Reparation anxiety.

Woke up with August today, bedhead and rain obscuring the ugly truth of using someone to dull the pain and the second ugly truth of knowing that he knows I'm never going to get better but he keeps up the guise of looking after me because he knows I need him and we don't want to fuck with the status quo now, do we?

I covered my face.

Show the day those pretty eyes, August whispers. The bed sways ever so slightly. He is lying on his stomach, his forehead pressed down against the side of my temple. He's smiling through his beard but he is tired. I take a lot out on him. He puts it all back inside but nothing advances the cause here, because like I said, we all have too much invested in this to make any positive change at all.

The day has seen my eyes. They float to the surface of every single moment. I whisper it back and August laughs quietly.

I needed Jake. I needed him to put his arms around me and hold me close and kiss me until my heart stopped racing and I could breathe again without having to remind myself to breathe deeper.

I needed him so badly I pushed the rest of my life out of the way, adamant. Not now. Just leave me alone. Just go. 

Life put up a good fight. Life has had enough of this and I can't fix it and ignoring it doesn't fucking work so we juggle the most innocent of the evils, grifting a series of events that will forge a path of least resistance to the end goal which is what, inner peace? An end to this hobbling grief? A better system of exacting life without turmoil, jealousy and emotional volcanoes?

What is the end goal?

To make it through to the end without changing things along the way. To sneak around these big catastrophic events without turning the whole mess into Pandora's box.

Good luck with that, August says as he drifts back to sleep, throwing one arm around me, dragging me closer, almost underneath him. I take a deep breath out and allow myself another half-hour here. One more half-hour of pretend life and then I go back to pretending I never knew him at all.

Tastes so good it makes a grown man cry.

I scream you scream
We all scream for her
Don't even try 'cause
You can't ignore her

(Sing it with me! No, don't, please. I always hated that song.)

I made a cherry pie yesterday afternoon with some of the cherries I picked, pitted and froze over the summer. There are still pounds and pounds to be eaten. I think I hate cherries now.

Kidding! These cherries are incredible.

It was going great until the plate boiled over and then the top crust separated and began to slide off the back side of the pie. I had to wait until it was done to coax it back (five arms, three sets of tongs and an icing spreader) but by then cherry filling had dripped down to the bottom of the oven (OF COURSE I forgot to put a cookie sheet underneath), making a lake of just plain sticky over the entire oven floor.

So I smartly hit the clean cycle to run while the pie cooled down. The oven locked itself and promptly caught fire. 

I'm looking at it thinking...well..it's contained, at least so this might not be so bad.

Eventually the fire burned through the cherries, running out of fuel and that was that. Five hours later (Hey, did you know the burners don't work when the oven is in self-cleaning mode? I didn't!) the oven unlocked itself and I was able to sweep up the ashes and life went back to normal. 

They're calling it The Night We Had Dessert For Dinner, and it was the best night of our lives.

Sugarmaybes.

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
'Cause oh that gave me such a fright
But I will hold on with all of my might
Just promise me we'll be alright

It just feels right, having everyone home. It doesn't feel like anyone's missing.

Your brain is missing, Bridget, Andrew tells me over coffee. We're plotting a trip to Robson street to go shopping (there's a new eclair store. JUST eclairs too. Kill me. They are like cake sticks with bonus surprises in them. How perfect.) but I also can't lift my arms to drive. I'm too tired. I walked seven hundred miles behind Ruth yesterday as she power-shopped for shoes for her graduation formal and then I came home and cried all night between watching episodes of Black Mirror and The Walking Dead.

Got a good hour long dose of Jeffrey Dean Morgan on TWD too. He's a lot like Caleb in looks and mannerisms except Caleb hasn't reached that stage of violence yet in life. Soon, but not yet.

He's been hanging around all day (Caleb, not Jeffrey DAMMIT). All last night. Constantly interrupting. Constantly requesting. Constantly being lonely so loudly I almost gave in to going over to watch a movie or something.

Or something, he smiles.

No, Peanut. Lochlan said it once earlier in the day and never again. End of discussion. I open my mouth to protest and his expression slices me in half.

If he's lonely let him go find someone to love. I did it once. And it's not like he isn't a keeper. He rolls his eyes.

The look coupled with that observation made me laugh so hard I almost peed my dress.

But instead I bit my tongue and nodded.

I never defy Lochlan.

To his face, anyway.

Besides, I made a conscious choice and I don't plan to second-guess myself. Lochlan is beautiful. And he's passionate about me to the point of not having further than simple passing interests in anything but me. How could I ask for more than that?

You won't ask. That's the problem. You'll just take it. And I don't know how many times we have to teach you this but he's very, very bad for you.

Smorgasbord.

Lochlan held out until we sat down in church, with Caleb jockeying to be on my other side. Lochlan leaned out and looked at him.

What in the hell are you doing? He whispered.

Caleb leaned across me. Making up for lost time.

Everyone is in church this morning. Our pockets are loaded with Halloween candy to fill the collection plates.

(We still torture Sam every chance we get. One Sunday earlier this fall we used Hot Wheels cars)

Caleb sits back and picks up my hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing it firmly and then putting it back down but not letting go. Lochlan stands up. I do too because I think we're probably leaving, candy and all and then suddenly Lochlan pulls me toward him and then steps around me, sitting beside Caleb, elbowing him hard as he sits down and then apologizing profusely as if he hadn't meant to do that. He throws his right arm around me and holds his left hand up as if Caleb should take it and kiss it, glaring at him all the while.

I open a tiny Baby Ruth chocolate bar and eat it, ignoring both of them, waiting for Sam to start the service before Loch and Caleb come to blows.

They manage to behave, though Caleb offers to share the hymnal, Loch refuses, turning distinctly to the right so that his back is to Caleb. He holds the book in both hands, me within his arms. Ben looks at us and then looks past us at Caleb and chuckles. I sing from Ben's book because I don't want him to feel left out. Somewhere God is also laughing at me while I try to manage all of this. Somewhere Jake is too.

On the way out after the service (which turned into a trick or treat fest as Sam collected the plates and sent the candy right back out, asking everyone to enjoy a treat courtesy of his landlords, dedicating the collection to us), Caleb invited me to lunch. I declined because we were going out anyway, and he said that was fine, that I already had plans on short notice and that maybe next weekend we could spend a little time. I said maybe and he took it as a yes, and left quite happily before I remembered that next weekend is Halloween.

***

You prefer sweet or scary? 

In regards to...candy? Movies? Music? 

Me. 

Sweet. 

Little liar. 

Today. Maybe tomorrow I'd have a different answer.

Then maybe tomorrow I'll ask again. 

***

Duncan came in the house all huffy.

I wanted to knock his arms off at the shoulder and wipe the smirk off his face. 

Why? 

He was acting like Bridge was his. 

So are you, right now. 

Dude, I didn't mean any harm. 

That's what everyone says, until it becomes an issue.

***

PJ is rinsing cups to put in the time machine.

