Death n' roll, it's called (love that).

Two or three times a year Ben's friends show up and take over the whole point for a day or a weekend and then they vanish again. This is one of those days. They eat everything. They make me laugh. They tease him incessantly and they bring presents in the form of things like the best, newest stereos with plugs that don't fit North American outlets (I have that covered though), vintage guitars (!!) and entire crates full of merchandise.

Fun fact: Men's medium fits no one. Ever.

Also fun fact: Who the fuck fits a ladies XS junior? Ruth is a 00 size and she can't even squeeze into those shirts. I'm sure she could when she was 2. I'm being punked, right?

Final fun fact: I haven't fallen asleep yet. Score!

They played some music together between conversations on the porch (It's metal! You can't play metal quietly) and our uptight, homophobic neighbors across the cove called the cops within minutes, who came down to check things out but of course they can do nothing because I know the noise bylaw and it doesn't kick in until long after dark but because we're actually nice people (if you try to get to know us) we took it inside.

Because we're not that nice we opened all the windows.

Everyone looked the same as always, just slightly older. They asked me who did this to me, who cut my hair and made me look like a boy? I was quickly defended with a few comments about how I probably did it to look taller. Consensus is it's had the opposite effect and I look smaller. Then a chorus of awwws let me off the hook and they moved on to teasing Lochlan for almost burning himself down from the inside out last fall, something Ben had told them about over Christmas when they spoke of coming for a visit. They brought Lochlan a giant antique copper fire extinguisher. I don't think it works but he loves it anyway.

By eleven this morning it was too loud and too crazy even for me and they switched gears, opting to rendezvous for an early traditional Benjamin-lunch which is when eight of them go and bring back twenty pizzas (sometimes the numbers vary slightly but they must always be even). And then I'll make actual-lunch because the pizza won't be enough. I have a headache from laughing, Caleb is afraid to leave his house and I got to hear Ben mimic a Swedish accent which was so terribly done he should be publicly shamed. We were laughing too hard to film him, however, so my proof has gone to the same place his dignity wound up.

It's just nice to see him so happy.

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! 

A men (sic).

There's a bed tray haphazardly placed somewhere down between our knees, but our heads are pressed together, watching the rain pound against the windows, drumming in sheets, translucent pages with no words. You're supposed to write your own story on this day, maybe, if you can find enough letters still floating in the puddles on the streets once the early workday crowds have dispersed.

Empty juice glasses, champagne, a small bottle of whisky and two half-eaten croissants on plates rest there on a ravaged morning newspaper. The melon and cheese have all been eaten. We've been here for hours. It's a ritual rarely engaged in anymore. It's a weird kind of comfort in which I can center myself again and leave his world to go back to mine. The two hardly glance off each other in their respective orbits these days, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

He meets my hand, raised up to pretend to draw on the glass, and laces his fingers into mine. His hands are soft. The only tools he ever holds are paper and pen. The only time he smiles is when I'm here, I guess correctly, and that's sad but inevitable. I promised nothing here. This is just chance. Sick design. Flawed architecture. Hope for him, worshipping at the religion of Bridget, where Jesus looks like Tinker Bell, tiny and seriously messed up and unworthy and still they come each Sunday in droves to be faithful to she who hasn't shown an ounce of faith in her entire little life and that's why God turned her out early, I'm afraid.

A soft alarm sounds and I moan, frustrated.

I have to go, Bridget. I have work to do. You can stay. 

No, I shouldn't be here anyway. 

Then we're both breaking the spell and I don't have to be the bad guy.

 But I don't move to get up and get dressed. I lie in the cool white sheets and watch him button his shirt. His shirts are as expensive as the Devil's but he is old money and doesn't notice or care. It's just The Way Things Are Done with him and I like that too.

How much did he give you? For your bonus, I mean.

[redacted].

He laughs. You were a slacker? A wink follows. The mood has turned back to playful and all I would have to do is say one word and he would take the shirt off again but I wouldn't do that. I'm unintentionally cruel but never purposefully mean.

Maybe. Think I should go back and campaign for more? 

I would have gone higher but with caveats. 

I bet you would have.

Thanks for a fun morning. Way to start a man's week. 

Mmmmm. I close my eyes. So tired suddenly. It's psychological though. This is a refuge and I don't want to go back out unprotected, naked to the derision of a world that has no idea what I'm about.

But instead of leaving he sits down. I smell aftershave and wool and he's in a lovely black suit and dark grey shirt. His cufflinks are tiny silver flags. His watch is a vintage Breitling that belonged to his father. Repaired with the glass replaced and the strap now three times over.

He leans down and kisses the top of my head. My eyebrows betray my surprise. He's not affectionate, ever and yet this morning has been like Christmas, Easter and my birthday all rolled up into one.

Your hair. I like it. 

Really?

Would Cole have allowed it? Or Jacob? 

Never. 

Then I like it because you did it for you. 

Thank you. I like it too. 

He looks like he wants to say something else but instead he gets up and leaves the room. I don't hear the front door. I do hear his car a few minutes later and I close my eyes. This is not familiar even though it's so familiar. The lack of attachment makes things so easy. The lack of feelings makes it unbearable.

With interest.

Lochlan was up and eating oatmeal at six this morning and out the door by twenty-five after and so the remainder of my day was claimed in short order by the early risers. All of this will eventually be cancelled out by the late risers and I'll be nodding into my turkey soup by eight tonight, back to waiting alone for Lochlan to come home.

Sam brought me to church (ha, seriously a line from that song that is stuck in Lochlan's head that he NEVER stops singing/whistling/humming lately) with him for the early service. Matt will come to the late one. He isn't feeling well. I'm the substitute husband as much as Sam functions as my substitute wife and it's a little funny and kind of nice to be in his sphere of activity sometimes. Sam has turned out to be far more quirky and funny and sweet the older he gets and we mesh well. We mesh too well but no one minds. I sat up front and made faces at him so he could practice his stern but fatherly reverend gaze. Sam's about as fatherly as I am. It doesn't work but he's good at not reacting now. He used to be terrible and it was fun.

During collection I loaded up the plate with chocolate coins from our Christmas stockings, the fifty-dollar bill hidden in the middle just to be a brat and passed it on.

After church I went to say goodbye to Sam and ran outside to meet Caleb, who had pulled up right in front of the doors. He opened the car door for me and as I got in he said we have a breakfast reservation so off we went toward the city. When we arrived he rattled off an order to the server before they had time to properly greet us and I broke in with a warm Good Morning and a revision. Hash browns, fruit, bacon and tea. No to the coffee, egg-white omelet and roasted spinach. Caleb hates to be corrected in public and glared at me and once the server made his escape I pointed out how much I hate egg white omelets, I hate being ordered for because there's no way he could possibly know what I want to eat and also we gave up coffee for one of our biggest resolutions and he knows that.

