He would be forty-four in a couple of weeks. I should be buying birthday presents and planning a dinner. Not lying here wishing I could bring him back.
Monday 20 October 2014
Clairbuoyant.
Reluctant telepathy. That's the superpower I want. I've never answered anything different when asked because I'm too curious to settle for something flashy like invisibility or super strength. No, I want to know what you're thinking because I would guess it's never what you say out loud. No one is that transparent except for me and I'm exhausted, burnt out and spent for it.
I'm clear and ruinous. I let it fly, no matter what the thought, feeling or hope. It just pours out. No filter. If only you were all the same. We would all be dead. No survivors, no regrets.
I think they were looking for an excuse to send Duncan away. He'll be back in thirty-four days with conditions. Big conditions I don't think he'll be able to keep. I don't get a say. I pointed out it wasn't a good time to be sending away one of my primary minders and I was told that he should have taken that into consideration before he made himself a threat.
The fuck.
He isn't a threat but right now the only issue is he's drinking and he won't stop so he needs help. My needs are secondary. There are others who are here to look after me. Maybe the same people who should have been working harder in looking after him.
If everyone would just say what they think instead of swallowing the truth, have at the good and bad without burying their feelings until they explode under pressure, shooting up in the middle of nowhere, an unplanned surfacing, then we'd all be better for it.
No we wouldn't, Loch says. That would just make everything worse.
(Edit: Duncan hasn't been banished from point or kingdom. He's going to be entering a treatment program. I didn't think I was that vague. Long day.)
I'm clear and ruinous. I let it fly, no matter what the thought, feeling or hope. It just pours out. No filter. If only you were all the same. We would all be dead. No survivors, no regrets.
I think they were looking for an excuse to send Duncan away. He'll be back in thirty-four days with conditions. Big conditions I don't think he'll be able to keep. I don't get a say. I pointed out it wasn't a good time to be sending away one of my primary minders and I was told that he should have taken that into consideration before he made himself a threat.
The fuck.
He isn't a threat but right now the only issue is he's drinking and he won't stop so he needs help. My needs are secondary. There are others who are here to look after me. Maybe the same people who should have been working harder in looking after him.
If everyone would just say what they think instead of swallowing the truth, have at the good and bad without burying their feelings until they explode under pressure, shooting up in the middle of nowhere, an unplanned surfacing, then we'd all be better for it.
No we wouldn't, Loch says. That would just make everything worse.
(Edit: Duncan hasn't been banished from point or kingdom. He's going to be entering a treatment program. I didn't think I was that vague. Long day.)
Sunday 19 October 2014
Off-plumb.
What you don't see that delineates any huge romantic gestures by Lochlan from any of the ones perpetuated by Jacob (that I have detailed exhaustively here already) or anyone else for that matter, is the fact that while doing said gestures, Lochlan is/was usually lecturing me at the same time.
For example? When the flowers began to bloom and I realized he planted them all around our lot, I tried to go out and visit them. He told me to stay out of the mud. And not to touch because dinner was soon and he didn't want to traipse all the way back to the water trailers so I could clean my hands (again).
The Romanian coffee thing? He took it and poured it out when I had drunk only half. Because caffeine, Peanut. You're only a slight of a thing and won't sleep for the rest of the week otherwise.
(There was no goat involved. It would have been so metal if there had been though.)
His parental tendencies interfere with the romance of it. This is his struggle now, to supersede his natural tendencies to baby and control me in favor of just enjoying the hell out of me now. Clearly I survived, albeit scathed, into adulthood. His brain can't shift gears though and that leaves us a historical, incestuous mess.
He will tell you he is not parental, that I am insulting. It's not an insult. He wants to take care of me. He always wanted nothing more than to show me the magic of the world from the safety of his arms.
So mission accomplished.
But still he never sleeps.