Want coffee?

I'd love some. 

Too bad. I can make you a hot chocolate though. 

Why did you offer coffee then? And why can't I have some?

Lochlan said not to let you have any. I figured you should know that. 

What else has he forbid?

How much time do you have?

I feel in my pockets for more chocolate bars but they're all gone. Not as much as I thought. 

He's home. Two weeks is a lifetime. He has a beard. Jeans. Leather jacket. His best Negan impression minus Lucille. His life is here. I know. I see it in the mirror.

Belonging/Beloved/Bee.

Batman was looking for his place in my life, that's all. Reassurance. Every does that, to try and shore up their stake, as it were. So I gave him what he asked for and then I held the flame to him and burned him for it.

Sometimes I adore being commodified. Sometimes I do not.

***

Caleb is on his way home. This time for real. He says he's done enough solo traveling for a while, that this is overmuch, that he didn't do anything wrong, didn't lay a hand on my head and that if Pyro thinks I'm going to be the fall guy for everything, Pyro is sadly mistaken. 

Don't call him that. 

I'll call him whatever I want, Neamhchiontach. 

Don't call me that. 

Yes, well, I see your conversation with Batman went well and I feel as if you're foundering in my absence.

I do what I want whether you're here or not. 

I absolutely love you when you're belligerent. 

I can hear the smile in your voice. You're being dishonest.

Just so there's no mistake. 

Safe travels, Diabhal. 

Tell him I'm coming back and that we're going to sort this out once and for all. I can't advocate for you against his shortcomings if I can't get near you. 

I'm not telling him that. 

I'll tell him myself, then. Neamhchiontach, this has to stop. We've gotten too old for schoolyard brawls and shouting matches. This isn't some old bike we've found in the woods. It's time they all stopped treating you like property and started treating you in the manner that you deserve. 

Pretty sure they've got that covered, actually. 

On being careful what you ask for.

Last song played on your iphone? 

Uh...let me look. Eidolon by Karnivool. 

Favorite band name?

Oddly enough, Bedouin Soundclash. Coolest name ever. 

What song do you like most by them? 

I don't know any of their songs. 

Last meal? 

A chocolate ice cream cone. 

Was it satisfying? 

No. I eat them really fast. Lochlan calls it PT-iceD as a bad joke because when I was little Bailey would eat the end off my cone and it would drip everywhere and I got in trouble. I've told this story before. 

Favorite car?
The R8.

Latest celebrity crush?

Jimmi Simpson on Westworld. 

Female crush?

I hate you. Chloe on Lucifer. She's beautiful! 

Agreed. One regret of today? 

I missed my Friday contraband coffee. 

Aw. You poor thing. 

I KNOW, RIGHT? 

Plans for tomorrow?

Uhhhh.. Ruth needs shoes for prom and we're finishing costumes tomorrow, God willing. Also chicken wings. We have plans for wings. Cravings. I shrug.

If you could sleep with anyone right now that isn't Loch or Ben who would you pick? 

Wow. What a question. 

Entertain me.

(That's always a challenge accepted.)You. If I were to but I'm not.

Why?

I have no emotional attachment to you and I never knew why. That makes you safer than most.

I always say the smallest things are the scariest and no one ever believes me.

NOPE.

I went for a long walk around the grounds today, to check and make sure there was no damage I hadn't found already from last weekend's storms. I was approved as long as I stayed topside and within the fence, which is on because...well....bears.

*Bears everywhere*

I'm not afraid of the bears though.

After an hour of wandering through the woods, I was just rounding the big tree by the path behind the stables and Lochlan caught up with me.

It's starting to rain, Peanut. 

I'm on my way back in now, I assure him but he stops me, walking me back against the siding. He kisses me like he used to. Like I'd like him to more often. He reaches down and pulls up my dress, pulling his shirt up too, pressing our skin together. He's so warm. The kiss gets deeper, his hands get harder against me and I forget breathing as I wait to see what he's going to do. I put my hands up into his curls and he lifts me up into the wall.

It's pouring and freezing. I never minded until much later.

He finally slides me back down and pulls my dress down over my hips. He looks around to make sure we're still alone and reorganizes his clothes. We walk back to the house. I start shivering and he pulls me in under his arm.

How about a hot bath?

Yes. I'd love that. 

Once upstairs I went to take off my dress and something fought back as I was pulling it over my head.

A really huge fucking spider.

I screamed and ran out the door, down the steps and into the kitchen. Which was filling up as boys come home from work and errands and meetings.

And me. In my birthday suit for all to see.

Nice.

Sam took his sweet time shrugging out of his flannel shirt, keeping his t-shirt while I took the flannel.

But I'm still screaming because spiders.

I'm afraid of them.

I don't mind little ones but these ones we keep finding lately are huge.

HUGE.

Would you have run like that for a bear? 

Right out of my dress? Yes, indeed. But I wouldn't scream. I'd have just been relieved. 

So why aren't you relieved now?

Because it's probably still in my hair! 

You know when the specialist puts drops in your eyes and the green disappears completely and your pupils are huge and black and you look scary, like Wes Borland circa early nineties hot-creepy?

Right. That's meeeeeeeeeeeee.

No post because I can't even see fuck all. She thought I was hilarious though because it burned so badly when she put the drops in I let loose with a string of explicatives I usually reserve for driving on freshly frozen ice roads.

She wasn't offended, just amused. But no, I still can't see. All is well though. At least this time we don't have to wait for pathology.

(See? I technically tell you NOTHING.)

Too in love to let it go/Just what you're worth.

Sometimes you're hard to find. At least I can triangulate you these days so I know you're inside. He laughs but it's pained. He reaches down and hauls me to my feet, using my fists as handles. I was tucked in amongst the Christmas wrap and decorations in Daniel and Schuyler's storage closet.

It was very quiet for a while. I almost fell asleep.

Who gave me up?

Christian. 

Ah. Remind me to thank him later. 

I already thanked him. You make me lose my mind along with you, Bridge. Some days I'm just thrilled to find you not in someone else's bed. Like..well, yesterday. 

I'm sorry. 

But you're not. And I know you're doubling down on punishment because I made you feel things that scare you (oh, he's suddenly so well-versed in Bridget, I know he's been talking to them) but you can fret all you like, you're not getting rid of me. 

What about PJ?

I don't think you're getting rid of him that easy either. He might even love you even more than beer right now. I would wonder how you pulled that off but I think I already know. The pained look returns and I start to apologize but he stops me.

He's harmless. You aren't, though.

I nod. Wrecking them all, I am. Caleb's right. Panic takes over and I try to push him out of the closet.

Don't let him put this stuff in your head, Bridge. You can rail against the idea of us all you like but it isn't you, it's a problem you have and we're getting help for it, and in the meantime it's still going to be you and me against the world and no one and not a thing will change it. Promise me you understand that. 

What if we're wrong?