Diner-manners don't fly in this sort of place, Princess. 

Neither does overstepping your boundaries. 

If you want to see what I look like overstepping my boundaries, then let's go home and I'll show you. 

My glare would have melted the ice jams off a Winnipeg house in March and he actually reeled his evil back in for once. I figured the minute we get to the Boathouse I'm dead in the water anyway so I may as well make my protests loud and early but he surprised me. Not only did he steal half of my hash browns which is a cardinal sin because you don't TOUCH Bridget's potatoes, but when we got back to the boathouse he clearly detailed what he needed as far as work, then he asked me to put on some music of my choice and that if I was efficient I would be back home before lunch.

And here I am. Because I'm efficient. I'm the best damned executive assistant/Analyst/Partner he's ever had, frankly and he knows it. He reminded me that since we have switched to logging hours worked for 2015 instead of me being paid on a per-day basis that I was to input my hours before I left and that if I needed money before payday to let him know, but that my belated holiday bonus was already on deposit.

Oh. I got a bonus? 

Yes, you did, Bridget. Because you work like a dog for these companies and expect nothing. 

Oh. 

So here I am with my banking website open and my Christmas bonus making the balance run off the page because I have to scroll to see all of it and I think he made a mistake so I call him and he laughs as he always does and reminds me that icebergs are usually much larger under the surface (AKA you thought I gave you everything but you were wrong) and not to blow it all on cotton candy and new spark plugs or library fines from towns we have fled or new shoes when Loch burns his or gas or deep-fried food. How easily he can fall with us back into the past. Such a soft place to land these days, isn't it?

Well then what should I spend it on? I ask him as if I know nothing at all now. Nothing at all.

That sort of amount isn't one to be spent, Bridget, it's one to invest. 

And how. 

But I would like to track what you invest in, if that's okay with you. 

You do anyway, I'm sure. 

You're so smart. Sometimes it scares me, Babydoll. When I think you're missing key details, you've already absorbed everything. Good girl. 

I hate it when he says that. Screw cotton candy, I'm going to buy a factory that makes cotton candy.

Pine.

If I'm a pagan of the good times
My lover's the sunlight
To keep the Goddess on my side
She demands a sacrifice

I met him at the door last night. So late. I've been once again fighting sleep. Slapping my ears, pinching my legs, trying to prop my eyes open but he smiles when he sees me because I'm not in Devil-clothes, I'm in Midway-day-off clothes. Bare feet, old jeans, tiny t-shirt emblazoned with a glitter rainbow. Hair sticking up all over the place (damn pixie), no makeup. I look young and untraveled. Unhistoried. Unbroken.

(Oh, I like that one.)

I saved dinner for you.

He drops all of his stuff on the floor. Thanks, Peanut. I'm starved actually. He laughs and rubs the back of his neck.

Didn't hear from you all day.

We have three months to get this stuff finished and out the door. It isn't going to be pretty- But then he stops and admits his fears. I figured you were busy with Diabhal anyway.

I don't feel so well. I told him I could come and work tomorrow though for a bit.

Me neither. The relief is solid, tangible. Textured with a faint hope clause I didn't know was written in. What did he have to say about that?

I didn't give him a chance to say anything. I didn't say I was going for an even division here, I just don't want to be shut down.. I just. I mean, he's like Cole and I don't have to-

I know, Bridget.

I'm sorry.

You're here. That's more than I expected.

I fed him dinner and we talked about movies for a bit and then we went upstairs and he dropped me down into bed and followed me in the night, pulling my jeans off, my shirt over my head, marveling at the lack of things underneath. Sipping Aberlour from a shared mug and trading bright loud for dark quiet. Just like old times. Just like young Lochlan and Bridget, making love without a recipe.

I'm sorry, I tell him again as I drift off to sleep. Blissfully. Finally. I don't mean to be difficult. I don't want to lose anyone else. In him I have both Caleb and Cole. And I can make him pay the price for his decisions too. You know this, Locket, you told me-

Go to sleep, Peanut. 

But are you mad at me?

We'll talk tomorrow. I don't know what I am. I just can't even think about you going to him or I want to rip my brain out. It hurts so much. 

Sorry-

Sleep! Now!

Okay!

Hungry work.

No Masters or Kings
When the Ritual begins
There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene
Only then I am Human
Only then I am Clean
Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen.

I kept one resolution and bailed on the other but the difference is I had a caffeine-withdrawal headache and a strep throat fever now too. I stood in the doorway as he left for work, refusing to make the promise he asked for. It isn't fair. It's a total and utter lack of rules that got him to this place in his life and an endless list of rules that got me to this place in mine and I'm fucking done with this. This is safe-crazy. This isn't hurting anyone. He can handle it. Besides, he's the one who bailed.

Say it, Bridget.

I'm not going to lie to you.

I can't stay. I have to go. I have to finish this project.

So go.

Stay here.

Can't. I have to go undo the damage you've done. Way to leave me the heavy lifting.

Don't go.

You can make up all the grand plans and perfect solutions you wish, it doesn't change a damn thing, Loch.

This is bullshit, Bridget.

Oh, hell, I know that, Loch.

He stood there waiting for me to say something different until he ran out of time but I didn't have anything else to say. I have to take a stand sometime, it may as well be today. He agreed to this. He never said he had to like it or accept it and I never asked him to. I never asked for any of this either but it's what I've got now and I'm not letting go of anyone.

Take me to church
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife
Offer me my deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life

Waiting for Marty McFly.

Garage. Ten pm. Just before the interesting turn of events that saw me arrive prepared for my own destruction only to leave completely intact.

But I'm drunk. Not falling-down-drunk. Just fuzzy like my head is filled with cotton balls and I know enough to walk slowly and hold rails so I don't stumble in these shoes. These are Devil shoes and they're not easy sober, let alone like this.

I turn the lights on inside. It's so bright. He squints from the sudden flood assaulting his eyes.

Princess. 

Happy New Year, Jakey.

Happy New Year, Bridget. 

He only calls me by my name when he's irritated. God I miss him being irritated. I miss him being anything.

I'm not having anymore, if that's what you're worried about. 

Good. 

Unless he makes me. 

Bridget-

Just don't. I just wanted to see you. 

You shouldn't be over there.

I have bills to pay. 

This isn't the girl I fell in love with. 

I don't know if you noticed but things have changed. 

You haven't changed. 

Too bad about that. 

No it isn't. They should be doing more to keep you safe. 