***
Sam did Jesus Beach today. That's what we call his outdoor services at the waters edge whereby he warns his congregation at the beginning of each season that certain Sundays they should dress down and he makes them hike out to the beach and does his sermon there, in the wind, the rain, whatever. It's beautiful. He comes back to do a pre-lunch, later service for the people who don't want to/can't hike though. Two services every Sunday and one on Thursday nights. He's getting a couple of extra people finally, he's grown the church to a size that has exceeded all expectation and we joke that he's the little pastor that could. He's been proactively busy without Matt here. It bothers him but he's sticking with keeping busy and he and New Jake and Dalton have been busy helping to build when he's not writing/studying/working.
He seems content and a little more centered now. He's my twin but he's far better at self-preservation and control and not at all impulsive in the manic sense. Mentally healthier, is the term someone used. But I'm not insulted. Like Lochlan, I simply try my best and sometimes I might not try at all but at the very least I can't be put out if someone calls a spade a spade.
I know my limits, my strengths and my weak points. I just can't guarantee which of them I can deploy purposefully on any given day.
I wish to be like Sam when I grow up maybe. Friends with Lochlan in a capable way that leave him confident that I can manage without his hand-holding but still in touch with my emotions enough not to go stiff in order to get through an emotional experience.
It will never happen but sometimes I wish it would. In any event, the romance seems to be the thread that decorates and strengthens every aspect of my life. And love isn't a fleeting thing, it's a foundation all on its own.
***
Jesus Beach couldn't save Duncan this morning. He went with me but he did it half-drunk and I drove and didn't talk because he's falling into the same hole over and over again as he stands there wavering, insisting that he went and learned and he's still learning how to put up warning signs that there's a hole there in the first place.
On the way back to the point he sat and stared at me. Flask in one hand (Jesus won't mind, he assured me) and leaning up against the inside of the passenger door of the truck he tells me,
Sam would go straight for you.
Yes, I know, Duncan.
Would you ever marry a preacher again?
Not on your life.
I wouldn't let you bet anything against my life, Bridget. I worry you might be bad luck.
Might be?
Probably are.
When we get home can I have some of what you're having?
No.
Nice.
You're far too pretty to have a drinking problem, Bridge.
I have enough problems anyway.
Yes, you sure do. Sorry I'm one of them. I aimed to be better. Some days it's too hard.
Maybe you need to write more poetry.
Maybe you need to fuck off, Bridge.
We didn't say anything else on the drive home. That seemed to be lots. I handed him off to Ben and disappeared to cry in the laundry room, where PJ was all caught up and said he didn't need me and that was kind of the last straw because I feel that way a lot lately.
Duncan came and found me later and asked me not to take his crap personally. I'm sure someone ordered him to do so, probably PJ. Maybe Loch. Hopefully Sam, who had watched Duncan take sips from his flask during the service and had already 911'd the boys who didn't attend. Duncan said he's not all that proud of his recovery efforts because he wasn't doing it for him, he was doing it for us. The rest of the boys and me and the children and trying to be good and perfect and nope. Not working.
I gave him the same offer I give everyone who complains about life in the collective sometimes getting overwhelming. Forgiveness if you leave. Understanding if you can't remain. Financial help if required. Emotional support and affection until the end of your days if you just come and take it.
But he said he doesn't want to go, he just needs to figure out how to navigate this stage of his life, because cool will only get you so far, and he thinks this is the end of the line.
For example? When the flowers began to bloom and I realized he planted them all around our lot, I tried to go out and visit them. He told me to stay out of the mud. And not to touch because dinner was soon and he didn't want to traipse all the way back to the water trailers so I could clean my hands (again).
The Romanian coffee thing? He took it and poured it out when I had drunk only half. Because caffeine, Peanut. You're only a slight of a thing and won't sleep for the rest of the week otherwise.
(There was no goat involved. It would have been so metal if there had been though.)
His parental tendencies interfere with the romance of it. This is his struggle now, to supersede his natural tendencies to baby and control me in favor of just enjoying the hell out of me now. Clearly I survived, albeit scathed, into adulthood. His brain can't shift gears though and that leaves us a historical, incestuous mess.
He will tell you he is not parental, that I am insulting. It's not an insult. He wants to take care of me. He always wanted nothing more than to show me the magic of the world from the safety of his arms.
