice in the drowning pool and Loch will wished he stayed home and saved me instead of leaving me with someone equally distractible. Someone with their own ghosts can't fight yours off too. No one's strong enough for that. Not even the guy who eats amplifiers for breakfast and then says he's hungry.

Or the one who eats souls.

(Or anyone, for that matter.)

I stare at him as my feet leave the ground, treading water easily as I was taught in the other pool, back in sunnier times. He's looking at his phone. I call out to him as my head goes under but he's not listening. I open my mouth and blood rushes in, filling my lungs. When they find me they'll say somberly,

It appears she murdered herself. Case closed.

And then I'll be a ghost for someone else to fight off.

(That isn't fair, now, is it?)

I start to try and dig my way out but it's thick like quicksand now and I really fucked up. Shit. I thrash and fight and get nowhere and then the surface breaks. Two hands thrust down into the heavy liquid, pulling me up by the hands roughly. I surface in slow motion. I cough and cough, leaving a spray of red across the front of his formerly white shirt. Lochlan pounds me on the back, pushing my head against his chest.

Couldn't you SEE this? He yells at Ben, who has faded into the background. I can hardly see him between deep heaving breaths.

She was fine a second ago. I'm right here! For fucks sakes.

Why didn't you see it, Ben?

I won't let him, I say thickly. I feel drunk. I told you. I need to save him too.

Even if it kills you?

Jake won't let that happen.

I saved you, Bridget. ME! Stop giving him all the credit. He's the one who finished you off!

I just look at him until his words sink down into my flesh and then they begin to sting and it makes me cry. Good. I can join the rest of them and no one has to be alone in their misery.

Bees.

Sorry, not much time today. Since today is supposed to be the last warm sunny day of the year, I chose to spend it outdoors. I hung all the sheets on the clothesline. Duncan brought the laundry outside for me and helped. I worked in the garden, pulling up roots, cutting down stalks and pruning roses to within an inch of their lives. I scattered the rest of the sunflower seeds for the birds and attempted to break up the giant root plates that held the sunflowers fast through September and mostly failed. They can rot and compost into the ground over the winter and then in spring Ben can break them up. I leave all the leaves and plants laying in the garden and let them break down on their own. Over the winter they will compost and then in the spring we'll load up on sheep manure and till everything together. It makes the best growing soil.

I'm good at this.

The yard is open and barren now, especially without the roses. The tea rose bushes I cut down from ten feet to two. The ornamental shrubs get a little more tender loving care and they are a foot tall now with chosen hardy stalks to grow from next year. The carnations will bloom right through the snow and I ate all the remaining strawberries while I pulled all of those up too. The raspberries are coming along. I don't have to touch those. And all the plants out front are hardy perennials that require little care, if any.

It's done for 2016.

The boys made up the beds fresh with flannel and electric blankets for those who love to be cozy and with cool cotton and light duvets for those who don't. We had the fireplaces cleaned and checked. We cut a few big limbs off a tree that has overgrown it's welcome and was touching windows on the house and on the garage and we had the landscapers come back and extend the corner of the brick driveway that heads around the barn so that Sam and Caleb both will stop clipping it with their cars, as they park on the high side, up on the left of the garage while the rest of us drive down around in front of it (the garage is across the driveway from the side of the house, above the boathouse) and park facing the side of the house.

So yeah. We got a lot accomplished today and as such, I will now attempt to not fall asleep face-first in my dinner plate.

The piece-makers.

The whole household dropped everything last night and joined us watching movies. We made a Sam-wich, plonking him right in the center of the huge sectional and piling all around and on him and making sure he had extreme extended cuddles for the entire evening. He sat grinning, one arm looped around Dalton and one around Loch.

Sam is so much like me. Sometimes he just needs to be touched. You'll never hear anyone who lives here speak as openly as I do about the amount of affection required before I even feel as if I can get out of bed in the morning, or how awful if feels if I don't get that amount and then some. But men are raised to be tough and to be quiet so he didn't say anything and then we played charades to figure it out and I didn't have to ask anyone twice to join us.

If you've ever had someone emergency-message you (and twelve other people) to come and watch a movie in our house you just show up ready for anything. Or we do, anyway and everyone showed up ready to fix him or at least cuddle trying.

And he loved it. Sam said he wanted a weekly movie pile up.

Where have you been? I tease him. We do this all the time! 

He shrugs. He was trying to work himself to death so he wouldn't feel the hard parts but they were always jabbing him anyway, sticking into him painfully, leaving bruises, leaving marks that don't fade, let alone heal.

Today again when he came downstairs for breakfast instead of nods or bits of greetings everyone got up and fought to hug him first. It was hilarious.