They can't. I have obligations. 

Sure they could. You don't have to be here. 

This is where I belong. 

No, you belong in a warm little house with someone you love, happy and content. 

I had that once but things are different now. I walk unsteadily back to the door and flip the light off and leave without saying goodbye.


***

I see so little time
My eyes are crossed, my hands are tied
All I wanna do is to breathe in

Their plan worked really well. Someone made me a drink around four and then another around six and by nine I was a little bit a little lit, I'm afraid.  We went to the Boathouse just before eleven, where we hung out in the kitchen, much to Caleb's dismay, for he had to go back and forth from us to the others. Loch kept looking at his watch, to the point of rudeness. Then abruptly at 11:53, he stood up, pulled me up with him, wished everyone who was in the kitchen a lovely New Year's and pulled me wordlessly back home before Caleb was even aware that we had left. Loch pulled me into the house, up the stairs and into our room where he closed and locked the door behind us, looked at his watch once more, and then said Happy New Year, Peanut. This year is going to be different. We're going to get some help and change everything and the Devil isn't invited and then he put his hands up to hold my face and he kissed me like he never seems to kiss me anymore.

I was asleep under the quilts by twelve-thirty and then I didn't wake up until Ben came in (he has a key) around three I think. He kissed me on the shoulder and said Happy New Year Little Bee and I garbled something back and fell asleep mid-kiss and no one woke me until ten this morning with fruit and tea on a tray just for me.

So...Happy New Year.

So far my resolutions are no coffee and no Caleb. He's not going to be very happy. I had just gotten his approval for a less structured, less difficult time schematic. I would go see him if and when I wanted to. He fought me on it but ultimately decided it was the best way, because I would be there only when I wanted to be there. I was actually the only one who thought it was a good idea but while I was thinking up that idea I guess everyone else was thinking up this one.

Not drawn that way, just bad.

I know you've got it in your head, I've seen that look before
You've built your refuge turns you captive all the same

I'm trying to talk to you about important things and life things and you're all so incredibly concerned about PJ's bed instead.

 It's that time of year again. The last time of the year. The time I make giant impossible resolutions to do things like eat way less sugar (two cups on average per bowl of Shreddies (if it ain't white, it ain't right, I say when it comes to a sprinkle of sugar versus a straight pour.), and get back in shape because I stopped running and basically can't get up the steps from the beach without great ragged breaths so my lung capacity is ridiculously tiny now. Drink less. Worry less. Be less fragile. Be less victimish. Less quiet. Be less me and more Fake/Together Bridget. Be someone, anyone, just not this.

Be better? Be less worse. Be easier for everyone. Be.

But really you should be more concerned because fuck Disneyland, PJ's bed is the Best Place on Earth.

(Granted, I've never been to Disneyland. Never needed it after the things I have seen. The whole world is an amusement park, FYI, complete with the bright lights and the seedy underbelly. Just look around you.)

PJ's bed is the stuff of dreams. Sometimes he's still in it. Not awkward. Dreamy, I told you. We sorted ourselves out years ago. I may have thrown myself directly at him, overhand no less, after Jacob. After Joel. Sometime before Ben. Things happen and I was foundering for someone to hold on to.

In the end he decided he wanted me as a friend and we all briefly wondered if maybe he was gay (because no one turns down a Bridget, are you mad?) but he's not. He just loves me too much to fuck with me like that. Which is oddly the best gift I've ever received. My Christmas gift to him this year is a trip. A big trip so he can see the world and then decide if he wants to keep his as small as it is now. He is not obligated to be here. No one is but PJ is different. PJ is trust on two legs and absolute faith incarnate.

He's also an amazing lover. Ladies, fucking line up here, to the left. But so help me God, if you hurt him I'll kill you.

Happy New Year in advance. We're making bacon and maple butter sandwiches for breakfast and then putting away Christmas for another year. Then I need to start getting ready, beginning with painting my toes bright red (expressly, specifically forbidden) and then finding a dress that shows off my Neamhchiontach tattoo* (also not allowed unless he specifically requests that it is visible) for Caleb's little 'intimate' party tonight.

I almost choked on my own breath when I saw him use that description on the invitation. He's invited a sparing handful of us down to his place. It's too cold for the boat but the flames of hell flicker high in the Boathouse, let me tell you. From a distance it looks like it's on fire, I bet. That's because it is. Or it probably will be, by tomorrow. New Years isn't a celebration, it's an endurance event.

Don't feel bad for me, though. I go willingly enough. I go with my eyes open, hoping for Different. Hoping for New. Hoping his resolution includes less Bridget, but let's face it. He isn't PJ. He doesn't have the strength of character. He's weak to his own desires.

Kind of like me.

*(People think I skip around and many have questioned this tattoo. I explained it years ago.)

Solid state, Bitches.

Hours spent offline: 28
Kilometers driven to procure new hard drive: 78.
Money spent on said hardware: 300.68
Value of having fixed it by myself: PRICELESS.

Granted, I've had tech support (Lochlan) on the phone for like, five hours straight because I forgot to format it first but I'm good to go now. And he made me replace it myself because he's weird like that. Oddly proud compartmentalized happily within completely parental.

I mean, he still folds my soft tacos for me up from the bottom and then in on the sides so all of the filling doesn't wind up in my lap because it did once, when I was nine or so and people thought I had pooped my pants when I hadn't.

Until yesterday when the hard drive in my five-year-old secondhand Macbook died and I hadn't done a backup in about three weeks. Then yes, I figuratively shit my pants.

But I fixed it myself. And it's fucking SNAPPY as FUCK.

Go Bridget!

(Snort.)

Full Ganzfeld/No spoilers.

Of course he made me take down that entry. With more death and dismemberment threats, ironically.

***

Nothing, and I swear nothing beats lying in PJ's bed in the pitch blackness listening to Bathory's Twilight of the Gods through my new headphones. It's warm and comfortable and akin to a sensory deprivation experience. It's also exceedingly rare and mostly used for sanctioned escape from the world. It's my new pantry, maybe. A place where I am perfectly safe but can lock myself away from everything until I can get my head back on straight. An emergency rubber room.

Now with metal.

And the rest of the jersey sheets we've abandoned living here because it's so mild.

***

I didn't talk about Christmas. Ben did a magnificent job singing in church late on Christmas eve. I struggled so hard to stay awake. Sam kept looking at me during his sermon and smiling at me gently and I finally just put my head against a shoulder and closed my eyes.

