Pluto close up.

(I wish I could save her from all their delusions)

Batman weighed in early this morning, offering me breakfast on the moon. He handed me toast spread with the milky way and filled my teacup full of stars and then he tore off all of my skin and asked me how all this space felt.

I didn't know what he meant. I just know the golden rule has always been not to make him angry, because I've seen his anger directed at others and it's more frightening than space is dark.

Playing coy is not the best course of action right this moment, Bridget. What have you done? 

This is none of your business. 

Funny, when you need protection from him it's my business. When you need some tricky financial transaction it's my business. When you want Cole to go away again it's my business. You're my charge. I was tasked with keeping you safe from that animal but you aren't letting me do my job. 

Whatever agreements you made with Cole died with him. I didn't ask for help. 

Right. YOU didn't. 

I swallow my stars in one gulp. Loch did?

Not in so many words but it's written all over his face. He's trying to give you everything you want and he hopes he's making the right decision in backing off and all it's doing is making you reckless and untrustworthy.

You think I should talk trust with Loch. 

Batman's eyes twitch.

He's the one who told me he'd never leave and then he left! Everyone leaves. Want to know the only person who's still here? Consistently? Caleb! He's never fallen in love with someone else, never not been there when I've called. Never walked away from me. Never thrown me away. 

Then why don't you just go marry him! 

Maybe I will! 

That's what we're afraid of! 

WHAT? 

That's his latest proposal. Full legal marriage. He'll give you everything in exchange for your heart. And it comes with some admissions of guilt that he wants to wait to tell you once it's a done deal. Bridget, he's going to ruin everything and he's using all of your weaknesses to do this and I'd like to beat him to it. 

What did he do? What's he going to admit after we're together?  

See, I was right. You'd be just curious enough to entertain the idea just to get the answers you want. I'm close to finding out but I still need time and he knows I'm digging. 

Of course he does. He knows everything. What is this really about? 

Protecting you and Lochlan. 

Or maybe just having the advantage over a rival. I'm just a convenient toy for you and Caleb to fight over. 

Bridget, it isn't like that. 

How about you stop feeding Lochlan's insecurities since they don't exist anyway and worry about your own life! 

How about you open your goddamned eyes!

THEY ARE. 

I DON'T THINK SO. 

Woah. You're loud. 

It's because I'm scared too! It's too easy for Caleb to get inside your head. 

Always was. Damage at such a young age does that. 

I thought Claus and Joel and Sam were helping fix that. 

I'm not fixable. I'm barely tolerable. I'm defective in the extreme. Possibly radioactive. Everyone can be near me for a short time only and then they die. You should run. 

Stop it. 

Stop what? Telling the truth? Maybe I deserve whatever fate he has in store for me. Karma. Just desserts. I don't know. Maybe I should let him do away with me. 

It would be a slow death that would continue for decades. 

So business as usual. 

Bridget-

You know what? Enjoy the rest of your universe. I'm full. 

Flicker and flow.

Those Christmas lights light up the street
Down where the sea and city meet
May all your troubles soon be gone
Oh Christmas lights, keep shining on

Lochlan is practicing walking and singing while playing the guitar. This is new for him, something that comes easily now for most of the others. Sam has recruited all of us for caroling for the next two weeks. Because we keep failing to show up for services and it's advent and that's suddenly an unforgivable offense to Sam.

(But he's a little cranky and quick to anger these days and we don't blame him a bit.)

At least we get to pick the songs.

We're going to do Walking in the Air, Christmas Lights, Old Borego and Oh Holy Night because those are my favorites if you veto Red Water (Christmas Mourning) like Sam did, because he said it wasn't exactly Christmasy.

What are you talking about? I asked him, it's totally Christmasy. 

The others are fine. Practice those. 

Yessir. Right away sir. 

He cracked a little grin (FINALLY, YEESH) and shooed me off. So here we are. Walking and trying to sing. Trying to play. I have bells in my pockets and a triangle in my hands. We both have colds just in their infancy which means we'll be unable to breathe, let alone sing by the middle of the week but Sam insists so we will persevere.

You know, if Lochlan and I don't kill each other first. Because he generously told me to go and do what I need to do and not worry about what anyone says. Even him. This is the same thing he always says and then the regret is a thousand tons of concrete pouring into my heart after whatever fleeting pointless connection I make with someone else takes place.

(Explaining it doesn't excuse it so I'll spare you any effort I make. I can be sorry and still want it so badly and no, I don't know what's wrong me either.)

He strums and forgets the words and looks at me suddenly. He is so pale I am startled and when I gasp he just says at least it was a little longer in between times this time. But he says it so slowly and painfully I forget the words too and we just stand there with the guitar and triangle in between us like musical chaperones and he finally breaks the silence and says,

We really need to practice these songs, Peanut. 

I don't feel like singing. 

Me neither, honestly but like the Von Trapps said sometimes you can distract yourself from the things that scare you by singing. 

What are you scared of?

Losing the only thing I ever wanted. 

Don't (the things you have to do to survive).

He pulled me down onto my back and bent his head down for the most gentle kiss, letting his lips linger against my cheek, closing his eyes again.

I'm glad you came to me. 

I can't stay. 

Don't say it now. 

He pushed up my shirt and then threaded my arms out of the sleeves and pulled it over my head. Then he pulled off my jeans and resumed his place beside me. I began to twist over onto my back, putting my hands together behind myself but he shook his head. No, not tonight. Let's just..not do that tonight.

Instead he so very gently brought me with him down to hell where we languished for what seemed like hours before that rocketing trip to heaven. He came with me, perfectly synchronized and then slowed to an exquisite crawl as we made the descent back to common ground. He continued to move within me, his arms locked tight around me as he smiled down at me and kissed me so gently I wondered for a moment if I was dreaming and this wasn't the Devil with me at my most vulnerable, where he likes me best.

Stay and sleep and we'll go out for brunch at a better hour than this. 

I need to go. 

About Christmas-

Like I said, we're all spending it together. 

No, your gift-

I saw the email about an order pick up at the jewelry store. You should reconsider this. I send everything back. 

This is a multi-part present. You'll see. Don't dismiss it until you see what I've done. 