After thirty-five years I don't think we could possibly be wrong about something so right. I'm not wrong. I don't know if you noticed but I'm never wrong and therefore very easy to live with. The pained look disappears from his eyes, replaced with gentle amusement.

Not as easy as me. I'm a peach. 

A tiny rotten one, then. 

Yeah. Definitely. I'm sorry. About PJ-

Look, part of our bastard plan to keep you safe involves taking one for the team. PJ is still the least of all the evils so just leave it lie and don't make me think of it any more than I have. Remind me to change the fucking plan too. It's going to be my downfall here. 

Yours? It'll be mine. 

You don't seem any the worse for wear. 

My brain is wrecked, Locket. 

I know, Baby. We'll get it fixed up good as new. As long as we don't have to come fish you out from between the bows and wrappers too often, we'll be good. 

Hope you're right. 

Always. He grins sadly. Like I told you.

Declaration of dependence.

I want to tell you I dug more splinters out of my fingers from pulling roses almost two weeks ago. I need thicker gardening gloves or maybe a better method besides wading right into the thorns and attacking from the centre out.

I want to tell you I was safe in my bed last night but I wasn't, instead waking up in PJ's arms at two in the morning when he found me in the wrong place and went with it, keeping me until sunrise, not sorry in the least. His excuse? I'm not Caleb. Also, finders keepers. And he winked like a shithead.

I want to tell you I'm ashamed of that, but I'm not.

I want to tell you Ben washed his hands of all of this because he's so into self-preservation he had no choice. Two for one. Always a bargain, Bridget is, on sale, low-rent, picked-over last digs for a song, folks. Not that anyone minds. Like when you're eyeing the runt of a litter of puppies and true to form it's the only one left after all the others have been claimed.

That's me.

I want to tell you I'm ashamed of that too but again, I'm not. I know what my pedigree is, my history. Nothing we were ever proud of outside of survival, nothing we could ever survive outside of pride.

Nothing to be said about another rainy Monday with sporadic power and underreported hearts other than to point out it's almost over. That's good. Because I want to tell you I called the Devil and asked him to come back because Lochlan said to me point blank that running never solved a thing in his life so it wouldn't for anyone else either and he meant me but if he does that, he has to mean everyone and so Caleb might as well come back and get his moment in the sun to explain why he had to scare me so badly now, of all times.

I want to tell you why I couldn't dismiss it suddenly but I don't know, honestly. Joel could probably tell you. August and Sam for sure, and probably Caleb too but they don't share these things with me. It's just better not to. I want to tell you I don't understand that, but I do.

I want to tell you a lot of things but I can't.

Living up to his name.

What if he dies next? What if it is you? What if your ghosts consume all that you love?

But it wasn't voices in my head that gave me this doubt, it was a voice beside my ear, bending low so that I could hear his soft words before I turned to gaze into his medium blue eyes, cocked and ready to destroy everything I love.

You can't keep him safe, Neamhchiontach.

That confirmation had me running. Maybe if I ran fast enough time would unravel, the clocks would go back and I could undo the damage, mitigate the danger and save Lochlan's life. The fear built into my mind that I could push away, pretending it isn't there came rushing out, regret flooding in to fill its place.

Oh my God, I told his face and Caleb smiled.

They found me with the fuel and our wedding clothes on the floor of the garage, blubbering nonsense to Jacob. Apologizing for finally having the stupid nerve to go behind his back and marry Lochlan, admitting that Henry was his but I hadn't had the nerve to come and tell him because it was busy at the wedding and on my honeymoon. What a stupid, reckless, foolish and damning attempt to rewrite history that's already been written on my behalf. What a risk.

What a shame.

I lit the dress up like the fourth of July and all the sprinklers went off, smoking out the whole garage and making a mess. I didn't leave, wouldn't leave, sinking down into the smoke and when hands finally landed on my head, Lochlan's voice broke in a yell,

I've got her! He faltered on the sound but I was taken off my feet and out of the garage into the fresh sunlit air, covered with soot, my fingers burned and part of the sleeve of my sweater, inconsolable, exhausted and still fiercely determined to undo everything we did in case the Devil is right. In case the Devil comes for Lochlan next.

What were you thinking? Lochlan asks me and I turn and stare at him, eyes pouring tears, mouth agape because he knows this was a bad idea and he blames me for it to, because we both knew damn well Caleb's never going to let us be together and everything he's done thus far has been a show of force to make sure we never forget what he's capable of.

I'm sorry, I tell Lochlan. Sorry that he fell in love with me. Sorry that he's still in love with me. Sorry that I thought we could have a life together. Sorry that I told him I could handle this, that I wanted this, when I should have protected him better.

What are you talking about? His own fear and confusion made me absolutely hysterical, and the last thing I remember was screaming, trying to sit down on the floor, trying to get out of his arms, trying to implode so that I wouldn't have to deal with that fear anymore.

This fear, I mean.

The one that doesn't bother me so much when I have this much quicksand in my blood. The one that can't catch me as long as I outrun it, trick it, do anything but this.

I spoke by phone to Claus, telling him that everything is bullshit, that Lochlan can't stand there and tell me he's going to live forever. I've watched people die. I've made people die. I've got enough presence of mind to understand when a person can't make a promise they want to make so badly and fright sent me reeling once again.

August caught me as I went past him and I hyperventilated so hard I blacked out. When I woke up I was in my bed, safe. Lochlan was there, safe. Ben too. Sam and August. PJ. Joel, who got an eleventh hour phone call because the last time I did this they cornered me in the castle and shot me up on the floor or I would have gone right out the fucking window. It's Cole. Cole is back to life in Caleb's form and he's going to kill all of us.

He can't hurt you any more.

Sure he can. Look who lives next door! Look who started it!

But a week later I'm still exhausted and not as panicky anymore and while I'm aware that Caleb's words are just that, words, borne out of jealousy and covetousness, I'm still not so sure that he's wrong.

Nothing in history disproves his observations and I don't know if I want to take risks anymore.

Too late, Lochlan reassures me. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I could have told you that before you torched my hat. And your dress, Bridget...we can't replace it.

I don't care about things, just people. Just you.

He doesn't have a right to take your happiness or your memories, Peanut. 

Too late.

Admit two.

Two missed calls from Caleb and my phone was fired out the patio doors into the grass of the backyard in the pouring rain and then Loch disappeared behind the locked doors of the library to make a call.

For the next nine minutes I could hear indignant but otherwise unintelligible heavily-accented shouting coming from behind the door. 

Nine minutes. That's almost a record. Usually Caleb grows weary, then amused and will hang up on Lochlan, who will always, always finish his sentence into dead air before giving up and putting his phone down. 

At least his isn't a shorted out paperweight now. 

PJ was comforting. Let him get it out of his system. We'll get you a new phone in the morning. 

A new phone arrived twenty minutes later. Not a new iPhone 7 but a regular six, in the same color that I had. With a headphone jack and everything else I needed. 

If only we could restore your life at the bad junctions, said the note. Love, CXC

Yeah. 

If only. 