I did much the same thing yesterday during The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies. We saw it in AVX/Atmos and while glorious, the moment I stop moving I fall asleep. I managed to only doze off once and fought through it so I wouldn't miss anything and I wasn't disappointed. It was beautiful. The fight on the ice was my favorite part and I cried. Oh, how I cried. It was very metal. Go see it if you can. Besides, I'm pretty sure that the only reason I didn't check out completely during the movie was that the AVX seats are so high I have to brace my legs against the chair in front of me in order to recline it and so no. Sat straight up the whole time.

I wish Cineplex would fix that. The cheap seats are far more comfortable but we no longer watch movies with the serfs.

Oh my God. I'm KIDDING.

***

The total lack of meaningful posting on my part has nothing to do with any of your conspiracy theories and everything to do with the fact that at the last minute August came out to spend the holidays with us and I'm not done talking his beautiful face off yet. I'm not done hanging out in the crook of his arm and I'm never ever going to be done listening to his accent heal my heart up nice and tight.

He isn't done loading up on the kind of endless affection one can't get anywhere but here on the point and no one will ever be done wishing he would come back for good. Except then things would be hard again but watching him shut down Joel and then Caleb too is oddly satisfying. I'll spend the week trying to absorb him and then begin a pointless campaign to keep him close and fail and get all strung out all over again but in the meantime he's home with us and that's all that matters.

It's early in the morning and his first gift to me is an admission I never wanted to know. It sent me to the garage where I stood in the dark calling softly for Jake. I didn't want Joel to hear me, but I had to take the chance anyway.

He finally shows up. The dust motes all around him from the windows into the dark make him look like he was buried on a shelf all this time. He looks faded but alert. And sad.

You're finally getting better, I haven't seen you for a long time.

I don't even tell him that every day I want to come here and summon him. That every damned day still hurts like a hot poker through my heart with every breath. Guilt doesn't affect ghosts though. That's one of the perks.

Caleb said that the night he came to the camper he was going to kill me afterward and hide my body in the woods.

Why did he say this?

He said it would have been better for all of them. Better for him. Lochlan would have been blamed for it and I wouldn't have been there to fight over anymore.

Bridget, I think you're in over your head here.

But he didn't do it because in the middle of everything he decided that in case maybe he can come back that it would be nice to keep hurting me throughout my whole life. That I would be his darkness and depravity and that he would just hold Lochlan at bay with threats, fill him with doubt, keep him down. Hurt him worse this way.

That's not okay, Bridget. I think it's time you sound the alarm.

I haven't done that after every single thing he's ever done. Why would I do it now?

Because he gets away with things.

He didn't get away with murder.

Yet.

He won't kill me. He's had every chance there is. He loves me too much.

Is that what you want to call it?

That's what I have to call it.

Then go back to your pretty little delusional life, Princess. You seem happiest there.

I'd rather stay with you.

Then push him just a little too hard and let him fulfill his destiny.

But do you think Lochlan will get his soul back if I do that?

Yes, but he'll have no use for it if you're gone.

Just fast, I'm up to my elbows making turkey stock for soup.

 Caleb would like me to clarify that the swing was not my Christmas present, it was just something he noticed that I needed. So he had one made and installed for me. He also noticed that Henry needed a new skateboard ramp so he had a better one sent to us (also not a gift). It came on a flatbed truck and they used a crane to get it off. Henry's been outside ever since. With Andrew and Keith. I worried briefly about helmets for the adults but then nope. They pay their own dentist bills. Henry's wearing a helmet, however. That's part of the deal.

The old plywood ramp that Lochlan made for Henry has already been dismantled and put in the stack of scrap wood in the garage. It had BL + LM carved into the side and I'm pretty sure adolescent Caleb hated that every time he saw it.

Loch said, No matter. I'll carve it into this one too.

I pointed out it might ruin it if he did and he shrugged and said So what?

Something for the girl who has nothing.

My gift from the Devil this year is the news that he's turning the electric fence back on.

I should be happy he told me.

But he is creepy and inside my brain and did really well in the Impress Bridget category. He had a swing installed in the orchard. It's weathered grey but new and it's securely tied to one of the bigger trees which is in better condition than the rest and it's a very thick board with two ropes with big knots tied underneath each end and it only holds one on purpose and is only wide enough for me besides and maybe Ruth if she is so inclined. I like to have alone-spots. I like swings. I like flying up to try and touch the clouds any chance I get and I like childhood adventure of the simplest kind.

The electric fence is reinstated because the orchard is on the far western side of the property, down a slope underneath the boathouse and the stables. More secluded and vaguely wild and he would prefer that nothing is able to sneak up on me.

I can understand that. My hearing isn't great (understatement).

Try it out, he says. Smiling genuinely, as he only does when I am little.

I grab the rope and turn and sit down. The board is sanded smooth and weatherproofed. The ropes are soft but strong. I put my arms up high and begin to sway.

Would you like a push?

Yes, please. 

He walks around behind me and gives me a gentle shove and soon I am soaring into the grey rainy day, holding tight, the tree creaking softly as I try and pump my legs to get past the cloud cover into space. I can't do it quite yet but now I have the means. I have a chance. I could touch heaven if I tried.

Presence.

Oh my GOD.

This is great. I walked in on Lochlan and PJ sorting out their arrangement for Mr. Heatmiser, a song from the movie A Year Without Santa Claus. Which, if you haven't seen it, you should, for it might scar you for life.

Of all things.

I'm Mr. Green Christmas
I'm Mr. Sun.
I'm Mr. Heat Blister
I'm Mr. One Hundred-And -One
They call me Heat Miser
Whatever I touch
Starts to melt in my clutch.
I'm too much!

Such a dramatic rendition too. It's outstanding. I don't think I have to point out who is which but Lochlan really poured it on for the second half of the song.

PJ broke in at the end and pointed out that he read my entry from yesterday and that I alternately fueled his nightmares and crushed his dreams. Lochlan cut back in and said I might be losing my wi-fi access for the holidays because some songs just don't need to be sung. But he looked so helpless when he said it I started to laugh and they began the song all over again.

Not sure if he was giving up on trying to censor me at last or is satisfied that I didn't tell you everything.

Let's go with both. 

***

Caleb messages me bright and early which is why I wound up walking in on the boys singing. Otherwise I would have slept for another couple of hours and missed all the fun. Ben is still asleep. This surprises no one. No one at all.

Santa left a present here for you. I think you should come open it. 

That typo fits perfectly. 

What typo?

'Santa'. 

Bridget..

Well it DOES. 

And then he goes to radio silence until I show up. That's how he works.

The first part, unnecessary but I started it. The second made me cry when I wrote it.

Make them laugh, it comes so easy
When you get to the part
Where you're breaking my heart (breaking my heart)
Hide behind your smile, all the world loves a clown

Oh, well, let me just cover my smile with both hands.