I shrug. It's your money to waste. I check my Breitling. My initials are engraved on it. I couldn't send it back. I don't know if I would have sent it back. It's beautiful and it's a watch so there's no romantic connotations attached. Also, it's ten after five and I need to go.

I get up and go to the bathroom, taking my clothes with me. A quick shower and then I put everything on and come out. When I walk out he's sitting up on the edge of the bed, naked and glorious. Checking his phone. Already planning his day, I imagine as most workaholics do. He needs his own twelve-step program. Maybe we should send him to camp.

He stands up (God help me, but he's a different person in the dark. All tattoos and sinewy strength you wouldn't expect) and smiles at me. I'm glad you didn't wait any longer. He holds my head in his hand and stares down at me while I gaze up at him, letting his hand hold the weight. Swinging back against his arm. He smiles wider. What? 

You didn't tie me down. You didn't bite.

You're disappointed? 

No. Just surprised. 

Don't be. You extended a kindness to me, Neamhchiontach. I'm showing you how kind I can be in return. Oh my God. That moment came when he looks so hopeful and his eyes look just like Cole's when he would be seeking forgiveness from me. A debilitating turn of heart.

It's so...temporary. 

It won't be any more. I promise you. 

One last kiss in the dark and I'm gone. Back to the kitchen. Back into my rainboots, sweater forgotten on the floor of his room. Back across the bricks in the driving rain, hurling myself through the side door into the kitchen. Lock the door, hit the alarm, run through the house and back upstairs, taking things off as I go, back through the door at the top of the stairs and down the hall and through another door and then I pull off my shirt and climb back up the center of the bed softly and slip underneath the covers just as they both sit up and grab me. Loch's hand slides into my wet hair and Ben's arms tighten around my shoulders and Loch says Don't go to him just as Ben says Don't leave like that anymore and I close my eyes because they're also unexpectedly gentle and quiet about it, even though we're all talking at once.

Don't, Bridget. Don't do it. Don't let him in again. I've worked so hard to push him out. 

I didn't ask you to do that. 

Don't risk yourself. Don't go without me. 

There are things I don't want you to see. Things that haunt you. Things that manifest into demons later, inside your head. Just like what happens to me when-

Don't love him. 

It's not the same. 

Close enough. 

If he tells you it's different don't believe-

Don't go.

We go back to sleep, eventually, four arms to hold me down, four to hold me and keep their own nightmares from swallowing them whole and as I fall asleep again I dream Caleb is biting me until there's nothing left but white bone shining through, my heart beating fast in it's cage still protected from him. Kept from him for all eternity. It's never going to be the same so don't. Don't lecture me. Don't worry. Don't tell me I don't know what I'm doing.

Just don't. 

Three a.m.

None of the dogs are up now.

I pull my pillow down so it's sideways in bed and crawl out over the covers and down to the bottom. I pull on my shirt and jeans and slip out of the room. Ben snorts in his sleep and turns away as I close the door.

The alarm isn't set because I forgot to put it on. So no disarming beep will sound. Convenient. I pull on my rainboots and sweater and run across the driveway to the Boathouse.

This dog isn't up either.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and wrap my sweater tightly around my ribcage while I watch him sleep. He wants to hurt me. Wants to own me. Wants to pull me away from everything I know and mold me in whatever image he thinks would complement him. Wants me to live in designer dresses and skyscraper shoes, unable to run, too striking and obvious to hide. Wants me to manufacture a new past that excludes everything I've ever loved and every memory that ever gave me comfort in the darkest depths and be his trophy. Hard won. Dirty-fought. Unreal.

That won't happen.

I can love him as much as I can but it still won't happen. Instead I bring to him what I have for him. Me in the uniform of twelve. Jeans and a t-shirt. Paint-caked fingernails on tiny hands. Broken heart and frightened thoughts. He can take some of that but then I'll go back. Back to the daydreams and the cotton candy and the smiles of those who only want what's best instead of what's better.

He wakes up just as I step out of the daydream and he pulls me into his nightmare so easily it's seamless. I can't even see the edges from where the sunshine ends and the thunder rolls in. He has blurred it into my memories. Composited. Photoshopped. Forced perspective. Caustic coercion.

Doll. What time is it?

Three, I tell him. That's the magic number, after all.

Stretching the truth until it's ruined.

We have barricaded ourselves in the library to wrap presents and it isn't pretty.

I'm a professional. Straight edges, crisp folds, minimal use of tape.

Ben is a savage. Balls each present up in fifty yards of wrapping paper until it's crinkly and looks like the day after Christmas, holds it outstretched in one hand, runs packing tape around the whole thing three or four times and says, Looks good to me, and puts it in a pile on the floor.

Do you need more tags?

I look up and Ben is sticking labels on his tongue and eating them. Tags? For what?

To put the recipient's name on each present.

Oh..well, fuck. I don't know what's for who. You can't tell what's in them now.

I nod helplessly and look at Lochlan. He's found an old Douglas Preston/Lincoln Child hardcover that he hasn't read so he's reading it. Right now. Stretched out on his back on the floor. There are two small neatly wrapped presents beside him. We've been in here for two hours.

You all done?

Huh?

Nothing. How's the book?

It's really good. Don't know how I missed this one!

I sigh inwardly. I love Christmas but the work and the sudden ability of everyone to turn into hapless children when it comes to getting ready for it is frustrating and threatens whatever Christmas spirit I have been trying to conjure for days now.

I'll be back in a minute. I get up and leave the room, closing the door firmly behind me. I walk and walk until I'm on the beach and it's low tide so I sit on the log all the way down at the end and wonder if we should just go back to donating our gift money to Greenpeace. Or maybe just stop celebrating Christmas altogether but as the former wife of a minister that thought makes me sad.

Which is weird because I'm not particularly religious or even all that spiritual anymore. I'm just selfish and sad and far too busy to be all meta and navel-gazing like I am now. I square my shoulders and march back across the rocks and up the hill to the house, planning to kick ass and take names but when I go in everything is cleaned up and put back in the cupboard and Ben and Lochlan are nowhere to be found.