He was still smiling when he invited me to church to finish the work he bailed on yesterday. Grinning from ear to ear.

I hugged him last. See? I can fix things too. I mean, it's a patch job but as long as we keep on top of it, it should hold nicely. 

What were you going to talk about with Lochlan yesterday, Bridge? You offered to talk to him. Is that what you meant? To talk to him about a play-hookie cuddle pile? 

Yes, I lie. Of course. What else did you think I meant?

Zero to one hundred and back again.

Licking every drop of poison off a pocket of keys
While some daddy's little angel's getting dirt on her knees
When the Sun goes down, the filth run free
You'll never find a finer specimen of filth than me

I don't want this, I just need this to carry on

I got the white line fever and an appetite for sin
If there's a black hole headed for Hell
Then, baby, count me in
I sold my soul so long ago
A bullet in the chamber with nowhere to go
If there's a black hole headed for Hell
Then, baby, count me in

I'm pushing Sam's buttons this morning, playing as much provocative music in the sanctuary as I can get away with. Sometimes he's not paying attention to the lyrics, other times he is keenly aware and this pained expression will cross his face but it's errant, distracted. He shakes his head to get his hair out of his eyes and then he'll say my name sharply. He's actually pretty cranky for a Sam. He's getting this viral flu/cold thing I think.

No, I'm just a bit out of sorts. 

How do we get you into sorts again? What do you need, Sam? 

He sits back, drops his binders on the floor and stares at me for a moment and then he gets up and leaves the office. I watch him go down the hall through the window and then the music is gone and he comes back.

I couldn't hear myself think.

That's usually the goal of putting it on that loud. 

He stares at me again. Seriously? I didn't think you were literal. 

Oh, I'm always literal. That's why I play music so loud. 

I thought it was your hearing, that you needed it loud. 

I do need it loud, like I said, but not for that.

Fuck it, Bridge, if you're just going to talk me into circles maybe I should run you back down to the house. 

That stung and I pointed out carefully that it's lunchtime so that's a good idea. I'll call ahead and PJ can have something ready so we can eat something. I'm thinking Sam is just peakish from being on the go.

But when we got home, he pulled up in front (his usual parking spot is up higher by the barn) by the door and waited as I got out. Then he drove away, leaving me standing there in surprise.

Geez.

I went in and PJ said that Sam messaged him and said he didn't mean to be harsh but that there was no reason to subject me to his mood today and maybe Lochlan should check with him before just dropping me off without warning. PJ said it was fine, that tonight things will be better and that he would take control of the package for the afternoon.

Except..well, just...no. I don't work like that. I grabbed my keys and went right back out the door, got in my car and went back to the church.

The fuck, Sam. If you have an issue you share it. That's the deal. 

I already did. He's got the heels of his hands over his eyes like he has a headache. He's holding together by a thread here.

Call your backup. We're both actually going home this time. I'll call the boys to come and get your car. 

I have work to do, Bridget. I can't just work when I feel like it. 

Oh, yes you can. 

I have bills. 

I'll have them paid. 

Bridget-

When you have a problem YOU ASK FOR HELP. Remember? 

He stares at me tearily. I can't have help with this. Sometimes it just flares up like a bad rash and then it goes away again. 

Loneliness. 

Yes. 

I shake my head to the right, once like I didn't hear his answer but he's still nodding when I meet his eyes.

I'll talk to Loch. I say it softly.

Don't. He doesn't like me much as it is. 

He loves you, Sam. 

Not when it comes to you. 

You saved my life. He owes a huge debt to you. Let me worry about him. 

Bridget, I'm going to tell you this once and if you can't obey my wishes things will drastically change. Don't ask him for anything. Just don't. 

Stung again. Sam's a veritable bee's nest today and I'm...I don't even know what I am. I want Sam to be happy and content. That's all.

Fine. I choke it out and match his eyes for tears.

But thank you. He smiles for a brief second and it's enough. I throw myself at him for a full-body hug and I get it and he doesn't let go fast like he normally does. He just holds on forever. This is what he needs and I dropped the ball. This is all anyone seems to need and I'll give it willingly.

Finally he lets go and I realize I can breathe again.

Already better. Thank you. He smiles. Look. I need an hour to get some calls made and then let's find some lunch and head home early. Maybe we can watch a movie. 

Only if we can have a fire too. It's cold. Maybe hot chocolate.

We can do that.  And he looks hopeful for the first time all day.

Please stop emailing me about the Sponsored Divas thing. I'm not interested. Besides. I think to qualify you can only have one Sugar Daddy, not three. I'm not selling anybody out here except myself, okay?

Situational unfairness.