That phone lasted six and three-quarter minutes and Lochlan fired it at the general direction of the Boathouse, this time from the side door off the kitchen. It landed in several pieces in the driveway after hitting the rock wall.

Could you stop it please? I need a phone for the kids. 

They'll call Padraig. 

They text me. 

Bridget, I'm not doing this with you right now. 

YES YOU DAMN WELL ARE, LOCHLAN. 

Don't you defy me! 

WHAT THE FUCK. IS THIS THE 1800s?

YES. YES IT IS AND YOU'RE GOING TO LISTEN!

That's not going to work.

It did before. 

Right. And I've done NOTHING wrong so stop yelling at me. I didn't make you angry, Caleb did. 

I'm not angry with you, Bridget. 

Then why are you yelling?

I'm afraid.

Prescribed burn.

He watches the flames.

Don't bring fire into this. It sanctifies you.

I know. He baptized me in it last night, a graceful trip around my being with a tiny singular flame. A humble consecration, a reminder of how we use that fire to connect, to identify. To breathe.

He is using the fire today not to teach but to warm himself. His favorite sweater is no match for the heavy rain and so flannel shirts with waffleknit layers take over and a heavy element jacket on top were grudgingly applied, slowly and with disdain.

He and some of the others were out late last night bringing the camper back to the house, away from the edge of the cliff. They moved all my flowerpots up under the overhang by the patio doors and brought the telescope in. All of the pool chairs have been stored in the garage and PJ is already fretting because his precious jeep had to be put outside in this weather. His jeep weighs far more than the big chaises, which weighed a fair bit themselves, towed two at a time on a trailer pulled behind Ben's truck.

We're like some sort of incredible, dysfunctional resort.

The storms are here. All of them. Psychic and environment-based. Emotional and physical too. I was told if I wanted to do anything online to hurry up. So here I am.

Caleb missed all the fun. He's gone to the East Coast again for a bit to get away from me Lochlan the violence things. I'd be jealous but I always miss him.

Loch touches my face. I wonder if I could burn your brain down to nothing like the farmers do to their fields, so you could grow back new and unscathed. 

Let's try it and see. 

But he just stared at me for a moment in surprise at calling his bluff. Then he put his jacket back on and went outside to finish up.

Listening hard.

My ring slips off too easily. It's cold out now, my fingers are shrunken, my skin is tighter still, stretched across my bones in a tension he can tune with a fork and a very good ear.

He frowns, picking it up from the bottom of the tub. We'll get it re-sized for you, he said, sticking it down over my middle finger instead. It's fine there for now, a subtle fuck you to the universe, an easy dismissal of the rest of the world outside of his extended reach.

He lets the frown slide away and puts his hand on my forehead as I lean back against him in the warm water. I put a bath bomb in with us. We smell like jasmine. We're covered with purple glitter. It's a far better moment than some of the previous week and I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He leans around from my left to see my face.

Okay?

I nod but I don't say anything. A kiss lands on the top of my head. Then he is gone. Cold rushes in to coat my skin and I shiver violently.

Let's go. 

I nod again but I don't move and he reaches down, pulling the plug out of the bottom of the tub. I sink down until my head goes under, making no move to resurface. He reaches down once more to pull me up gently. I emerge covered head to toe with glitter and he laughs.

Rinse off in the shower. We've got twenty minutes to be downstairs. 

I dutifully duck under the hot spray and when I emerge, still mostly covered with shiny tinies he is there with a warm towel, wrapping me in it, glancing another kiss off my forehead, arms tight around me. I shiver again but it's not from the cold, more like from survival and surprise that I'm here.

***

I watch him stir his coffee. He'll lay the spoon upside down against the edge of the plate and let his eyes travel the whole way around the restaurant before he speaks. I'm not wrong. I've studied Lochlan's movements since I was eight and he was thirteen, since before coffee, and violence and baggage. I've watched him change and yet he remains the same as always. He doesn't actually change. He forces the entire world to adapt to him. He refuses to compromise or bend. His will is iron, his code of right and wrong carved in the rusted metal of a platform for a thrill ride, or in the words of a verbal contract with a handshake to seal the deal. There's no reason to question him, for he's never had even a moment of grey area. No ethical pause, no consideration of less than what is good and what isn't.

I didn't listen. I ran ahead or fell behind. I had my head in the clouds, pretending all the time. He indulged me because one thing that was right to him was the desire to make me happy. He went along with it. He humored me when I couldn't remember the rules or didn't hear the orders. He was lenient, full of grace when he should have lifted me off the ground by the collar of my dress long enough to make sure I was paying attention.

I got burned and by default he did too.

Some days we're unscathed. Lucky. Beautiful and new.

Other days we are burned beyond recognition. Disfigured and ruined.

This is an in-between day, in which the scars are visible to the naked eye but they're a little numb, that's all. A little closed-feeling, a little bit forgotten, if you're not paying attention. A little bit better.

I think we should go. I think we should go now. And if you won't then he has to. 

I can't banish him. 

At this point you don't have any veto powers here. Not anymore.

I stop running down the path in the waning light and turn and look back at him. I drop the trilliums I have picked on the carpet of pine needles coating the forest floor. Something in his voice is different this time and it scares me.

Too small to do any damage.

(Ironically I drew the Hierophant card today:A card symbolizing rules, laws and doctrine. Your freedoms may be limited today.)

It's National Take your Teddy Bear to Work/School Day and I just...don't even get me started. I brought my teddy bear with me to my laptop. His name is Ben and if he sits up straight in my computer chair his knees hit the underside of my desk, lifting the whole thing off the floor.

I swing my legs because my feet don't touch the floor if I'm sitting in the same chair.

He's been keeping close, which is nice because the minute he turned his back the Devil whispered in my ear last week and I'm still mostly reeling from that. I don't want to talk about it though. Not today. Today is for bears and big guys and for getting on with things and not for stunts or drama or fear.

We went out for breakfast, which was nice. I'm still mostly asleep on my feet in the meantime. Joel heralded a group decision which is to keep the princess under chemical control until she can prove she can do it herself. I tried to point out the futility of their argument but every once in a while it's nice not to feel anything. Just so I can catch my breath. Then I'll dive back in because I have to feel something or I'm not worthy of remaining alive.

That's how the Devil put it, anyhow.

But I'm a-okay, well-fed and cuddled today and we've battened down the hatches for the coming October storms. We've got groceries and I scrubbed the bathrooms and the house is clean and the trucks have gas and the generators too and the trees were all trimmed so bring it. Bring whatever you got. I'll stand behind Big Ben and fight you from here.

An actual conversation.

Since it's National Coming Out Day (where the fuck are they getting these 'holidays' again? Someone please tell me), Sam decided to...er...go back in. Since Matt didn't work out and he has a few other craven issues here, he's hopped the fence. 

Again.

He set up a Tinder profile and unhesitatingly selected female responses only. Then he sat down to wait, as if the Internet fairies would send him the perfect woman within seconds.