They went for lunch, Duncan tells me helpfully through a mouthful of his own food as he sits and reads in the kitchen. They didn't think you'd be back up so soon. Usually you stay down there for hours. 

And you guys take each other on dates while I'm down there? 

Only if someone's watching you. And someone's definitely watching you today. 

He nods toward the window at the boathouse and realize I'm going to have to make my excuses in person for yesterday. I didn't show. I never agreed to anything and I failed to respond to the Devil when directly ordered to. As I said, he doesn't like it when I don't react.

Are you going to be here for a little bit? 

Duncan smiles ruefully at me. Bridget, you need to take care of this. You can't run out, provoke the dog and come running back to hide behind me. Sooner or later the dog will chase you all the way back and bite, oh, nevermind. Here he comes now. Stay or go? 

Stay. Please! 

Caleb comes in the side door and up the steps into the kitchen. He nods. Duncan. 

Cale. Duncan nods back and takes a sip of his juice. Caleb stares at him and realizes he's not going to afford us any privacy on purpose. Bridget. I was expecting you. Are you otherwise engaged?

I'm wrapping presents with Ben and Loch. 

And yet I saw them leave an hour ago.

It's very intensive work. We need breaks. 

Right so then it's a good time. 

Duncan snorts. I'm right here, Dude. She's not going anywhere. 

Caleb thinks about this for a minute and walks around to my free side, the other side from where Duncan sits and leans in to my ear. Tonight you should come down and go over our notes. I wouldn't put it off much longer. 

Duncan whistles and looks up at the ceiling. I see his hands clench.

I'll check with Ben. 

Bring him along. We'll make it a nightcap. 

I said I'll see. I remind him and he hesitates for only a minute before turning to leave. He turns back and tells Duncan that I don't need a babysitter and that Duncan isn't needed here and Duncan laughs and asks Caleb if he is new. That I definitely need to be watched and cared for a little better than Caleb is capable of and unless he wants to be wrapped like a fucking present he should probably leave.

Caleb takes my elbow and half-pulls me with him to the door. Duncan is tense like a spring on his seat. He can be up and over to us in a heartbeat. Caleb leans down to my ear just as he lets go. You should tell your dog his bark isn't much to worry about. 

Funny, he said pretty much the same thing about you. 

So newly charming.

This morning was a bit of a clusterfuck. I put Lochlan's money that he gave me towards his share back into his bank account and he yelled about it. I made tea and forgot to put the bag in and didn't notice until PJ took a sip and swore because he wasn't expecting a big swig of hot water and then in my rush to fix it I bumped into Dalton's morning wood which I wasn't expecting to be right there with him in his pajama pants saying hello even though he had taken pains to wait until I had distributed the mugs and retreated to my space at the island before heading to the sink and when I swore at him he chastised me gently but obstinately, because I was in the wrong and he was in the right.

To get away from the perfection army, I went to see Jacob and Caleb was there instead, anxious to intercept me before I got in league with my ghosts because these days all you have to do is mention one or the other and I'll go visit them because what better time than now? 

We need to do a little pre-year-end cleanup, Bridget. Can you help me today? 

I nod because refusing never went well when it comes to work or money. Just play. If it's play he'd bide his time forever but business is business and it cannot wait. I roll my eyes at the irony. He's retired and worse than ever for working when he should be relaxing.

What's wrong? 

It's a Monday masquerading as a Thursday, I explain. I hope he knows what I mean. I don't want to have to tell him about Dalton's excitable morning breakfast helper. Usually the boys stay put until that goes away and then they come out but Dalton is more than a little comfortable in his own skin and forgets or assumes that I will somehow predict his body and steer clear.

(Why would I ever steer clear of a boy?)

Caleb nods. I know what you mean. (HUH? OH. Right.) How about we head downtown for a coffee first and then we'll get organized?

I nod again.

Is this going to be a one-sided sort of day? I was hoping for a little more companionship. 

Maybe you should find someone more likable then for today. Dalton might be up for it. I wave his confusion away. Long story. Big story. Long, big story. Nevermind. I stifle a laugh-sob and pull myself together.

Caleb takes my hands and brings them together as if in prayer and then pulls them up to his lips. He kisses my fingertips and smiles down at me. I have no idea what you're talking about but I think we need a day to just go and maybe skip school and have some fun. Would that be better?

I nod again before forgetting and saying yes, even as I have my doubts. Last week when Sam said the same thing and we went off and bonded over ice skates and hot chocolate and strolls through the shops I came home and got yelled at, this after being yelled at the day before for not leaving the house. Not sure they like me making decisions so may as well let everyone else do it and I'll reap the benefits (and the punishments too.)

At least all the surprises are intentional and not just from dreaming.

Lochlan is sitting on the front porch with me going full Elvis treatment on John Lennon's Starting Over. He does a mean arrangement of this song, but the Elvis part always makes me giggle uncontrollably. He winks and postures with the guitar from his chair and then puts it down and says, what have we here? when we see an unfamiliar car come down the drive. Because they have the gate code he stands up.

It's just Matt in a dealership loaner.

Ah. 

Wait. 

I don't go and get Sam quite yet. In case Matt is here just to collect something he forgot. The timing is suspect because Sam is usually at work right now and he's downstairs sleeping instead, after staying up far too late talking with August and Ben last night by the fire, the Christmas tree lights left on for a quiet light by which to sort out his head and his heart.

Hey. Sam is home. He's sleeping. 

May I...uh. Can I see him? 

You don't have to ask. I was just warning you in case you didn't want to see him. 

Of course I want to see him. I went to the church first but they said he came home to nap.

Did you move out prematurely? I hope so. I stand there, dealbreaker that I am, trying to be nice in hopes that Matt will reconsider his opinion of me.

We tend to work things through more proficiently if we don't sleep in the same space after talking. 

There's another room upstairs you can stay in if it would be easier. 

It's fine thanks. I've got it covered. 

Okay. I stand completely helplessly in his way until Lochlan gently pulls me away from the door. Matt smiles gratefully at him and goes inside. As well as Matt and I get along on our own, we're still strangers and I'm enemy number one after all this time and it makes me sad.

Death on the beach.

Now my feet won't touch the ground
Now my head won't stop
You wait a lifetime to be found
Now my feet won't touch the ground

We need to discuss Christmas.