I think I'm getting sex for Christmas.

Also for days that end in y (because I'm a raging addict and it's one thing no one's ever going to try to fix, I promise you that).

And that isn't anything new. Some of you seem so damned surprised that we manage so easily. So let me get some things straight. Because you have so many questions and some of them a a bit over the line even for me. But I understand the curiosity too. I was once a norm and it was so brief you might have blinked but I tried my best and then I went, yeah, fuck it and here we are.

Yes, we sleep in one big bed. Well, no, not all of us. Geez! Though Sam and PJ are both so cuddly when they sleep I could easily..wait, what? It's a California King size bed, which means Ben almost fits into it and Loch and I still sort of perch on the side together but we're used to sharing a twin bed in a forty-square-foot camper so there you go.

Okay it was slightly bigger than that. Maybe forty-five. Sixty?

No I don't mind sleeping hot.

Have you met Lochlan? Or Ben?

(Hey, it's entirely possible. They both have performed for money.)

We don't tuck in blankets so my toes can stick out the bottom and I don't burst into flames. Sometimes that means I wake up freezing because the blankets are all over on the floor somewhere.

Neither man moves a lot when they sleep though. They say it's me.

It probably is. I'm a total thrasher. Loch says it's like greasing up an octopus and then trying to squeeze it really hard. He tells me one of these days he's going to hold me too hard in a dream and I'm going to shoot out of his arms into the dark and stick to the wall on the other side of the room. The first time he described this I laughed so hard coffee came out my nose and it hurt.

Ben just rolls his eyes. Ben can barely stand to touch anything while he sleeps, which is bullshit because I've told the stories of precisely how many times we went camping pre-children and he would bring nothing but his charm and then sleep in our tent and I would wake up wearing him on my back and Trey would laugh and decided that Ben wanted me.

Duh.

God. Are we this awesomely dysfunctional?

Yes. Yes we are. 

Since he stopped drinking he needs to sleep like a vampire. I think it's psychological. he says it's pathological and waggles his eyebrows and says he's just waiting to pounce but then he falls asleep instead because...so....comfortable.

Tea hurts when it shoots out one's nose too.

But for the record, since this seems to be the most-asked question and I'm only going to answer this once. Yes, they take turns because trying to do it all at once with both is a little too much for me. I'm more fun-sized than full-sized. Five feet tall to Ben's six-four. We tried it once. Exactly once and never again. There. Happy now? We tried it with other people (shhhhh the Devil) and it just doesn't work. I can't. Just no.

(I said Trey back there. Holy shit. Been a while. That's what we called Cole. Long story, but aren't they all?)

************

I'm going to buy a fifty pound turkey today. I'm pretty sure it will come with pop-off wheels, a pull-up handle and maybe built-ins. The wishbone will be so big we'll be able to turn it into a swing to use to try and touch the moon. The wings we'll use to fly to heaven to share leftovers with the boys.

I can't wait.

My sea of dreams.

This world has turned to dust
All we've got left is love
Might as well start with us
Singing a new song
Something to build on

He brought me back down slowly, carefully, shaking ever so slightly, his hands wrapped around my upper arms. I am bathed in sweat and firelight and he smiles. I can see the fire reflected in his brown eyes. He drops his arms to my waist and pulls me in close. He lets out a long breath and leans his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes.

I love my goodnight kisses. They always start as a kiss and end as a personal hazmat situation. I was explored over every inch, inside and out. Ben is easy to rile up and tough to calm back down. Sleep? What's that? Except that he was tired and when he fell asleep finally it was flat on his back, hands on his chest and I was relegated to sleeping in the fire.

I don't mind, though the fire made a little disgruntle or two about sleeping dirty, as he calls it. I didn't care, I couldn't keep my eyes open either. It was two in the morning. Lochlan wrapped his hands around my back and fell asleep on his side, his mouth against my forehead, nose in my hair, arms locked tight against my shoulderblades. He will sleep until five and then wake up as he always has in a long-developed habit to start work before the gates open, except that there are no gates and he doesn't have to leave and so he will crawl onto me and my breath will evaporate with the darkness, his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me up against him, whispering things in other languages, cutting into my eyes with his curls and my skin with his nails until he drops back beside me and falls asleep again until a more reasonable hour, never once letting me get more than an inch away from him.

Ben's hand reaches out to hold mine as I drift off again, my arm flung out behind me to bring him along.

The fire dies down as the sun came up but we don't notice. We don't care.

I'll be your fire when the lights go out.

Maybe it was all too much
Too much for a man to take
Everything's bound to break
Sooner or later, sooner or later

You're all that I can trust
Facing the darkest days
Everyone ran away
But we're gonna stay here, we're gonna stay here

I swear to God Ghosttown is the first single from Madonna that I have truly loved in twenty years. Not since Take A Bow have I been so happy to sit and press repeat. My inner twelve-year-old who wore out her copy of Madonna's very first self-titled album is so incredibly happy to hear this, you don't even know.

But you want to know about my evening.

That's why I started with the song. PJ kept me in Fireball and eggnog, just barely level until Lochlan got home and then he handed me off and went out to dinner with the rest.

Lochlan started to lay into me about eating something and getting straight and I finally told him to stuff it. That I'm not a child. That if I miss a meal what's the worst that will happen? Ooo. For fucks sakes.

He stood there trying not to laugh at me because I'm being very serious while I waver all over the damn place. Then he smiled and said he had something to show me. He dialed through his phone music and turned on the speakers in the living room. Then he turned off the lights, put on this song (he knows how to bring out Twelve, she hides until he does certain things, you know) and we had a slow dance. Just us. Me and him. Like the bad old days only it felt like home. It felt like it used to when things were easy.

I thanked him for being the king of easy listening and he corrected me and said pop, and I said No, you can't be the king of pop. That's Michael Jackson and he's dead too. 

After that we just shut up and kept hitting repeat until Matt got home and broke the spell. By then I was straight. Straight and hungry.

Lochlan said I told you and made me a peanut butter sandwich. Also like in the bad old days. I hate peanut butter. HATE it.

I ate it anyway.

Oh, I know my adversary, she says with unsteady convcition

Because she's DRUNK! And we haven't even had dinner yet.It's the Devils night withmy childnre.

I love PJ. Did Imention that?

i do

a lot.

I had the unfortunate honor of standing in a long lineup at a store today behind someone talking loudly to their friend about how disgusting and sick cremation is, that you should never disrespect a human life by burning it down to ashes and putting it in a jar like a trophy, that it's for control freaks and people who want to hide evidence.