Sam, I think that's a hook-up app. 

What? No it isn't. You're thinking of Grindr. 

No, that's definitely for sex only but it's for gay people. Tinder is the version for straight people. I think.

Oh, well, shit. What's the app for actual dating? 

Tinder. 

I don't understand.

You don't meet someone online for any more than a casual thing. 

Oh. 

Well, did you meet Matt online? 

I refuse to answer that on the grounds that someone here will judge me. We all can't be raised by our future spouses. He stares pointedly at me. 

Right because we all see how well THAT'S going. 

So what do I do?

You need a Polish matchmaker.

I'm halfway there! I have the buckle! 

Right. Don't meet someone online. You need an uncurated soul. 

I need a Bridget, is what I need. 

Jesus, what? No you don't! Too much trouble. Also be quiet before someone hears you. 

Why? 

They'll take it wrong.

There isn't a way to take that wrong, actually. It's just...nevermind.

Oh. Then here, let me help you choose a photo. 

Checking in because once again the internet thinks I'm either dead or being held against my will, as usual.

I'm here.

I had a quiet weekend. Friday went to shit and ended very very badly and then I slept half of Saturday away and was brought back to life eventually, as Joel let the medicine wind down on its own. By early yesterday I had a handle on things and anything I still couldn't hold onto Joel picked up and handed to me.

He did a good job. It was reminiscent of the old Joel and for that I thank him. I had a huge stretch of uninterrupted, chemical sleep and for that I thank everyone.

I thanked them with a huge Thanksgiving dinner last night (everyone pitched in to help) and I am grateful to every single one of them because when I go down I go down hard. It's difficult and upsetting and horrible but they dealt with it and instead of giving up on me they're investing in me. Instead of turning their backs they offered their arms. I don't know if I deserve that but I'm grateful for it and Joel assures me that I'll get through it like I have every time before this.

I don't want to keep doing this, I told him late the other night when he checked in on me.

I know, Bridget. I know. 

Late last night.

When I woke up, I was pinned. I thrashed once and Lochlan's face swam into view.

Hold still, Peanut. Peace is coming. He's got my wrists held against the quilt. A sharp pain comes suddenly in my elbow and then chemical euphoria floods in.

I lick my lips. You're sending me to visit them, I tell Lochlan but he lets go and then Joel bends down over me. I smile at him in slow motion. Hi, Stranger.

Hi, Beautiful. Lights out, he instructs, and I'm gone again.

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.

Because naked pizza fixes everything.

Better today. I've graduated to bed with Ben who fulfilled my wishes for naked pizza and So You Think You Can Dance, Hindi Edition. 

So much better than yesterday.

(No offence, PJ.)

I want to have the kind of energy these dancers do. 

When you're better, you will, Ben says. 

I could be a hundred and ten percent and I'd still only have a fraction of it, I tell him. 

Practice, then. 

Will you do it with me? 

Sure, but only outside. I don't want to break anything. 

Oh, on the grass? To protect our limbs from the jumping on hard surfaces? 

No, in case I throw my arms up and hit the chandeliers or something. 

Oh, good point. 

See, if you felt better you would have thought of it too. 

Bedside manners.

Today PJ came up after the kids and the boys all left for their days and brought toast, orange juice, hot chocolate and tangerines and he got in bed with me and we watched a thousand or more (at least) episodes of Doctor Who.

I hate Doctor Who. Back in the early eighties when I babysat on the weekends half my families didn't have cable either and I was stuck with that show and little else. I learned to bring a book after a while. It was so dry and boring I can't even entertain it now. I hate the series. HATE it.

PJ fucking LOVES it.

I slept. I read. I cuddled and tried to get into the plot but mostly I coughed, hacking up things I could probably name if I wasn't so quick to swallow them in horror. PJ said I should go spit into the sink and I reminded him I was a lady.

Right, he laughed. And then he helpfully pointed out that it would be good to know what colors my phlegm-creatures are for the followup with the doctor, in case I need antibiotics after all.

I have whiskey, I show him proudly. This'll fix me!

Damn. The Devil's been busy getting you wasted and in bed without even having to be in the room. Loch won't like that. 

I know, right? I uncap the bottle and take a huge slug, grimacing so wide my chapped lips crack and bleed. PJ shakes his head and takes the bottle away. You can't have this shit anyway with all the other meds. 

I know. You're right, I tell him. I wish I had a white flag. Life is always smoother here if you walk up to PJ every now and then and just tell him he's right.

But he doesn't take the bottle downstairs, he opens it and has a drink. And we spend the rest of the morning drunk watching at least one thousand and eight hundred percent of season eight. Sigh.

Nurses with hairy legs.

It's a brilliant roman candle
That separates the day from the night
It's that clean, clear truth
That sorts our the wrong from the right
You and your face of light

Caleb came upstairs to say hello after finding out how sick I was from the bill he was probably emailed by the doctor this morning. House calls aren't cheap. Out of pocket healthcare is his responsibility, by his own request. It's been this way through thick and thin.

He brought me beautiful pink roses, some ice cream and a big ol' bottle of Lagavulin, to burn the germs out of me from the inside, he said with a laugh.

Indeed. If that doesn't work I don't think anything would. 

We shared a drink. Seriously. You could use this stuff to santize open wounds, nothing's going to survive in a glass.

I invited him to stay and watch a movie with me but he declined in case I really do have something deadly and promises me a rainy weekend movie if I feel up to it, that he'll check in tonight again, and that I should sleep, at least a little, if I can. I had another coughing fit and he put his arms around me so I could cough over his shoulder while he rubbed my back. When it was over he gave me another swig, this time straight from the bottle.

When I come back I hope that's empty and you're sleeping. 

That's how I get in the half the trouble I find myself in. 

He laughs, kissing my forehead. I'll be back late this evening. Share the bottle with your idiot husband and maybe he'll let me in to say a quick goodnight. 

That's very generous of you. 

I would be even more generous if he's interested. The ball is in his court, Neamhchiontach. It has been for months. He takes the risk and kisses me again, this time on the lips and then he is gone, taking the ice cream with him to put in the freezer for later.

Not three minutes after my door closes, it opens again. Dalton pokes his head in. You okay?

Yes. Want a drink?

No. I don't like Plague-avulin.

Oh my God, you just won the Portmanteau olympics. I'll buy you a fresh bottle tomorrow as your prize.

A week from tomorrow when you're allowed outside, you mean.

A week? Seriously?

Well, maybe if the weather is good Thursday someone will carry you out onto the lanai for some air. Yes, a week. Jesus, Fidget. Now get some sleep. He smiles kindly and closes the door again. I open the bottle and fill my mouth with whiskey, swishing it around my yucky teeth. God this stuff is good.

Smallest= weakest (I dug out my RUNT t-shirt and I'll wear it with pride.)