You're welcome to come and spend the days. Henry's off from the eighteenth. You know this.

I didn't mean Henry. I meant you.

He's wasting no time in exploiting Loch's newly minted generosity. I should tell him that generosity is only extended when Loch gets comfortable and the minute Caleb starts squeezing me again that will change. But he knows.

I'm here. I'll be around. 

Maybe we can make some plans. A movie night or something? Dinner? A weekend away?

Breakfast?

His eyebrows go up. He assumes the best all the time. Love that about him. You and your McBreakfasts. 

Hey. Be kind. I like fried food in the morning. 

And at night? 

I'd rather drink my dinner. 

Speaking of drink. Why is everyone suddenly on the edge of falling off? 

Holidays are hard. 

Yes. I'm well aware. I miss my brother more at this time of year, I think. 

Do you though? 

Don't you?

Yeah. 

Cole loved Christmas. It was the one time he was truly content. He loved the snow, the lights, the magic. He loved the traditions and the tree and the children's excitement. He loved opening presents.

Whoops. I went wading into Caleb's memories and missed the dropoff. Suddenly I'm treading water, far out with the black water underneath, my heavy skirts pulling my head under.

But I fight.

Everyone loves Christmas. Have you met Ben? 

Lochlan doesn't. I don't.

Everyone has their reasons for their feelings. But he knows and today he's turning screws because he doesn't want Sam's sudden blindingly-bright, painfully-loud needs to overshadow his own loneliness. Suddenly a wave of sadness comes out of nowhere, destroying my efforts to save myself.

You've both been alone. 

Ben's been alone. 

You can't draw a map using Ben as a guide. You should know this by now. 

So it looks like I'm in a boat with Loch this year. Maybe we'll row over and save you. Or maybe well pretend we didn't see you in the first place. He pushes my head under and swims away, taking his memories with him. The water fills my lungs and then retreats, leaving me coughing and wretching on the rocks, wondering what I did now to piss him off.

Oh, right.

Nothing. I did nothing. And he hates that the most.

I'd still save him first so the sticker is just a redundancy.

Here in this world
How would you know
What the angels look like?

Benjamin turned forty-seven last week and for some reason I can't explain he is happier now then he has ever been.

I made a huge chocolate cake for the huge birthday boy and he ate almost half of it and promptly turned into a huge hyperactive child. So we took him bowling and tried to dilute the sugar in his bloodstream with bad bowling alley pizza and failed miserably. He also managed to crack a ball just by touching it.

That's my Benny. Tough as nails, awkward as a duck on ice skates, sweet as that cake I baked. He offered to pay for the ball but was told it had just come out of unheated storage and they were having problems with those balls all week. He nodded very somberly and pointed out he has no problems with his balls ever. Loch and I were both doubled over snorting by now but the creepy guy behind the counter didn't notice and thought that just maybe Ben was a pro bowler.

(Ben is not a pro bowler. I don't believe he's even an amateur yet but he had an awful lot of fun.)

We had his official birthday dinner last night because we were waiting on Danny, Schuy and PJ to come home and they did while I was telling you about Sam last evening and then telling you to fuck off. Yes, I was cooking and wrapping and preparing for a party all the while swearing at the world. A fierce little multitasker, I am.

You know I love you but I get easily frustrated by your judgements. You try living here. Wait, you try being me and tell me you'd do better. Tell me you'd want to do better. I'm just happy that Ben is happy. When he is content it is as if I am too and I don't know why that is but I like it.

And he liked having his birthday stretched out into almost a full week of celebrations. When he was growing up it fell close enough to Christmas that he would be deprived of a full birthday party on account of the holidays and a lack of cash, with two working parents who were too busy trying to keep two six-foot-something boys fed, let alone have anything extra. So I like to spoil him thoroughly and he says that once again I have.

I sat on his knee after dinner (it's becoming a thing), his arm around my waist, his lips on my shoulder as he tried to keep his shit together while he listened to the speeches we give when someone turns another year older. When it was my turn last I stood up and said the words I wrote down a while back, as I have a year to work on these, you see, and as I spoke his eyes did that wonderful thing where they glass up and spill over and shine and when I finished he grabbed me back into his arms and told me he loved me. That he loves me more than anyone else does, and that he is so proud that I am with him. Then we had presents, and then we had things I can't write about because my mom wanted to hear about his birthday.

One of his favorite gifts this year out of everything was a novelty sticker for the glass by the front door that has a picture of the beast from Beauty and the Beast and it says In case of Fire, please save the Ben inside.

Fuck off.

If you're too judgmental to understand satire, sarcasm or just plain tongue-in-cheek irony, maybe it's time to find another blog to read. Jesus Christ. I write prose for a living.

Do I have it all?

Not even close.

But it's ironic that I am a magnet for ruined people just like me.

But seriously, if you have time to send me crappy letters, you have time to look for new things to read.

The moment I knew I had it all (except for the things I really wanted).

(Sundays are for honesty and ridiculousness.)

Sam's love for me is not all that romantic, so get over yourselves. His loyalty, however, is the supreme force to be reckoned with and when pushed, he (like me) will burn you the fuck down with it. Matt thought it would be easy to win over and he's struggled and when it got bad enough he'd take an assignment to get away from it but things haven't changed and things probably won't change. He gave Sam an ultimatum and Sam didn't budge an inch.

Lochlan looks at me last night, fire reflecting in his eyes, whiskey diluting his blood and he says why are you so good at this?

I shrug. You taught me to charm people for a living. And so that's what I do.

Why can't you turn it off?

Why would I for him? Why would I for anyone that I love? You said, if you want that brass ring give it everything you've got and so I do. A hundred percent all the time for all of you and nothing for anyone else.

This isn't how I meant. The brothers twisted everything we did and made it into something irreversible. Something too powerful.

You're not happy with me anymore?

It's not that. It's just you built this army but now you can no longer control it.

I can. But I try not to. I let the chips fall because anything else and we would be a cult.

We are a cult, Bridget.

I know we are. But are you happy, Lochlan? 

Very. I can't even explain it. I thought my jealousy would be worse than Matt's is. Worse than anything but it doesn't seem to be an issue sometimes. 