They started laughing and making jokes and I couldn't tune them out and so I turned to PJ who was with me and he put my head against his coat and covered my free ear while he talked nonsense to try and just drown them out. Finally he let go when they left but somehow it just got right under my skin and I wanted to track them down and say it isn't disgusting and it isn't human life. It's human death and to me it's far more respectful to properly reduce someone to a size that enables you to hold all of them with your two hands than it is to buy a big fancy wooden box to dump their bones into to be buried underground.

So fuck you, I'm done with today.

My get out of jail free card.

I'll float above the ocean
the sun above is burning my head
I will grow wings and fly everywhere

Sam was supposed to be my wingman today but he and Matt had a bit of a bickering session over breakfast this morning and so Sam stood me up in favor of make-up brunch and a stroll on the seawall downtown with Matt before they both spend second shift working.

(The fight was nerves, that's all. Their very first wedding anniversary is this Sunday. I don't mind being stood up in that case. They need more time together.)

So the only one left, since PJ is out and about and Loch is working and refused to leave me here alone is Poet. Duncan who pawned me off on Joel long enough to go to a meeting and then he stopped at the store on the way home and brought me pixi stix because he feels bad. Pretty soon I'll be making excuses to sidle past New-Jake once or twice a day for a hit off his insulin pump but in the meantime I said thank you and offered to share them. I was taught to be a good girl. I was also taught that the way to a girl's heart (through her clothes) is with candy. Ask Loch about that too, if you want.

But I don't think Duncan is leaning that way today. He wants to bicker too, it seems but I'm not biting. I'm sure by now he's noticed I'm agreeing with things I wouldn't agree with if I were on fire and you were holding the hose until I caved but I'm doing it to keep the peace and wow, is he ever annoyed.

I'm annoyed too. He ruined a perfectly good rainy Thursday with a heaping dose of Joel. When I was waiting for Joel to tie his shoe in the garage I wondered if I could just hit him on the head with a shovel, drag his body over behind the other jeep and forget he ever happened to me but then I remembered that I have no poker face and if asked point-blank I always tell the truth.

(And so I had to spend the rest of the morning inside out to keep that peace intact.)

Yes, Detective, it's true. I killed my former psychoanalyst but in my defense he had it coming. I've just been biding my time until it was right and I could get away with it. But the jig is up. Lock me up and throw away the key, I'm not fit to walk amongst the innocents, not anymore. 

*Later, during medical evaluations*

What does this tattoo say across your back, Mrs. Reilly? 

It says Innocent in Gaelic. Neamhchiontach. 

Oh, well, then, you're free to go. Sorry for the trouble. Have a nice day. 

Wh-what do you mean? 

Obviously the owner of your soul is someone who can see the future so this was put into your skin as protection against an adversary you didn't know yet. It means you're safe. You don't have to go to jail for life after all.

Really? 

Yes. 

I collect my small pile of clothes and my belongings. Thank you and good day. 

Good day, Mrs. Reilly. See you again. 

Gosh, I hope not. I do believe I'm running out of men. Those who are left are precious. 

Take care of them, then.

I will. 

There's no such thing as small talk. Not here. Not ever.

You... He points at me with his chopsticks, are possibly the worst wife in the world. 

No. If I was I would have spent all your money gambling or been poisoning your food. 

He looks into the container of rice and makes this ridiculous expression of horror before becoming serious again. So repeatedly breaking my heart doesn't count?

You started it. 

I was twenty years old. I made a mistake. 

Well, that's what I'm doing. Making mistakes, Lochlan.

You're diluting your affections to protect yourself.

Yes, that too.

I'm not going to die, Bridget. 

Bullshit. Everyone dies. We start the march the minute we're born. You've almost bit it a few times now. 

I'm still here. 

I can't go through that again.

What so..just...love everybody? What happens when Caleb dies?

You do your happy dance. 

Ben?

Shut up. 

That's my point. 

You know what I'm most scared of? Not that someone's going to die, but that someone's going to die and I'll go to someone I love and he'll flatly refuse to help me when I need him most. 

That's me. The lightweight. The one who can't help you. 

You could have but you wouldn't. 

I was reeling. I couldn't function. 

Poor baby. 

Bridget, don't. 

Not like Jake was your friend. You hated his guts.

No, he hated mine. I tried. I tried to give him what he wanted, what you wanted. I kept my distance. 

Mostly. 

Yeah. Mostly. (He stares at me. Right into me. I can't even breathe when he does that.) Maybe I'm there when you need me after all. 

What if you're not?

What if I am? 

Then my dreams will have come true. 

I hope so, because that's what I've been aiming for all my life, Peanut. 

Children. All of us.

Caleb's standing in the kitchen. We've all trying to be civilized though I never make it easy. He's talking about something I did when he switches the subject and tells Lochlan that he couldn't help it. That she's just...so...soft. 

Lochlan, who has had enough, says I heard her say the same thing about you. 

It was fucking glorious. Ben and I tried so hard not to laugh but if you want to be burned, Lochlan is the man to see.

Swimming in the frozen sky (not religious, just superstitious).

We're holding very tight
I'm riding in the midnight blue
I'm finding I can fly so high above with you

Ben is singing Walking In the Air this year at the end of Sam's service. He's practicing. It's a difficult song to sing but not as much as O Holy Night so he's not having trouble. I tried to sing it but I just need to hear it ten or twelve more times first because I rush. Ben's version is haunting.

Okay, that pretty much describes everything he puts his spin on, from baking cookies to showering.

Did you have a good shower, Ben?

Yeah, it was haunting.

I'm KIDDING. He usually says something crass about taking care of business when he's in the shower and actually...you don't want to know. It's Christmas.

Or maybe you're thinking, Come on! It's Christmas! Tell us everything.

Okay, here:

Ben is mad too. Everyone's mad, because I called their bluffs and they failed to follow through when I told every minder/keeper/husband and subsidiary man that I was going to the boathouse and that I'd be back late. Later? I can't remember what I said but barely anyone reacted. Lochlan's eyebrow went up. Maybe they thought I was posturing or phishing or testing them.

So how did I fail? I was honest, they fucking failed. They didn't bother to clarify anything and it was early the next morning before they bothered to put the pieces together.

No harm, no foul, Lochlan always used to say. Ben says I'm playing with fire and when I remind him I'm a professional at that he freaks right out and says he told me not to go by myself. And I misinterpreted that as him missing out on the show, not being protective.

Whoops.

No harm though. No harm. 

This time, Ben says. What happens next time?

You'll be there, I tell him. I'm a good girl. In the daylight.

He nods. You still need to sort this out with Loch. He's never going to like this, Bee.

He never has. You would think the exposure would wear him down eventually. 

He can barely tolerate me, what makes you think he'll ever be okay with this?