So mission accomplished.
But still he never sleeps.
***
Sam did Jesus Beach today. That's what we call his outdoor services at the waters edge whereby he warns his congregation at the beginning of each season that certain Sundays they should dress down and he makes them hike out to the beach and does his sermon there, in the wind, the rain, whatever. It's beautiful. He comes back to do a pre-lunch, later service for the people who don't want to/can't hike though. Two services every Sunday and one on Thursday nights. He's getting a couple of extra people finally, he's grown the church to a size that has exceeded all expectation and we joke that he's the little pastor that could. He's been proactively busy without Matt here. It bothers him but he's sticking with keeping busy and he and New Jake and Dalton have been busy helping to build when he's not writing/studying/working.
He seems content and a little more centered now. He's my twin but he's far better at self-preservation and control and not at all impulsive in the manic sense. Mentally healthier, is the term someone used. But I'm not insulted. Like Lochlan, I simply try my best and sometimes I might not try at all but at the very least I can't be put out if someone calls a spade a spade.
I know my limits, my strengths and my weak points. I just can't guarantee which of them I can deploy purposefully on any given day.
I wish to be like Sam when I grow up maybe. Friends with Lochlan in a capable way that leave him confident that I can manage without his hand-holding but still in touch with my emotions enough not to go stiff in order to get through an emotional experience.
It will never happen but sometimes I wish it would. In any event, the romance seems to be the thread that decorates and strengthens every aspect of my life. And love isn't a fleeting thing, it's a foundation all on its own.
***
Jesus Beach couldn't save Duncan this morning. He went with me but he did it half-drunk and I drove and didn't talk because he's falling into the same hole over and over again as he stands there wavering, insisting that he went and learned and he's still learning how to put up warning signs that there's a hole there in the first place.
On the way back to the point he sat and stared at me. Flask in one hand (Jesus won't mind, he assured me) and leaning up against the inside of the passenger door of the truck he tells me,
Sam would go straight for you.
Yes, I know, Duncan.
Would you ever marry a preacher again?
Not on your life.
I wouldn't let you bet anything against my life, Bridget. I worry you might be bad luck.
Might be?
Probably are.
When we get home can I have some of what you're having?
No.
Nice.
You're far too pretty to have a drinking problem, Bridge.
I have enough problems anyway.
Yes, you sure do. Sorry I'm one of them. I aimed to be better. Some days it's too hard.
Maybe you need to write more poetry.
Maybe you need to fuck off, Bridge.
We didn't say anything else on the drive home. That seemed to be lots. I handed him off to Ben and disappeared to cry in the laundry room, where PJ was all caught up and said he didn't need me and that was kind of the last straw because I feel that way a lot lately.
Duncan came and found me later and asked me not to take his crap personally. I'm sure someone ordered him to do so, probably PJ. Maybe Loch. Hopefully Sam, who had watched Duncan take sips from his flask during the service and had already 911'd the boys who didn't attend. Duncan said he's not all that proud of his recovery efforts because he wasn't doing it for him, he was doing it for us. The rest of the boys and me and the children and trying to be good and perfect and nope. Not working.
I gave him the same offer I give everyone who complains about life in the collective sometimes getting overwhelming. Forgiveness if you leave. Understanding if you can't remain. Financial help if required. Emotional support and affection until the end of your days if you just come and take it.
But he said he doesn't want to go, he just needs to figure out how to navigate this stage of his life, because cool will only get you so far, and he thinks this is the end of the line.
Saturday 18 October 2014
No fair fights.
Lochlan is not impressed. I'm recovering from a cold. We could have been seen, maybe by the Devil even. Ben isn't known for being gentle, what if I got hurt? On and on and then he makes a pointed comment about not needing to parrot random acts of romance from the movies to make me swoon.
Burn, baby.
Ben didn't like that comment. He said he's trying to do things differently because yeesh, if he brings me home a bouquet of wildflowers, he gets a story from me about how, once upon a time when we were on the midway circuit, Loch planted a garden of wildflowers around the camper and on the last day as we packed up the final flower bloomed, the garden complete.