Only with the Devil. 

Not even with him so much anymore. 

My eyebrows go up and my brain starts churning but I don't reply. Too busy wondering if Sam can actually weather the storm of knowing he's alone except for the odd warm front of affection that gets forecast now and again.  A front that isn't really appropriate but that no one would dare complain about all the same.

Two more disciples for my collective. No one's on the fringe now. Not even Caleb.

Oh noes.

Oh noes.

Oh yes.

Oh shit. 

Bowling for Bridget.

Found another Little Caesars and found a reason to go in (dinner) and we bought everything they had ready (hot-n-ready? WTF YES PLEASE) and brought it home and after fifteen minutes in the oven to get things back to piping hot (we don't live near town) we were happily eating. So happily. I'm currently plotting a crazy bread revolution. Because damn. Ben pulled me onto his lap as I was clearing plates and held a leftover box up with the other arm and said, she weighs this much more now. He was rewarded with the sort of adoring laughter that used to meet Cole head-on across the dinner table with the same crowd.

It kind of weirded me out but I was so sluggish from the pizza that my brain crawled along at the pace of a turtle and I let it be dismissed along with my hunger.

Lochlan used to look for the good in being hungry. He quoted Hemingway. He would have me count streetlights or highway markers or hours or stars until food. He sometimes had to stretch them out more than he wanted. Cole never wasted a minute on hunger. If he asked at three in the morning and I nodded that I was hungry he would go make something or go out and get takeout for me.

Ben is sometimes a lot more like Cole than anyone else but only in the good ways.

Or I mean mostly in the good ways.

Ben released me but took the plates when he stood up and told me to go check in on Sam and Matt to see if they wanted some of the pizza we had left and I went down and knocked on their door. No one answered so I knocked again. I heard Sam tell me to come in and so I went inside and walked down the hall looking for him. I finally found him in their bedroom. He was sitting on the side of the bed. The closet was almost empty, and so were half the bureau drawers and Sam was holding an open bottle of whiskey. I don't know if he had any but I have to assume he did.

He's gone. He's gone like Lisabeth and I'm alone now except for God. 

And he threw the bottle at me and I didn't even duck or close my eyes.

It knocked me down and then shattered all over me and the wall in the process and Ben came downstairs and Sam was saying sorry to him but Ben told him to shut the fuck up and called for the rest who were more than a little surprised because Sam has been sober forever without so much as a flinch in the wrong direction. Even through the miscarriages. Through everything. I tried to point out what seemed so obvious and boy, was that dumb.

You really loved him.

No. I really love you. That's the problem. And I didn't drink it. Not a drop.

Everyone turned and looked at me as I sat on the floor in a pool of glass and whiskey and I didn't know what to do except wish there was a rewind button for life so we could say oops and roll it back and get another chance.

I believe him. He's a truthful kind of guy.

Now that he's upstairs in the kitchen drinking coffee with my army in the relative safety of the knowledge that as long as you admit your feelings up front you can stay here forever. Apparently that's all I ask for. Your soul (because I don't have one of my own) and your undying loyalty (because I'm scared).

Annnnnnd...Matt is home!

Cross your fingers because this morning Joel told Sam he was being very immature about what amounts to an extended business trip. I might have taken a bite out of Joel to protect Sam's feelings because how would Joel fucking know anything about anything?

Instead of a relaxing Friday night everything is tense and crazy. I just want Sam and Matt to have some uninterrupted time to work through whatever they need to. Without me. Without Joel. Just the two of them. I'll be downstairs with Ben's huge headphones listening to Ella and Louis and getting shitfaced alone.

Because I can.

Pick a flower, hold your breath.

Yes, I cried when I heard the news. I have a pretty short list of people I adore who don't live in my immediate vicinity.

And I'm pretty sure I'm the only person on this planet with the entirety of the lyrics to Still Remains tattooed on my back. Sandwiched between the giant scrawled words in Caleb's handwriting, Neamhchiontach and Croíbhristeoir, because it was the one song Jacob couldn't actually sing successfully (he was a minister with a Stone Temple Pilots cover band if you're green to SWP) so I put it there as a challenge, that maybe he could someday sing it all the way through in heaven. It's a difficult song to breathe through, the same as today is a difficult day to breathe through because we lost a huge shining light that makes up fully half my life's soundtrack. A tiny man with big showmanship, a man who entertained me for nights and hours, in person and through my headphones, and left an indelible mark with his words. A man who had his demons on his heels the whole damn time he lived. I hope they've left him now.

Rest peacefully Scott Weiland. And thank you for everything.

(Croíbhristeoir means heartbreaker. Everything Caleb has ever called me in kindness goes on my skin as a label for all eternity, but this post isn't about him, because he is still alive.)

I'm so fucking sad. 

Jesus Christ.

Telling fortunes, telling truths (a real gobsmacker from thirteen and eight).

What is the lie-berry like at the Junior high? Do they have The Hardy Boys?

It's lie-braire-ee, Peanut. The R comes right after the B. Like in Bridget.

Right! Lie-berry! So do they?

No, just books for teenagers. 

Like what?

Horror books mostly. John Saul and Stephen King. And stuff like Raise the Titanic. 

No Judy Blume? 

That's for babies. 

Wow. I'm not a baby! 

You're eight. Yesterday you were a baby. Tomorrow you'll still be a baby. But someday you'll be a big kid. 

Will you still be in junior high when I start going there too? 

No, I'll be in high school then. 

I wonder what the lie-berry is like up there. 

It's all encyclopedias and microfiche machines. 

So, boring? 

Learning is always boring, Bridge. 

Not if your friends are with you. I'm by myself and you guys are all in Junior High and it's a disaster, Lochlan.

I can't help the fact that I'm thirteen. 

I know. 

What's your favorite book right now, Bridge? 

A Little Princess, by....I forget who wrote it. It's a girl writer. 

What's it about?

A little girl who gets sent to boarding school by her father and she's very rich but then he dies and the headmistress takes away all of the girl's pretty things and makes her live in the attic where she invents stories in her head to escape her oppressive life alone. She's finally saved by a rich man who knew her father and lives happily ever after. Well, as happy as one can be orphaned.