I'm not okay with this. This isn't supposed to be some big dinner-table debate issue, this was supposed to be something rare. Something quiet and suspected but never confirmed.

Lochlan walks in and manages to pick up the conversation so easily it's like I threw it at him. Well, if you were the type of person anyone could take their eyes off, then maybe that would be the case but since you continue to be raised in the spotlight, Bridget, don't bet on it. 

I think you're done raising me, Lochlan. Jesus Christ. 

I think I've just begun. You still won't listen worth shit. 

This isn't your job. 

I'm not going to stand here and let the wolves tear you apart. I'm not going to let the Devil catch you, or keep you, Peanut. That's not in our cards and you know this. Do you remember or were you too young?

I remember. 

Remember what? Ben said.

We were told we share a soul. I've never doubted that for a second, and she's ashamed that she sold the whole thing, without my permission, to the Devil. 

Are you guys for real?

Sometimes I wonder. 

But no one can take your soul, Bridget. Except the actual Dev-

Exactly. 

They called it a revelation and then they called it a sin.

Both Sam and Joel fought for my morning today, because clearly I've gone off the deep end again. I can be very reckless. I can hold grudges and I can pretend I'm punishing Lochlan all I want but he tells me with the meanest, most incredulous laugh this morning that the only person I'm hurting is myself. That he's done taking the blame for being high-scorer in the broken heart game, that maybe if I could think of someone besides myself for even half a second I would realize that I passed him and got a trophy in that game years ago, and that he's got hardly enough left to form a whole beat inside his chest. He got louder and louder and his accent got thicker and more incomprehensible until I couldn't separate the words any more, but I could see everything on his face.

Everything. Right there. Spelled out so easily in his eyes, in the set of his teeth. In his shoulders drawn tight and his fists clenched up.

Sam said my name but I couldn't take my eyes away from Loch's.

I'm sorry. 

But you're not sorry, Bridget. 

I don't do it to punish you. I do it so I don't get so attached. 

I'm not the dumb kid I was when I was twenty, don't you see that?

Nineteen and three-quarters. 

Semantics, Peanut. I'm not even the dumb kid that I was at thirty. Or forty. Why can't I make you see this?

It isn't you. 

Then what is it? Please, God, tell me what it is and we'll fix it. 

I don't trust anybody, including you, and I'm sorry but that's never going to change. 

I can fix this, Peanut. I can fix it with time. You'll see. 

I'm not worth the effort. 

I'll be the judge of that.

Tearing through the firmament.

I went to fetch some ice cream in the middle of the night and was struck by the view. I stood there until I got cold and then he appeared behind me, telling me the view of me in my tank top and underwear was better than that of the entire Pacific. I could agree with that. I like visiting the Pacific but she's stingy with her treasures and brings more turmoil than charm. She's no Atlantic, that's for sure.

We take our bowls of chocolate ice cream back to bed and he asks very seriously if I want to go home as he traces his ice-cold spoon down my knee. I nod. I'm busy giving myself the world's biggest, dumbest brain freeze and I don't really want to talk about very serious things. I came here to have fun, with caveats that if it isn't fun I won't come back because he has managed to mess up or completely destroy just about every encounter we've had this year. He marvels that he likes to test me, that he enjoys letting go a little now that there are no secrets.

I tell him there are still secrets, that there will always be secrets. That life is short and difficult and delicious, as I finish the last spoonful in my bowl and hand the empty bowl to him. He takes both bowls and puts them on the bedside table before stretching out flat on his back and letting out a long sigh. I curl up beside him and he pulls the blanket up around me, wrapping his arm around me until I am flush with his chin. He kisses the top of my head and asks what would happen if we just fell asleep like this, would it be so bad if I extended my visit and made my plans to include sharing dreams? Just for tonight?

I tell him we don't break the rules. That bad things happen if we do. He said we can change that and I shake my head. He asks how anything happens, that it is through planning and solid intent, determination and drive, muscle and tears. That's how things happen. I shake my head again and he asks what then. What makes things happen in our lives?

Fate.

So is it fate that you're here? He asks me as he pulls my tank top over my head and pulls me underneath him once again, kissing all along my throat, bearing his weight with his arms as he works to get me out of my underpants too.

No, it's stupidity and bad judgement and I'm gone in one more hour so make it count, Diabhal.

And he laughs, because that's what the Devil loves to hear.

On building a better mouse trap.

This morning I was standing in the driveway talking to Lochlan, who is still restoring project campers when time permits so a day off sees him working more. He doesn't actually stop, never has. I don't know if the profit matches the hours. I know it surpasses the materials he buys but by how much he won't tell me. I know he's saving for the future but I wish I knew the cost of that too. He was telling me something about Boxing day when his expression grew more and more pained and finally his eyes flickered up over my head and I turned my head to look just as Caleb's car touched the backs of my knees.

Lochlan climbed down off the roof and charged so fast I only saw a blur of flames and then sparks rising up in the morning fog. Caleb opened the door and got out instead of locking it. He left the car resting against me. I don't think I moved for so many precious seconds it as like the world drifted to a crawl just for me.

The shove sent Caleb against the window glass. Not hard enough to break but he dropped his coffee, not his laptop bag.

Priorities. A one-handed shove back and Lochlan staggers back three steps before I say his name.

He won't listen so I text PJ but there he is coming out the side door in his bare feet, hair sticking up all over. He was looking out the window when he saw the car get too close. He was going to do some shoving of his own.

My own personal bouncer.

But Loch won't let him get a crack at Caleb because Loch would prefer there to be nothing left when he's through.

Caleb laughs. I wasn't going to run her over. I was reminding her of what happens when she won't wear her hearing aids. 

You let her worry about that and fuck off with the stupid stunts. You could have killed her! 

I could do that any minute of any d-

Whoops, there's another shove.

And now, a crowd. Finally he holds his hands up in surrender and turns to me, telling me he's sorry. That he didn't mean to scare me or anyone else, he was illustrating the dangers of running around without all my senses functioning but he used poor judgement and it was a bad idea.

He asks for a minute of privacy. Pointing out that I am safe. That he's sorry. Everything is okay. Stand down, motherfuckers. 

He waits until they all leave, Lochlan so begrudgingly you can see the daggers from a hundred yards and then he asks if he can make it up to me with a nice early dinner for two. The kids are off at a birthday party and a hockey game respectively and Saturday nights see everyone left to their own devices for meals so I say yes before I realize he tricked me into it. That the whole thing wasn't a safety bulletin but a well-executed ploy and I fell right into it, eyes wide open.

Like the army but with baking soda and no weapons save for an oven mitt and an overcooked pie.