That if he serenades me under the moon? He gets a story about how Lochlan lit the sky on fire and then pulled some acrobatic stunt in which he throws me up over the moon and then catches me on the way back down, with a double twist and a hang to thunderous applause.
If he makes me a cup of coffee? Yeah, Loch probably traipsed all over Romania for a square of organic muslin in which to filter hand-picked beans traded for a card trick in a boxcar from a traveler from Sumatra. The coffee tasted so good in the shadow of a Transylvanian sunrise. Oh, and I didn't like it black so Loch milked a nearby goat, probably.
He's not that bad, I tell Ben.
Oh he's not bad at all. He's the golden boy. I'll never win, Bridget.
He never held me upside down and dunked me in the snow.
Really?
He never lay beside me until I woke up and stayed until I could breathe normally when...Jake...
Yeah. Ben thaws a little. His chest puffs out a tiny bit.
He never wrote a sort-of famous song about me.
I couldn't use your name.
I knew who you meant. Everyone did.
Yeah. I bet he never fucked you on a beach or a motorcycle, or even-
Hey, let's not get carried away.
Jesus Christ. I don't even get that?
Sorry?
Man.
Thirty-nine years! You can cover a lot of romance in that long a time period, Ben.
It's not over yet.
I thought we were all in this together.
We are, I just want to be the Alpha Romeo.
That's a car, Ben.
Not the way I mean it, it's not.
Burn, baby.
Ben didn't like that comment. He said he's trying to do things differently because yeesh, if he brings me home a bouquet of wildflowers, he gets a story from me about how, once upon a time when we were on the midway circuit, Loch planted a garden of wildflowers around the camper and on the last day as we packed up the final flower bloomed, the garden complete.
That if he serenades me under the moon? He gets a story about how Lochlan lit the sky on fire and then pulled some acrobatic stunt in which he throws me up over the moon and then catches me on the way back down, with a double twist and a hang to thunderous applause.
If he makes me a cup of coffee? Yeah, Loch probably traipsed all over Romania for a square of organic muslin in which to filter hand-picked beans traded for a card trick in a boxcar from a traveler from Sumatra. The coffee tasted so good in the shadow of a Transylvanian sunrise. Oh, and I didn't like it black so Loch milked a nearby goat, probably.
He's not that bad, I tell Ben.
Oh he's not bad at all. He's the golden boy. I'll never win, Bridget.
He never held me upside down and dunked me in the snow.
Really?
He never lay beside me until I woke up and stayed until I could breathe normally when...Jake...
Yeah. Ben thaws a little. His chest puffs out a tiny bit.
He never wrote a sort-of famous song about me.
I couldn't use your name.
I knew who you meant. Everyone did.
Yeah. I bet he never fucked you on a beach or a motorcycle, or even-
Hey, let's not get carried away.
Jesus Christ. I don't even get that?
Sorry?
Man.
Thirty-nine years! You can cover a lot of romance in that long a time period, Ben.
It's not over yet.
I thought we were all in this together.
We are, I just want to be the Alpha Romeo.
That's a car, Ben.
Not the way I mean it, it's not.
Friday 17 October 2014
Up against the cliff in the driving rain. Ben's coat weighs us both down but he hasn't noticed. He has one hand around my throat and the other under my thigh and he is determined to be spontaneous and surprising even though he said through gritted teeth that he just. wanted. one. single. minute. of. private. time. and every syllable was a thrust into the dirt for me, pinned between the rocky face of the beach and the giant. When he picked up speed I worried briefly that I might die but he readjusted his hands, letting go of my neck and scooping his other hand up under my other leg so now there's no turning back at all. My shoulders erode the earth and my ear gets scraped by a rock as he butts his head against the cliff above mine, shielding me from this strange mini-avalanche that threatens to do nothing, actually. His shoulders in the big coat shield the rest of us. No one can see us right here anyway and I don't even think anyone's home. I set out on offer of a slippery, rainy walk before high tide and wound up peeled out of most of my clothes.