Oppressive. You can use oppressive correctly in a sentence but you can't pronounce library? 

Prio-rites, Locket.

That's prior-i-tees, Bridge. You're a funny little kid. 

I'd be better if I was in your grade. 

I'm dropping out in a couple years anyway. So I'll never be there. 

I get a weird little flutter of panic in my chest when he says that so I put both hands across my heart suddenly and hold my breath.

He is taken aback. What are you doing? 

I don't know. It hurt a lot when I thought of you not being around. Like right here. I point at my chest.

He smiles. I know. I get that feeling too when I think about being away from you.

Well, maybe someday I'll meet a rich man like in the book and then I can use all of his money to make sure you're always here. With me.

Does that mean you have to go through a lot of difficulties first and someone has to die? 

Oh, probably but I think it would be worth it. 

Hindered spirits.

(Here's the thing. And I have all kinds of time because I'm hiding out from Batman who's been looking for me for two days but he also can't just walk in like he owns the place because he doesn't. I do. Remind me, I need to get the key from Caleb. That's going to be a fight. Apparently I need better boundaries. Right and longer eyelashes too but a girl can only work with what she was born with, right? And I was born with a brain so flawed that it was easy to exploit me into what I am now. I'll take full responsibility for it though. Instead of actually making changes I just take circuitous routes back around to where I started.)

You should have gone with Matt. 

I know but I'm too busy to be flitting around Europe right now as the kept wife. It's Christmas, for fucks sakes, Bridget. Sorry, Gina. Sam calls out to the cleaning lady who is frowning at me because Sam swore. I point to him and she smiles and disappears again.

Matt's coming home this weekend for a break, a visit, a fight. Something big, anyway. Sam isn't doing well. He's retreated. He goes to the church and he comes home and disappears downstairs to his apartment. He hasn't joined us for any meals. Hasn't asked how anyone is doing. Didn't add his opinions to the whole PJ saga that turned out to be completely harmless (but cloaked in that famous frat-boy humor that pervades throughout the point) and he hasn't exactly been truthful about his answers when asked how he's doing. I'm glad he threw himself into his work. I'm glad he's keeping busy. And I'm absolutely devastated by his absence. I followed him down to church again in my pajamas but no one bats an eye about that anymore, they just give us even more space than usual.

Bridget, I don't think things are good with him. It would be like if Ben just kept going out on the road and didn't notice if you were lonely. Didn't notice when you were sad. Had this perfect life mapped out otherwise. Hit all the right notes with romantic gestures and all the right answers about the present and the future but completely missed the part where all you feel is lonely. Shouldn't he be able to tell? If you give someone your heart, shouldn't they be able to understand the language it's written in? I thought if I had him that I wouldn't feel like this any more. This isn't a hole God can fill, I don't mean I'm not fulfilled as a person but when it comes to love I shouldn't feel like this. You know? 

I can't answer him because my brain got stuck on the part where he said 'If you give someone your heart, shouldn't they be able to understand the language it's written in?' It's when I realized things really aren't any better or different between Sam and Matt, and it's when I realized that I've ruined Sam too and I fell a little harder in love with him (oops) and I nodded to him as tears rolled down my face and he said he didn't want to make me sad for him, that I'm sad enough, and he said to come on, that we'd go play hooky for a day and maybe then we'd both feel better, but first I need to go home and change. And come back and he should be finished and we'll head out.

I wiped my face with my sleeves and he laughed a little bit shakily and said it felt good to be able to talk to me one on one without the army waging war over my head and I realized he wasn't avoiding me, he just didn't want to add to the mess that is my life and I told him that's a mistake because he has a way of sorting everyone out and fixing things that we let fester so long, or maybe he can just come and talk to us and he'll feel that much less lonely. I lie, in other words, because that doesn't work.

At least we're good for each other. He smiles and wipes his own tears away quickly.

Oh, I highly doubt that. You must not be current on the family memos. I ruin everybody. 

Naw, Bridget. You're just looking for someone who speaks the language of your heart. 

You don't think they do? 

I think some of them have enough words to get by, if you know what I mean. 

I don't know if I do, but it gives me lots to think about on my way home.

The lesser.

I really wish you'd stop interfering. Lochlan scowls at Caleb, who actually came over to feast on some crow after being told in no uncertain terms by Joel that for PJ to be banished (even temporarily) right now at this perfect juncture between Ben's birthday and New Years would be detrimental and probably highly destructive to my well-being.

(I'm guessing Joel finally picked a side and is going to be looking for his brownie points from me from now on.)

I got to tell Caleb this morning and invited him over for his bird-meal. I may film it and put it on Youtube. 'Millionaire's latest attempt at scorched-earth campaign goes bust.'

But for some reason he is still full of fire. Fire and feathers, now.

If it weren't for my interference, you two would be bickering over a nickel in a run-down trailer park somewhere. You'd be drunk and she'd be scared and hungry. Bridget wasn't meant to live like that. I know you're hellbent to, though, so there's the door. 

Diabhal. You aren't allowed to speak to him like that. 

I am, actually. I pay his bills. 

No, I do. 

With the money I give you. 

I'm not here for your money, Caleb.

I forgot. Those with means are in a lineup behind me. See, Pyro? You're never going to have what you want. You should just get out while you still can before you end up like the others. Save yourself. 

And leave her for you? Never. 

Am I in a movie? I spin around looking for the cameras but they're well-hidden, I guess. I can't see them. Both men stop and look at me without words. Loch finally says What are you doing? 

Nothing. Thinking. 

About? 

How to fix this so you two don't kill each other. You have four years left. You're more than halfway through this forced arrangement. 

Going to be a long four years. Loch says it almost under his breath just as Caleb starts to laugh.

You won't leave here once the custody arrangement ends. I know you better than you think I do, Bridget. 

Maybe you'll leave. Maybe I'll lock the point down and everyone will have to move.

You would miss this too much. Miss having all of your boys around. Miss having them watch you, touch you, give you whatever it is you don't get from him. 