Oh well, uh. New Jake told a fib to Sam (of all people) and said I had recruited him to help with baking all next week. Sam wanted him to help with some construction projects at the church. Instead of calling Jake out on his lie I confirmed it in spades and 'reminded' Jake we start at six in the morning each day because then we can be mostly cleaned up by three when the kids get home so it's easier for everyone to make lunches and then to get dinner started if we aren't still washing things and letting things cool. He shook his head and pushed his luck a little further, saying that I must have forgot that we agreed he would come over whenever he got up.

There's always a place where covering for someone stops, though as I pointed out yes, he did say that but then remember, I told you that wouldn't work after all so you agreed to six? PJ nods and confirms that yes, Jake said he would be here every day at six.

Then I went and called Dylan and Ben (who was on his way home anyway) to find out if maybe they could help Sam. We don't actually need baking helpers, so New Jake is going to get a five-day-long lecture on helping out where it's needed most, rather than where he prefers.

Hot Damn.

Someone asked what my favorite song was. It sometimes changes by the hour and sometimes it sticks for weeks or years even, but right now?

It's this. 

(I would imbed the video but I'm a Luddite and mobile readers just see a blank white space. I don't know how to fix that so click through and watch. It's worth it!)

Growing up, love was contagious.

My dance card is super-full today and I love it.

 Nothing like everyone noticing I was starting to fall behind. Christmas is stressful. There's extra traffic/calories/projects/chores/errands/shopping/ and of course, bills.

I pay bills, thanks. In blood, sweat and tears, no less.

There's extra stress when you get bad news or when you can't just gather up every single person you love in one room. There are teenagers with broken hearts and men hanging on to a wagon with all their might. There are assumptions and expectations and there is ruinous greed. There is pure selflessness. There is heart. Magic. There is something.

There is something.

I always try to figure it out. It used to hit mid-Elementary school concert like a wallop from a fluffy snowball but now there are no more concerts because high schoolers. Picky, funny high schoolers who will hopefully love their presents and while I wanted to give them everything they've ever wanted, I didn't. Because you can't. You shouldn't, anyway.

And then there are the boys who have given up so much but yet take so much at the same time. No more motorbikes, loads more affection. No leaving at the end of the day/meal/activity traded for the glaringly obvious privacy issues. All the juggling and balancing I could ever want for in practice watching over a house full of different personalities even as they sometimes are not all that different, right down to having the same clothes, as I discovered when I went to put away laundry yesterday and found three of the same flannel shirts. I thought someone had lent his out. I thought they were playing tricks on me. I didn't realize maybe they are that much alike sometimes.

Makes them easier to love. I know what I'm up against.

They all kind of stop and wait at once, reaching back with encouragement and smiles and hands held out. Waiting for little Bridget to catch up, tripping on roots and scrambling over rocks as fast as her short little legs will carry her, face and knees filthy, shirt ruined, shoes and braids caked in mud.

It was one of those times where I just came to a skidding halt in the half-light, standing fifty feet back underneath and slightly behind the trees. Frustrated. Incompetent. Not as capable. Scared. And I would wait because I knew he would come back and then I would get a piggyback ride the rest of the way to the ball field and that would be easier than trying to keep up.

Late last night I finally had a chance to go and check on the Devil, who is settling back in and loved the special touches I took in preparing for his return. He kissed my cheek and told me my arrival called for something special and he opened a bottle of champagne, pouring two glasses. He brought one to me and suggested we take them outside to look at the lights.

Outside it was cool so he put his suitjacket around my shoulders, telling me to close my eyes.

Then he disappeared.

I waited forever, starting to shiver. Now it's raining in my champagne and yeah. I told him I could only wait another moment and I started to count. I heard him come back before I got to twenty-five and he said Open your eyes, Neamhchiontach.

When I did, the whole cove was lit up. The boat was lined with lights, the dock, the roof, the path (from what I could see) and then along the beach right around to the end of the point. Tiny white fairy lights, like the ones from Sam and Matt's wedding but on a much grander scale.

Wow.

Caleb held up his glass and said To being with family for the holidays, as if we are related. I clinked my glass to his and drank it all, even though I knew it would give me a blistering headache in the space of five minutes.

He watched my face until he couldn't bear to watch me struggle with my expressions any longer, and then he walked me back to the side door of my house, took his jacket back, kissed my cheek and shoved me inside.

He was always the one who came back for me. The one with endless patience and kindness and generosity where the others would be caring but anxious, always in a rush. always fed up with having to wait or go slow or keep checking. Caleb took it upon himself to carry me. He was the biggest, the oldest, the nicest.

Until the day Lochlan decided it was his job, and that's when everything changed. Now they struggle with who is allowed to care. Who is allowed to help or play the jester or who is allowed to occupy my time, what lines are drawn in front of which shoes and who is bad touch and who is not. Adult problems and childlike solutions. Nothing ever changes here.

Factory reject.

I'm not very good to myself.

I ration things for myself like coffee, warm baths, painkillers, alcohol, sleep, sweet dreams and breaks like a drill sergeant and then I wait until I'm hanging by a thread, til the nightmares catch up with me, til I'm not sleeping through the night more often than I am, until my nerves are riddled with holes, until I realize I walk around holding my breath and the headaches have reached critical mass and then I implode slowly, from the inside out, a distant scream sounding faintly in my ears that just grows louder and louder until I can't hear anyone anymore, can't do anything right and can't pull myself up over the edge of the hole I fell into because I'll suddenly weigh tons instead of ounces and it's too much for me to deal with by myself.

I wish sometimes that the screaming would just start on the outside and drive them crazy instead of me. They would hear it long before I do, before I even know what's happening.

That would be so nice.

But my brain doesn't work like that. Sometimes I think it doesn't work at all. Sometimes I think it was a practice brain with a wiring diagram posted beside it but no one checked to see that it was done right and hoo, boy, will they be surprised someday, when it's cracked open like a coconut and they will peer into its depths and nod somberly.

Yes, this explains everything. 

I donated my body to science after I die but at this rate I'm going to give it to them early, just rip off my skull and hand it to them and say here, it's a present. Just tell me I was right. Tell me you'll never let a practice brain go off the assembly line without being inspected ever again, because it really wasn't fair to me or to the people I love. 

But they're not real so they'll just stand there unfeeling, still nodding robotically like mass-produced bobble-heads. Like me. The test subject. The practice girl. The not-quite-ready-for-the-real-world girl after all.

With no off switch, no filters, hearing messed up completely and the weird uncanny ability to conjure up imaginary holes that she then falls into for real, breaking all her limbs and all of her resolve too.

Why would you fight over that?