Cutting Order of Voices with Karnivool today. PJ is a proud papa of his little metal protege. Ben is more proud because he says I'll spend fifteen fucking years swaying over the same songs and then I have a binge where I can't get enough new music. This seems like a fall renewal thing for sure. Like being baptized in pumpkin spice. 

I'm quarantined anyway. The young Russian doctor was here this morning on call and he thinks I have the mumps. I would confirm with my other doctor but the only cure is rest and fluids anyway so Lochlan made me go put on pajamas, Dalton put the kettle on and Ben hung up my new skeleton string lights to cheer me up. 

Yes, I was vaccinated. Yes, I've already had the mumps. But if it's viral it's no big deal, right? (Yes, well, it's worse as an adult. You could go deaf. WELL LUCKY ME I'M 7/8THS THERE ALREADY) It's just contagious as hell and we need to be rid of it before Hallowe'en. Sometimes around this Collective by the time you recover from an illness you catch it all over again. 

But no one's going to avoid me. Instead they're all spoiling me because they all had two days of stuffy nose and sore throat and I got lambasted with something that seems one hundred times worse after a week already of what I thought was a bad cold, now with one whole side of my face/jaw/ear puffed right up painfully to the point where I had to give away an ice cream cone last night because I couldn't eat it. Couldn't manage at all. Cried and then Ben ate it and said it was awful to make me feel better. I got Tylenol and water instead, much like today. 

He's promised me a raincheck on the ice cream and a night of scary movies tonight to help distract. I'm game for at least one. After that I know I'll fall asleep. I feel like I've been up for a year. 

Arms dealers.

It's raining  and cold and it was supposed to be nice so instead of the yard work we were supposed to do we opted to stay inside today in comfy flannel shirts. There's a fire in the wood stove in the kitchen and Ben made us pizza from scratch. I had a cup of coffee but not the refill I was offered because I'm smart like that. Lochlan blocked all the awful folks from my email for me and laughed at some of my replies to people. I try to be sweet in person, one-to-one but it's not easy. I got to be Sam's test audience for a sermon he's working on and that tugged pretty hard at my heartstrings but I got over it. Jake used to do his out loud a couple of times throughout the week and then he would hardly need his notes. Sam works slightly differently in that he doesn't use any notes any more but he likes to see if there are things that need to change during the actual delivery. I must be a good audience because my opinions and emotional response to his words will always be right up front, all over my face, a reactionary bukkake, if you will.

(Mom, don't look up that word.)

So it's been a cozy day, and when time permits I've gone to visit each and every one of my boys that is home to see if they are happy. If things are working. If they want changes or have ideas on making difficult things easier. If they have special concerns or issues. It's basically a non judgemental, private stage in which anyone can say what's on their mind, minor or major. Anything they've been thinking about or shy about bringing up in front of others. Dalton wants to use kinder chemicals when we clean. Sam wants more cuddles. He's incredibly lonely. My afternoon becomes heavier as I work my way around to Batman, who wants to know what the plan is for Caleb because he is concerned for my safety and sanity, as always.

I have no answers for that. Sam was the blindside and so I blithely tell Batman to worry less, that my army is bigger and stronger than ever and I'm safe.

Batman tells me that he knows, that he helps fund the army, that he's a part of it even as I try to keep him in a separate little box set aside from everything else.

I come home. I've worked through the list and only three are left. The living heavy weights of my busted little heart. I don't dare ever ask the ghosts what they want.

Ben worries that if he falls off the wagon I'll write him off for good. He says this with his back to me as I spin in the big hanging chair alone.

Never, I promise him. He is mine and I am his but if he's not strong enough to bear my weight on his own, then I will carry him instead. It's the blind leading the blind but it's what I have. If I need to, Lochlan will be recruited to help me.

Ben shakes his head. You're slipping from me. I did it to myself to save you but it's coming. 

Hush. Nothing changes. 

It already changed. 

Stop it, Ben. You're mine. You always will be. 

Hope so, Bumblebee. 

I'm not permitted to see Caleb. Lochlan knows exactly what he'll say, what changes he'd want to make, what he needs here. Another day, Peanut. You can end with me for now.

So I do. Formally I pose him the same yearly questions we all get living here. I'll get the questions posed to me as well. The talks take a while and we'll revisit them all week or maybe even all month long but we keep this Collective running as smoothly as we can. That takes actual work, for those thinking it's some idyllic free for all. It's not. It's difficult.

Lochlan has no want of change. He smiles so easily after saying that I envy him. Except maybe to put the Christmas lights up outside and leave them up. Except to give less power to those who don't live in the house, like Caleb. Like Batman.

And then the others too.

What about Duncan? What about Sam? He has some lingering concerns.

Oh. Do you want to open this can of worms? It's been such a nice day. I'm not sure you're ready to admit to your evil plans.

You want to put it under the rug instead? It's like hiding an elephant under a kerchief. 

But does it work? 

Depends on if it's dark out. 

Well, that's a yes, because it's dark half the time. 

Another day then, Baby. 

I think so. Maybe Tuesday. I have some free time then. 

He nods but the smile has vanished.

HEY.

It's Friday and Locket took today off too :) except I got up and woke up Ruth and then Henry too and holy, Henry's such a bear in the morning you can hardly look at him for he's snappish and sleepy and clumsy and mad at the world until eleven a.m. sharp. Every day.

Jake was like me. A huge morning person, prone to impulsive joyfulness and a stupid amount of enthusiasm that would leak out all damned day long until it ran out completely around four o'clock, something fundamental shifts and we should just go and close a door and live behind it because the tireds and the crankies take over and there's nothing that can be done to stop it.

It's a bit funny because Henry used to wake up at five, just like me, smiling and wanting to do everything Right Now. It must be the height, for he's tripping just under six feet now. He's a feat of human engineering and humour. He's a riot.

Ruth is just determined. She's absolutely excelling at everything she touches. She's working toward getting her graduated license soon, she has a steady job, a boyfriend, a rock band and a gig as a teaching assistant.

My children are beautiful, they're both on the honour roll, have no cavities (!), no shitty friends and no issues so FUCK YOU IF I DON'T HAVE TO GET UP WITH THEM ONE DAY A WEEK WHEN THEIR NANNY (PJ) TELLS ME TO SLEEP IN.

Seriously. Fuck you already. You think you know me? You don't.

I don't have to write. I said I always would, I said I'd take my knocks and I'd keep myself accountable in this unconventional life but I also said my children are off limits. OFF. I don't talk much about them and I refuse to entertain trolls who tell me I'm a shitty mom. No one ever calls me a shitty wife, no. You're all too busy racking up views whenever I post any little snippet of absolutely anyone touching me at all. You can't help yourselves. When you aren't salivating you're judging things that don't need to be judged. There's an elephant if I ever saw one. But everyone loves a little pervert so how can I possibly do both? Everyone always thinks they know how to parent better. Thank God for my thick skin. Thank God there are so many fingerprints all over me to dull my view of reality from here or I'd really mind you showing up thinking you know everything about my life.

Jesus.

Fuck you.

The army of Eight.