Conventional and Ben are two things that don't go together. Good, because I've never been conventional except for once and that was a lifetime ago with a different giant.
He finds that beautiful sweet rhythm that always manages to send me off just before he follows and then his breathing is harsh, his hands steel cages. My head starts to pound. He stands me down at last in front of him and he smiles, looking at me with my sweater down to my knees again, bare legs and untied boots. My leggings are in his coat pocket. My underwear, I see with dismay, is on the ground behind him and he's stepped on it. I grin and point and he laughs and nods without looking. I'm going to leave it there, too, he threatens.
I won't leave it there. I'll collect it as soon as he gives me my pants.
But he's not rushing to do that either. Here, take the coat, he says and shrugs it off, wrapping it around me. This coat is a waterproof parka of a security blanket. But it's also a XXL blanket I can't actually lift. I stop in my tracks, deadened by the weight. He laughs and scoops me up, coat and all.
I'm pretty sure my ass is hanging out of this arrangement and it's cold.
Ben does not care.
Does Ben ever care?
No. No he does not.
He tells me to stop complaining or he'll put on The Notebook when we get to the house and I start to protest but then I realize he is trying to teach himself romance, using the movies for material. Here we are out in the rain again because he's had confirmation that this is Out There and Romantic and Breathtaking.
He didn't put the movie on. He got the coffee maker set up and then scooped me up again and carried me upstairs where he decided that a hot shower with the lights off and the doors locked was an even better place for us and round two almost actually did do me in. The hot water offset the ache in my muscles and the full-body soreness that took over before I could pretend I can be his match in all things.
The hot water ran out eventually though and he wrapped me in a towel and picked me up yet again and I haven't actually walked much today and am hoping to fix that when he abruptly pulls me in tight to his face, a foot and a half off the floor still but eye to eye which is nice when he needs seriousness.
But then he changes his mind.
What is it?
Just...nothing. You're beautiful.
My head is freezing.
Want your underwear? You can wear it on your head.
What were you going to say, Ben?
Coffee's probably ready. Let's go have a cup. I'll start a fire.
Someone's rubbing off on you.
No. I lit fires when I was a kid too, you know.
I didn't mean-
I know, Bridge.
Conventional and Ben are two things that don't go together. Good, because I've never been conventional except for once and that was a lifetime ago with a different giant.
He finds that beautiful sweet rhythm that always manages to send me off just before he follows and then his breathing is harsh, his hands steel cages. My head starts to pound. He stands me down at last in front of him and he smiles, looking at me with my sweater down to my knees again, bare legs and untied boots. My leggings are in his coat pocket. My underwear, I see with dismay, is on the ground behind him and he's stepped on it. I grin and point and he laughs and nods without looking. I'm going to leave it there, too, he threatens.
I won't leave it there. I'll collect it as soon as he gives me my pants.
But he's not rushing to do that either. Here, take the coat, he says and shrugs it off, wrapping it around me. This coat is a waterproof parka of a security blanket. But it's also a XXL blanket I can't actually lift. I stop in my tracks, deadened by the weight. He laughs and scoops me up, coat and all.
I'm pretty sure my ass is hanging out of this arrangement and it's cold.
Ben does not care.
Does Ben ever care?
No. No he does not.
He tells me to stop complaining or he'll put on The Notebook when we get to the house and I start to protest but then I realize he is trying to teach himself romance, using the movies for material. Here we are out in the rain again because he's had confirmation that this is Out There and Romantic and Breathtaking.
He didn't put the movie on. He got the coffee maker set up and then scooped me up again and carried me upstairs where he decided that a hot shower with the lights off and the doors locked was an even better place for us and round two almost actually did do me in. The hot water offset the ache in my muscles and the full-body soreness that took over before I could pretend I can be his match in all things.
The hot water ran out eventually though and he wrapped me in a towel and picked me up yet again and I haven't actually walked much today and am hoping to fix that when he abruptly pulls me in tight to his face, a foot and a half off the floor still but eye to eye which is nice when he needs seriousness.