Definitely a movie. Right on cue Loch dives at Caleb and Duncan and Dalton rush in to pull them apart. I give up. What's my role again? Oh yes, I go out and stand on the edge of the cliff and look out to sea while the camera does a slow pan away from me until I'm but a speck of black on the screen while the credits roll.

Really I just didn't want PJ to feel like he was being shoved out and I don't want Lochlan to feel like he's a charity case. But I worried prematurely. Both things fixed themselves. Lochlan brought me a quarterly rent cheque and told me I'm not to cover it anymore but he would like receipts from Caleb himself, and PJ assured me that he didn't feel pressured to go and really he's happy to remain but he is taking his next long weekend and going to visit some family. I sat looking at the cheque for a while, doing the math in my head and I finally went back to Loch and asked where it came from.

I have a sugar daddy too these days. Thought you would have noticed by now. 

I just stood there with my eyes wide because I wasn't putting two and two together. I'm so bad at math.

Batman. I got a Christmas bonus. Early, he said, so I'd have it to use for Christmas. Oh, and the rest of the year off. He's not a bad boss actually. 

So this is the bonus?And you're giving it to me? 

No, that's just this week's paycheque. The bonus is in the bank. More money than I've ever seen. And it's ours, Peanut. No strings. 

From Batman. 

Yes. 

Oh, there will be strings, Loch. 

Still twelve and seventeen, apparently.

I got annoyed at iTunes this morning for not taking the playlists I have made on my phone and populating them over onto my macbook. Is this even a thing?

As usual Lochlan won't help with anything because he expects me to be technologically independent so I threatened to go back to using a Blackberry. Drag and drop. No problems. If Ruth burns through any more iphones I may have to go back to Blackberry anyway because they're less than half the price of a new iphone so I would just give her mine and revert. We shall see.

I'm not independent in any way, frankly and I don't know why he persists except that he is hurting today and lashing out because the Cirque show brought up feelings in him that he has no place to put anymore. I tied him down. I took him out of his comfort zone and stuck him rigidly into Happily Ever After right smack up against the Devil even though I knew when I fell in love with Lochlan that he would rather die than sit still, ever.

Oh, good choice of words, Loch. Excellent. Now please excuse me while I run upstairs and cry my eyes out for ruining your life. 

That's not what I meant. 

It seems pretty clear to me. 

I miss it, Bridget. Don't you miss it? Life was simpler. Everything was simpler. There was so much magic. 

You have to find the magic in other ways now. It's still simple if you keep it that way. 

This isn't simple, Bridget. 

So your fix for it is to hurt me? 

No, I just want to make you see the things you seem to have forgotten. 

I didn't forget. 

Maybe you were just too young to remember.

Maybe it was just too hard to live like that. 

I can see that. It's much nicer and cushier here with the Devil emptying his wallet on you.

That's not what I meant. 

Then what did you mean? 

It's safer here. 

Why? He's right in your face so he can't sneak up on you any more?

Pretty much. 

Well, I wanted more for you. For us. 

And I GAVE IT TO YOU. Even though it's cost me most of your trust in the process. 

I wonder if this was worth it, Bridget. Do you really think it is?

I don't see any other way. 

Well, you would, but you've grown too use to this gilded life to consider anything else. You sat there complaining about your phone this morning. We used to walk to the payphone, a mile there and a mile back. Did you forget already?

That was in the eighties! Before cellphones. You're not seriously going to use that as an argument are you?

I was but I'm sure you've bought all your answers in order to be sure you'd win. Or he did for you.

This is exactly why I ran away and joined the circus.

Sorry I didn't post yesterday. I nearly imploded from the impending excitement of attending Kooza, the Cirque Du Soleil show that arrived in town last month and didn't really get my shit together again until I fell asleep on Ben watching Rogue Nation in our theater last night.

(The movie was boring. Wasn't it? I didn't really find it interesting enough to stay awake.)

But Kooza.

Well, Oh My God.

I watched it with tears in my ears. I saw things I've done. Things I couldn't do. Things I wished I could still do. Things that made me laugh, made me cry. It was positively full of heart. I loved the historical costumes and I loved the skeletons too. I actually considered re-applying to work for them.

I bought a lot of souvenirs. Christmas ornaments, t-shirts. I bought six-dollar water.

Things have changed when you can charge six dollars for water and people buy it without blinking but it's also Vancouver.

Heh.

I think my favorite big part was the two athletes on the wheels. And my favorite small part was when,  both during the pre-show and the actual show, they would bring an audience member onstage for a moment and when they escorted them off one of the clowns would reach into his pocket and throw a handful of confetti into the air at their back.

I don't know why but that always seems touching to me.

I might have spent some time again wondering why it all turned out so differently for me, but eventually everyone leaves the road and moves on. It isn't an easy life, all told, though it's more magical than most.

Lochlan's eyes watered the whole time too. When we got home he went to our room and didn't come out again. I know he feels it. It hurts because it's so beautiful and because we can't go back again. I mean, we could but it wouldn't be the same.

Lost at last.

I found my latest happy place this morning, sitting on the wet sand at the edge of the water on my beach, (because the rocks and logs were all slippery-frosted over and wet seemed better than slick and I made a mistake, okay?)  headphones in and David Gilmour's song In Any Tongue on repeat, Cole's big grey sweater wrapped tightly around me.

This is the best. The sand is ice-cold, the music is glorious (the album is hit and miss, though Faces of Stone, A Boat Lies Waiting and the leads in the intro and outro are glorious. Also The Girl in the Yellow Dress is amazingly smooth and jazzy, a surprise. I wish Gilmour's voice was stronger. I wish he wouldn't age. Eventually there won't be any new music and we will still listen closely and hear things we never heard before. I will, anyway. I miss a lot.

In the meantime, I'll be here. Winter has finally arrived at my beach and once you survive the trip down here, it's the perfect place to be alone.

Not that I need to be alone or anything. I don't actually like to be alone but I also don't like to be anywhere but here.

This house is made of cards and they're old and flimsy and don't hold up at ALL.

I'm not sure why everyone is harping on her Majesty the Queen for carrying her purse in her own home.

I do that.

Mostly because I bring it down in the morning and put it on the table in the foyer. If there's people around the property that I don't know I leave it on the desk in the kitchen. At night I bring it back upstairs and put it on the dresser in my closet.