Have you lost your sense of purpose
And who can stand alone
There's no more circus here
There's nothing carved in stone
I see you down in the desert
And on a lonely beach
I'll hold you in those places
Where no one else can reach you
For comfort there
In your wildest dreams

Sleep. He kissed my face this morning and left me cold. Came back and pulled the quilts up, tucking them around my small frame and then disappearing again as I retreated into the dark of my mind. The curtains block the sunrise, someone will make sure the kids remember to grab their lunches from the fridge before they head off to school and Ben is somewhere three floors below me, having never come to bed at all. That means more space and so most of last night I was upside down and screaming for air.

Wait. That isn't different from any other- Oh. Nevermind.

Lochlan has today off. I don't know why he's up so early unless he probably wants to see the kids off himself or maybe even give them a ride to school. That's probably it.

And I'm gone, drifting back off.

But then I wake up abruptly. That happens most of the time. Once I'm awake, I'm awake, in spite of the fog of the drugs they give me to bring me down at the end of each day, when the doubt and the feelings creep too close, pushed against me by the sun as it abandons the day. I feel the fog heavy against my bones. I fumble for pajamas and then for hearing aids too for good measure and I head downstairs.

We've got her back finally. So we can revert to maintenance. Safety being the highest objective. Being there so no one else can get in.

I think this time it will work better since we're all in house.

She goes to one of us, she won't go to anyone else.

I turn the corner and they shift gears so fast their wheels begin to smoke.

We're trying to figure out if we should get going on dismantling the gardens.

Or leave it for a couple more weeks.

Let's split it half and half. I still have tomatoes to ripen, I point out and suddenly I'm so aware of the kind, loving smiles facing me. Like they're so proud. Like I survived a war and came back and they just can't believe it.

Relief. That's what the expression is. The army has their cause back, their precious cargo and everything is under control.

I still remember one of the early meetings. I was picking forget-me-nots along the edge of the ball field and they were sitting in a loose circle talking. Every time I had a handful I would bring them to Lochlan, who took off his baseball hat and let me fill it with the tiny flowers.

At one point I can back with a particularly fat bouquet and he was saying We can take shifts and that way she'll never be without at least one of us-

Who you talking about, Lochlan?

You, sweetheart. We decided you need your own army. We're going to be that army and keep you safe and happy for your entire life.

I watch as they all cut their hands and then stack them in the center. They all sit back, wiping their cut hands absently on jeans, t-shirts, across a forehead. All eyes are on me.

I nod. Shouldn't I cut my hand too? For the pact? If you mix your blood then you should mix with mine too. Then I'm one of you. 

I hold my hand out. Christian passes Lochlan the knife he stole from his grandfather and Lochlan hesitates before Cole tells him to just cut her a little. 

I know it. I'm just trying to figure out where. He studies my hand and then gives up and makes a tiny slash across the meaty part of my thumb. It looks like nothing happened and then all of the sudden blood wells up in a line and spills off the side of my palm. I solemnly walk around the inside of the circle, not even up to their shoulders and shake the cut hand of each one. When I make it back to Lochlan he shakes my hand and then smiles and winks at me before pressing the hem of his t-shirt against my hand until the blood stops coming out.

Okay, you're good. Go pick your flowers. It's almost dark and we gotta go soon. 

He came for enlightenment but left with sorrow instead.

Batman paid me a visit this morning to ask about Duncan. (Because no one is allowed to ask about August. I've already explained it until I'm blue in the face. I don't have to anymore.)

I won't be sleeping with Duncan again so I don't know what everyone is so worried about. 

He seems surprised.

He's intimidating. I mean he's good but as far as chemistry goes he's so far out of my league it's ridiculous. He's a lot like you in that way. Completely intimidating. I was worried about damned near everything and couldn't be myself and I hate that. 

He tilts his head. You're not yourself when you're with me?

I've seen the sort of women you sleep with.

And? 

I don't seem anything like them. So I try to be like I think they must be. 

How is that?

Tall supermodels. Women who are sure of themselves. They have style and legs for days and they don't need a man but they want them every now and then. They're independent. Sophie's a good example. 

Bridget, you don't know men at all. 

Oh, I think I do. 

Then think about why you have three households full of men fighting for your attention and get back to me. 

It's because you're all psychologically stunted. I'm actually the one exploiting all of you. 

I wish that were true. 

Which part?

The part where it's you exploiting us instead of the other way around.

It's not so bad, you know. I have a good life here. I'm grateful for everyone. 

That's not the point, Bridget. 

But it is. At least to me.

World War B.

Schuyler squealed and dropped his coffee mug this morning while reading the news. It appears Brad Pitt is about to be single again.

We all won bets. Brad Pitt isn't someone you settle down with. You just jerk your dress back down to cover your knees and make your way home, tucking your hair behind your ears and fixing your smeared lipgloss.

All of this applies only, of course if it's Brad Pitt circa Legends of the Fall, 1994ish or thereabouts.

Several of us nod. Yup. That hair.

I turn to ask Lochlan if he'll grow his hair that long and he looks cross. Isn't it already, he asks?

No, I shake my head. Not quite. Maybe if we pulled on his huge loopy curls. Wait, maybe it is.

He's a little riled up this morning anyway. I didn't buy into his grand plan to stick it to Caleb using me as a weapon. Weapons don't have feelings, right? Instead I went off and listened to my own inner drummer, who marched right up to the loft and then on the way home jerked her dress back down over her knees, tucked her hair behind her ears and fixed her lipgloss.

Does that mean August isn't someone you settle down with?

Definitely not. He said as much. I'm on borrowed time anyway but at the same time he's got an addictive personality and I'm addictive.

This must be how Brad feels.

Inappropriation.

(I feel as if maybe this isn't how everyone else's counseling sessions go and I feel sorry for you.)

You may be right
But I don't care
So moving on

I'm telling him the story of how Duncan got invited for a second coveted visit, that Duncan agreed and then at the last second he said he wanted me to come back downstairs with him alone, that he didn't need an audience, thanks, and he'd bring me back up before I fell asleep. That he worked alone, as a rule. But that he's much obliged, as ever, to have the honor. And the trust.

What did they do? 

Nothing. You should have seen the shock on their faces though. 

So did you go? 

No, I got spooked. I feel like I don't really know Duncan like that. I'm not ready to be alone-alone with him. Naked-alone. Like this.

I see. He lifts my dress up over my head. I sit obediently in his lap, facing him, arms up to facilitate.

Plus I'm suddenly worried that Lochlan's going to die so I didn't want to take any risks. 

That Caleb might-

No, that he'll just vanish somehow.

It's normal. Do you want to talk instead of this? He's kissing up my throat, along my jaw and I nod and then shake my head no and he pauses.

Talk after. I unbutton his shirt and stick my face in between the buttons and the buttonholes. He's so warm.

I like this. He rubs his thumb along the band of my sweetheart bra. It's embroidered with roses and peonies in blush, lavender and pale blue. It's vintage.