It didn't make it worse, it made it go away a little. Maybe the ache of always missing Cole can be soothed with a little tiny bit of time, a little less time, a moment or two. I wouldn't have spiralled into ruin had I not taken that moment when it came, but I also had absolutely zero plans to take it further. I can't do that any more, I'm working so hard to be accountable for every action I make, not having it passed off as grief, revenge or just 'Bridget being Bridget'.

You do you, everyone says all the time anymore.

What an excuse. How about You try harder, or You be better? What ever happened to that? I'm just trying to be different. To not approach the hard parts of life with the same methods as always. Trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results is the definition of foolishness or idiocy or something. So that. I'm trying and sometimes I feel like it could work.

Other times I just give in. Rushed back to the house, pulled almost off my feet, I faced Lochlan's ire once we were behind locked doors. He checked my neck, wrists, hands, face. He fired questions at me, loudly and fast. I didn't know if it was fear or anger or maybe a mix of the two. And then he was satisfied that I was fine, that I didn't overstep past letting the Devil hold me and he said again that it was enough and he let himself relax but only slightly.

Every moment since he has had a hand around my wrist, or my leg, or my neck. Tangled around my fingertips, arm looped around my ribcage. I haven't been more than a foot away from him, either in waking or in sleep. He prefers to eat, breathe and pass the time close beside one another in order to either reassure himself or keep me from going back.

And as I told him, I have no intentions of going back. I spent the time I was going to spend. I got my Cole-fix or maybe my Caleb-fix or whatever it is. I reassured myself that he's still here and it's enough. It's more than enough. Maybe it's not right or okay or sanctioned but it could have been worse.

It's no different, Lochlan tells me. I know where he comes from. I understand the difference.

It will be, I promise him. I'm sorry, I say out loud but I don't know if I'm apologizing to him or to myself. Or maybe to the monster on the inside who constantly wants to fuck everything up.

Two sharp raps on the door and he's there looking in as I cross the kitchen at the same time. The instant relief washes over his face and changes my own relief to guilt.

I open the door. Just coming back. 

You've been drinking? 

She had a taste of my drink. Care for one? Caleb is right behind me.

I'm good. 

I bet you are, since our girl is intact. Not for lack of trying. Now I know how Jacob must have felt trying to find a way in. 

My heart breaks and blooms painfully, suddenly and Loch grabs my hand, pulling me out the door. That's enough, Diabhal, he says under his breath and we're gone. Caleb doesn't say anything else. There are no fists thrown. No brawls down the stairs. Just quiet. Quiet and black.

First Desponders.

I took a sip of his hot toddy and put it back on the table beside the couch, where we sat facing each other, me on his lap, in his arms, his lips kissing my face all over but mostly just underneath my nose. The hair on the back of my neck is standing up straight. I'm trying and failing to avoid falling into the hole as I lean forward to gauge the depth of the medium-blue of his eyes, pools I drown in, every single time, in spite of the otherworldly efforts to keep me safe, to teach me to swim, to teach me the word no. To teach me to somehow stay away from him.

Some things you can't be taught.

The rum burns the whole way down and I feel sweat break out around my hairline and between my shoulder blades. His arms are so tight. Now that I'm here he's not going to let go.

I let my head fall back to watch the rain on the skylights. It blurs the trees and the darkness, making a river of pine green, silver and navy blue, insulating the night from judgment and history alike.

He kisses down my throat, breathing in the hollow. My skin trembles involuntarily. I'm the queen of excitable reactions. The flush comes more slowly, the fever burn, the wave of warmth and unsteadiness.

Stay, Neamhchiontach. 

He's keeping the nickname for his own use, I note. I shake my head and wobble slightly. His arms tighten. It feels nice to be held like this. He leans his head against mine, holding me close.

How do I get you to stay like this forever?  

I have to go. I've given him what he wanted. A chance to invoke his brother's memory just for a fleeting moment. I can play with fire. That's something you can be taught and I'm good at it, never noticing until my limbs are blackened, my hair singed and my throat tight from the smoke, burned beyond recognition.

I can be excused for talking politics when it's this entertaining.

I don't know about you but I'm really enjoying the footage and photographs from the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge's trip here to BC and the NWTs. George and Charlotte are adorable and growing fast, and Kate Middleton's clothing choices are perfect for every occasion. Prince William is really starting to lose his hair but he still looks more like his mother than his father (thank God). But the best part is they look like they're having so much fun, which is nice. Diana always looked so sad. The Queen always looks fierce and Pfft. Camilla. Not even going to say a word about her.

But I do like the news lately and I'll go to my grave a card-carrying monarchist. It's helping give me something to do while I get better, too, which I am, slowly. By degree. Only coughing every second time I breathe today.