But then he changes his mind.
What is it?
Just...nothing. You're beautiful.
My head is freezing.
Want your underwear? You can wear it on your head.
What were you going to say, Ben?
Coffee's probably ready. Let's go have a cup. I'll start a fire.
Someone's rubbing off on you.
No. I lit fires when I was a kid too, you know.
I didn't mean-
I know, Bridge.
Thursday 16 October 2014
Tongue in cheek.
In a cruelly wonderful twist of irony, I left my drama on the point today to go run some errands and wound up lurking near the set of reshoots for Fifty Shades of Grey.
Yup. Charmed life, I tell you. CHARMED.
Came home to my very own west coast millionaire who doesn't have a helicopter (he leased a plane for a while once though) or three homes (wait a second LOL) or a red room of pain (it's..wait for it...grey) but he's always angling for a waiver that lets him use me however he pleases and I demur so hard I think I've broken things. No one's going to make a movie about me though. This blog will have to suffice. Though it's less of a blog and more of a diary. Strictly writing. No comments, buried in the internet wasteland just like E.L. James' fan fiction before she started reading Saltwater Princess.
You never know. Maybe it happened. Maybe no one's ever heard of me. I'm fine either way. I wouldn't have picked Jamie Dornan to play Caleb but dammit if he isn't pretty cute.
Jamie..not Caleb.
Well, Caleb's pretty cute too.
Okay, shhh...
Yup. Charmed life, I tell you. CHARMED.
Came home to my very own west coast millionaire who doesn't have a helicopter (he leased a plane for a while once though) or three homes (wait a second LOL) or a red room of pain (it's..wait for it...grey) but he's always angling for a waiver that lets him use me however he pleases and I demur so hard I think I've broken things. No one's going to make a movie about me though. This blog will have to suffice. Though it's less of a blog and more of a diary. Strictly writing. No comments, buried in the internet wasteland just like E.L. James' fan fiction before she started reading Saltwater Princess.
You never know. Maybe it happened. Maybe no one's ever heard of me. I'm fine either way. I wouldn't have picked Jamie Dornan to play Caleb but dammit if he isn't pretty cute.
Jamie..not Caleb.
Well, Caleb's pretty cute too.
Okay, shhh...
Wednesday 15 October 2014
Acolytes and Adulation (back on the horse, the reprieve is definitely over).
(The five year break was when Caleb disappeared into his firm on Bay street and made his mark. Driven, focused, he put his personal life aside completely. I had asked him to let Cole and I have a shot at fixing our broken marriage, raising our kids and being a family without his influence. Not only did we do worse than fail, he slipped and started living the life you see in the movies. Fast cars, spendy glass palaces and hard drugs. Under duress he'll admit that the drugs were the only thing that worked to make him forget about me. I can only imagine. I asked for them once to forget about Jake. Caleb didn't disappoint. And I have brain damage now.)
I asked him quietly to tell me what was wrong and he struck out so fast I couldn't even catch the cursive reply. The marks remain on my skin. It stung because I was trying to draw him out and he erased my efforts instead.
He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, looking exhausted.
Is everything okay? English this time. No endearment, no tenderness. Professionalism. He's more used to it and it gives him the lead to respond in kind.
I haven't slept. That's all. Let's finish up so I can send you back to jail.
Jail is the main house today, I'm guessing. Do you want me to stay?
Of course, he snaps back so fast I have whiplash and I wasn't even very close. Jesus. I'm being verbally pummeled here and I don't..
But I do.
He is a lot like me. Conditioned to thrive under heavy affection and absolutely ruined otherwise. Bereft. It's a lot like grieving except with grieving the hole never gets filled. No one can cover that place, it just gapes and waits for you to fall in blindly and drown.
And I can't abide by that. I won't. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Even him.
(Advocate, defector, thief.)
(Little liar.)
Come here. I whisper it but Caleb is already right there and I put my arms up around his neck and he just crumbles such a tiny bit my ego picks up speed and slingshots right around Mars, coming back and skidding to a stop just at the atmosphere of earth to see what's next.