Me too. I get up off his legs and head toward his room.

August stands up in a hurry, knocking his books off the arm of the couch and follows me to his bed. I crawl onto it while it swings slightly.

I keep trying to separate this but I can't, Bridget. 

I'd rather you didn't anyway. 

I should. I'm no better than Joel if I don't. 

That's different. 

How is it different? But he's pulling me up against him urgently, suddenly out of breath without reason, forcing me down without giving me the leeway to get there. So rough sometimes. Just like Jake. I pull his face down against mine and kiss him hard.

What are you doing, Bridget?

Trying to collect enough love.

And you're not there yet? But he doesn't wait for my answer. He just puts his head back down against my shoulder and begins to drive against me until we both forget what we were talking about.

Trouper.

History changes things. Time distorts the colors, the focus, the emotions and boils the facts down into hard points that I can load into a gun and blow like buckshot into the backs of those who wrote that history. That's how it should go.

But I won't, because they made for me to be submissive, to ride along, to go with whatever flow lit up our world for the time being without regret or remiss.

I understand that the way I understand little else, and so I hold up my history, pointing out the holes, the burn marks, the bloodstains and the broken hearts and I ask if this is the one, does it fit, is it mine? And Lochlan looks back and his eyes fill with tears and his voice betrays him as he says plainly I'm sorry. 

Only he didn't DO anything wrong and so I'm confused by his apology and by the silence from the others.

Leave it, Bridget, they tell me. What's important is what's in front of you but I know better, fighting my way out of their arms to where I can stand firm on the edge of knowing better, wanting different. If it doesn't get sorted out, there is nothing in front of me because it's obscured by the shadow that remains.

It doesn't matter! Lochlan screams it now. Adamant that if we don't move on it's never going to get better. How can it? The hue has changed, the panic has been paved over and in its place a knot of vague, horrible dread remains.

Do it! He yells as I raise the gun and aim it square between the blades of the shoulders of my nightmare. HURRY, PEANUT!

But then I lower the gun because I know the recoil will hurt like fuck, and I know I'll miss, so that I'll be the one who hurts from the risk I took in taking the shot and no one is even going to notice it was me.

'I'm not crazy, I'm in control.'

Who else was completely gobsmacked this weekend by Richard Brake's performance in Rob Zombie's 31?

I know I was. He's amazing. Holy fucking shit. Doom-Head just replaced Michael Myers as my all-time favorite scary man.

Aside from Caleb, I mean. I'm talking fictional characters. The monologues Brake did when he had the reverend captive and after he got the call to go finish a job (I don't spoil movies here) are incredible. Oscar-worthy.

Just you watch.

(Disclaimer: I'm a bit obsessed with Rob Zombie movies. Or maybe that's obsessed with Sheri Moon Zombie. Not sure. Don't care.)

Bit my tongue once and it hurt too much to ever to it again.

Dead flowers for the torn apart
Laid at the grave to heal a broken heart
Let it rain until it floods
Let the sun breathe life once more
Reborn

This morning I found a bent fork sticking out of the grass on my walk and I felt the familiar sting behind my eyes but I persevered and came home intact instead of red-faced, out of breath, drowned from the inside out. I came home weirdly content because the cool breezy air and the smell of rain means fall to me. Not pumpkin spice latte fall because gross. Too sweet. But fall as in soon all the beaches will be clear of people and I can venture back out.

I always have so many questions if we go to a beach that isn't ours, like how can you people just lay out in the broiling sun like that? And how tanned do you want to get? Aren't you hot? Don't you mind being stared at? How does it feel to know fully half of this public sand is garbage and cigarette butts? And the biggest one of all, don't you wish you had your own beach like I do?

But the boys tell me those questions are really rude and ignorant and God, why don't you have a filter any more, Bridget?

Oh, that old thing? I burned it with Cole.

I haven't needed it since. Those who can't handle me don't stick around.

Right, Lochlan?

Exactly, Bridget.

After lunch I stood holding my fork, staring at it with every ounce of concentration I could muster, failing to notice Sam watching me.

Jake's not going to bend this one, sorry, Princess.

Maybe I can do it.

No, those times he actually was doing it and made you think you were. He fancied himself a magician too, you know.

I smiled in spite of myself. He did. It was very sweet to watch his simple illusions because they were never done for money or for food. They never paid our way or made the news. They were just sweet. That's all. Sweet and really badly done, honestly.

The scars don't write a song for me at all.

I am a stone, unaffected
Rain Hell down onto me
Flesh and bone, unaffected
Your fool I will not be

I got to spend the morning recording with Ben downstairs. I brought my violin and my harmony and we recorded a perfect cover of Demon Hunter's I Am A Stone. We even went back and sang revolutions of the chorus at the end to change it up. We made it our own, but more importantly, we made PJ cry. He got the first listen. He mopped his eyes afterward with his beard and asked if he could have a copy. He said his favorite part was when I did the chorus after the bridge alone, ambitiously a cappella.

It should have been when Ben sang the bridge alone. That's MY favorite part but really I'm just happy he could tweak the headphones in order for me to hear myself, to sing on key instead of somewhere above it in a guess. I mean, everyone hates the sound of their own voice but I'm just happy to hear mine once in a blue moon.

Truthers in arms.

I feel like it's not a question of if you'll come back to me but when. 

His voice is sure but soft and far too quiet to hear over the roar of the surf. The tide is coming in and we should go. It's slow here on the west coast. On the east we had around eight minutes, less on the Bay. Super tides. Super feels.

Super weird.

Maybe. Maybe someday when things get quiet. 

It's a massive relief to not be outright denied. 

Is it though? What's the difference?

Hope is the difference. Don't you ever listen during Sam's sermons?

I sleep, mostly. 

Hope is what drives men, Bridget. 

And women. 

Oh? What do you hope for?

Literal peace of mind. 

I could give you anything you want but you resist. I'm not out to harm you, I'm trying to make things better. 

Every time I try to trust you on that something bad happens. 

Bridget, the watch was an unforgivable mistake and I'm just glad you're okay. 

Sorry about your face. 

Had it been me in Lochlan's shoes I would have exacted a far greater punishment. 

Like what?

I would have killed him for hurting you. 

That's why you can't be in his shoes. You're not safe.

Give me a chance to show you, Neamhchiontach. 

You've had too many chances already. I asked for a break and I still want it. 

All that will do is cement his place and put me out in the col-

As it should. You decided a long time ago what kind of relationship we would have and I'm trying so hard to make good changes in my life and straighten out everything that's bent and this doesn't help. 

I'm proud of you for the work you've done, even when it would be easier to give in, so you have to understand. I can't give in either. You're it. You're everything. I can't walk away from you. And I won't. 

Then we'll remain at an impass, because it's going to be decades before I come back to you. 

What do you mean.?

If I kill him too then I'll come back. But that will be the only way. 

You're not responsible for their deaths-

Then I hope you have a plan B, because if you're right I'm gone.