His arms slide tightly around me and I am lifted off my feet. Jesus, Neamhchiontach. Were we always doomed?
From the start, I think. Confirmed. Some people exist in the prison that is their own mind and will. Me. Cole. Caleb. Jake. Ben. Lochlan. We're not here by chance, we're here because we're all the same.
Find out how much he would take to let me have twenty-four hours with you. He lets go and I'm cold suddenly.
Cale, it's not up for discuss-
Find out. Or I'll just take you anyway and deal with him later. Go and come back. Now. Quick.
If I go I won't be able to come back. Besides, you're still on notic-
Then you're staying right here. He comes back to me and takes my face in his hands. I don't do well without you. Not at all. I always think I can but it doesn't happen, Bridget. And I don't know what that means but I don't like it anymore. Things are never going to change so just give in. I'll try to make it work, I won't make it hard on you but you need to give me something. I'm at your mercy here.
I have to go. I can give you a hug, I can't give you anything more than that. I can't stay here. I'm sorry.
I was halfway across the driveway when he could articulate a response. He yelled my name so loudly I flinched hard enough to lose my balance and Lochlan stepped around from the back of the camper, wiping his hands on a blackened cloth, looking half worried and half scared shitless.
Now what the fuck have you been up to, Peanut?
Nothing, I tell him. Brain damage, I told you.
(I forget, Locket, but I tried to hug a demon because he has feelings too but it always hurts too much and then I just want to cry because I don't know what I'm supposed to do here. Give me a job. I'm big enough to help now. I promise I won't get in the way.)
I will fail youHe wasn't doing anything different but he was tense. So tense I could have bounced quarters off the space between his shoulder blades or even his forehead if I had dared but I never take dares when they come to the Devil. They find me and take me first.
To the core
I asked him quietly to tell me what was wrong and he struck out so fast I couldn't even catch the cursive reply. The marks remain on my skin. It stung because I was trying to draw him out and he erased my efforts instead.
He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, looking exhausted.
Is everything okay? English this time. No endearment, no tenderness. Professionalism. He's more used to it and it gives him the lead to respond in kind.
I haven't slept. That's all. Let's finish up so I can send you back to jail.
Jail is the main house today, I'm guessing. Do you want me to stay?
Of course, he snaps back so fast I have whiplash and I wasn't even very close. Jesus. I'm being verbally pummeled here and I don't..
But I do.
He is a lot like me. Conditioned to thrive under heavy affection and absolutely ruined otherwise. Bereft. It's a lot like grieving except with grieving the hole never gets filled. No one can cover that place, it just gapes and waits for you to fall in blindly and drown.
And I can't abide by that. I won't. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Even him.
(Advocate, defector, thief.)
(Little liar.)
Come here. I whisper it but Caleb is already right there and I put my arms up around his neck and he just crumbles such a tiny bit my ego picks up speed and slingshots right around Mars, coming back and skidding to a stop just at the atmosphere of earth to see what's next.
His arms slide tightly around me and I am lifted off my feet. Jesus, Neamhchiontach. Were we always doomed?
From the start, I think. Confirmed. Some people exist in the prison that is their own mind and will. Me. Cole. Caleb. Jake. Ben. Lochlan. We're not here by chance, we're here because we're all the same.
Find out how much he would take to let me have twenty-four hours with you. He lets go and I'm cold suddenly.
Cale, it's not up for discuss-
Find out. Or I'll just take you anyway and deal with him later. Go and come back. Now. Quick.
If I go I won't be able to come back. Besides, you're still on notic-
Then you're staying right here. He comes back to me and takes my face in his hands. I don't do well without you. Not at all. I always think I can but it doesn't happen, Bridget. And I don't know what that means but I don't like it anymore. Things are never going to change so just give in. I'll try to make it work, I won't make it hard on you but you need to give me something. I'm at your mercy here.
I have to go. I can give you a hug, I can't give you anything more than that. I can't stay here. I'm sorry.
I was halfway across the driveway when he could articulate a response. He yelled my name so loudly I flinched hard enough to lose my balance and Lochlan stepped around from the back of the camper, wiping his hands on a blackened cloth, looking half worried and half scared shitless.
Now what the fuck have you been up to, Peanut?
Nothing, I tell him. Brain damage, I told you.
(I forget, Locket, but I tried to hug a demon because he has feelings too but it always hurts too much and then I just want to cry because I don't know what I'm supposed to do here. Give me a job. I'm big enough to help now. I promise I won't get in the way.)
Tuesday 14 October 2014
Play it pretty with a pat on the back.
This could be the first time in the history of me that Lochlan hasn't shared a cold with me. Not sure if it's out of sheer stubbornness or just the luck of the draw but he's regained full use of his lungs.
How do I know?
About an hour after my parents left for the airport and the kids left for school and Matt made his way out again too, Lochlan started singing Woman. I thought it might be a one-off, but nope. He's doing the whole Hysteria album here. Without music. He's up to Pour some Sugar on Me and he looks so cross when he does this song. I used in my one and only pole dance in public which I will never do again and don't know how I did in the first place but money's nice and Bridget's not, I guess.
I only shimmied a little when he started, I swear.
He broke into his own song and said Stop it, and I laughed and obeyed him because damn. Just keep singing and as usual, I will follow you anywhere.
Ben looked even crosser. Ben isn't going to sing Def Leppard. What the fuck. It isn't even actual metal, he says.
But he liked that shimmy.
Loch's moved on to Armageddon it and I have a ton of stuff to do today and still don't feel well enough to do it. All my thanks this giving went to PJ, who is as good of a mom as anyone these days, and I'm very grateful for that. I'm grateful Loch is feeling good enough to sing so fucking loudly and I'm grateful that Ben didn't find this holiday with parents so hard, because he has us and we're his family now and I'm grateful I'm not feverish anymore so they can stop with the Ebola jokes at last.
(And also I'm really sorry to all those I love getting on planes with bad colds today because of me.)
How do I know?
About an hour after my parents left for the airport and the kids left for school and Matt made his way out again too, Lochlan started singing Woman. I thought it might be a one-off, but nope. He's doing the whole Hysteria album here. Without music. He's up to Pour some Sugar on Me and he looks so cross when he does this song. I used in my one and only pole dance in public which I will never do again and don't know how I did in the first place but money's nice and Bridget's not, I guess.
I only shimmied a little when he started, I swear.
He broke into his own song and said Stop it, and I laughed and obeyed him because damn. Just keep singing and as usual, I will follow you anywhere.
Ben looked even crosser. Ben isn't going to sing Def Leppard. What the fuck. It isn't even actual metal, he says.
But he liked that shimmy.
Loch's moved on to Armageddon it and I have a ton of stuff to do today and still don't feel well enough to do it. All my thanks this giving went to PJ, who is as good of a mom as anyone these days, and I'm very grateful for that. I'm grateful Loch is feeling good enough to sing so fucking loudly and I'm grateful that Ben didn't find this holiday with parents so hard, because he has us and we're his family now and I'm grateful I'm not feverish anymore so they can stop with the Ebola jokes at last.
(And also I'm really sorry to all those I love getting on planes with bad colds today because of me.)
Sunday 12 October 2014
Should have made a turducken.
Happy Thanksgiving!
I have a really bad cold and there are seemingly dozens more people here than I can comfortably or uncomfortably manage. We're having our big turkey dinner and epic Warcraft Monopoly tournament today and so on that note I think I'll just throw in the towel here and not attempt to liveblog the holiday or the weekend or me being sick again. The Leafs lost but the Canucks won their season openers so just nevermind and I'll see you Tuesday.
I have a really bad cold and there are seemingly dozens more people here than I can comfortably or uncomfortably manage. We're having our big turkey dinner and epic Warcraft Monopoly tournament today and so on that note I think I'll just throw in the towel here and not attempt to liveblog the holiday or the weekend or me being sick again. The Leafs lost but the Canucks won their season openers so just nevermind and I'll see you Tuesday.
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