If I go out I make Ben carry it.

See? Simple.

Thought right now there's too much stuff in it but I vetted everything and it all passed muster so I think I really need something bigger. I always loved carrying diaper bags. You could bring damned near everything you own. Case in point, I pare down my bag and then instantly need something I have left behind.

Also don't disparage the Queen. Thank you.

Speaking of queens royalty, PJ is considering a trip for Christmas after all. The Devil is such an asshole. I asked PJ what he was going to do because he's about to start his chocolate advent calendar so he can't leave now.

I could bring it with me. 

No. Sorry. They aren't portable. 

What are you talking about? It would fit in my bag.

I said no. 

Oh, I get it. You just don't want me to go. 

Of course I don't. I don't care if you travel but not because he wants to call the shots. 

Don't worry. I've been kind of restless lately anyway. I won't give him credit. 

Why can't you go in the spring instead?

Bridget, people need to be with their families at Christmas. 

I am your family!  I might have stomped my foot with that sentiment to drive home my point but I was holding my purse and it was heavy.

The Devil you don't.

Caleb suggested that PJ take a few weeks off and come back at New Years, refreshed and refocused. He is worried that PJ can't do a good job what with all the distractions around here. I told Caleb he could stuff his opinions into the cold marble house on the hill and also what is he doing with that place anyway?

Establishing my role as King of the Mountain. But he laughs when he says it. He worries. About me. About PJ. About the children, though he doesn't have to worry about them. PJ puts them first and is the best nanny a mom could dream of, honestly and I'm not going to send him away unless he wants to go.

He already said we're all making a mountain out of a molehill and he doesn't want to go anywhere.

Good, then that's settled and I can get back to dancing to Dark Side of the Sun. Because something something Modeselektor and no metal cred anymore anywhere.

It's fine. Really. I just wish I could figure out the words. Besides Bitch motherfucker, because that part is obvious. LOL.

***

Other weird things about today:

~Pinterest has a shitload of 'one-pot wonder' meal recipes that are amazing. We just do five stock pots on the stove instead of one. And it reduces the need for an hour of slavery over the stove. I finally found a use for that website.

~Fingerless gloves look really good on everybody.

~ Hanukkah starts in less than two weeks!

~Christmas is THIRTY days away. I asked for beards. Razor burn works very well as a....macrodemabrasion feature but I fear in places I don't have much skin left. What happened to Vikings and Highlanders and..and MOVEMBER, people??

~OH. The last two episodes of American Horror Story: Hotel have brought me back around. It's good now, finally. The serial-killer dinner party was by far the worst thing I've ever seen so really they had to work hard to keep me interested. Otherwise I'll just continue with Sons of Anarchy. I just started it and it's really good, save for the cheesy intro. Ben and I keep making jokes about our tattoos flying off our bodies and doing other things while we stand stoically behind them.

It's good though. I want to binge-watch it but there's just too much other stuff to do. Namely dance.

I still love you.

In my defence what is there to say
All the mistakes we made must be faced today
It's not easy now knowing where to start
While the world we love tears itself apart
I'm just a singer with a song
How can I try to right the wrong
For just a singer with a melody
I'm caught in between
With a fading dream

I wake up alone this morning. PJ is back in full force and has the kids off to school on time, affording me an extra hour of sleep. He sent Ben off to his meeting, taking Duncan with him (they are inseparable sometimes) and runs interference for me with Caleb.

Caleb can be very bossy.

When I come downstairs, Lochlan is sitting at the piano playing and singing. In My Defence. Freddie Mercury. He shares his birth date and his love of showmanship but there's no audience today. Just me with my teacup in the doorway watching his shoulders move with his hands, the sunlight hitting the sleepy curls on the back of his neck and the fuzziness of a soft t-shirt and pajama pants. He was waiting for me to get up and didn't go far, I guess.

He tilts his head sideways indicating a place for me to sit beside him on the bench so he can finish the song and I do. He smiles sideways and pulls out all the stops. A performance just for me. It kind of makes me cry except I'm not awake and I'm always more anxious about him hitting a high note when he sings than I ever have been when he's lighting me or himself on fire.

Oh here he goes.

Yup. Got it. My insides turn all mushy and my eyes threaten to overspill. He smiles when he sings the last part which changes it completely and then he ends with a sweet little flourish on the keys. He taught himself to play piano in the first circus we worked for, in the kitchen on Sunday mornings while everyone else was at church under the big top because he said he only worshipped me and the almighty dollar but he was just being a shit back then.

Wait, he's still a shit now so never mind that but he can be romantic when he wants to be, even at ten a.m. on a Tuesday in pajamas.

(Si me ven, si me ven, voy camino de Belen.)

Today I sit in the Doctor's office for an extra, unnecessary hour after my appointment time has passed, trapped by endless commercial-free Christmas music, texting with both Batman and Caleb while I wait. While my brain screams from the unwelcome assault of tinny, crappily-recorded questionably-Christmasy songs.

Half of them are in Spanish.

All of them are too soon.

Caleb wants to know if there is going to be any recidivism on PJ's part. I reminded him there's been no punishment, only swift disapproval and that this whole matter is none of Caleb's business.

Batman wants to know if Caleb is minding his own business and if I need anything. Anything at all.

I need my appointments to be on time. I need to blare the Christmas music to everyone else so that I don't have to listen to it anymore. I need Monday to be over. I need to learn to be a better parker. I just lost my grocery shopping time sitting here listening to El Burrito Sabanero and I vow to put my headphones in my purse so that I never have to do this again.

I text Ben and ask if he will save me. He texts back that that is Sam's job and he is merely an angel of the lord Samuel.

They made up and he's being cheeky. That's good.

Oh God. Rodolfo El Reno. This one makes my ears bleed. I text Lochlan and ask if he will save me. He doesn't reply. He's building a network for Batman somewhere. I hate computers. I don't know how to use them much save for someone planting me in front of a game of Half Life 2:  Deathmatch over the weekend, where I won a game and then got learned hard. It's like Quake 3: Arena only you can throw objects and set trip mines and the maps are more detailed.

Otherwise it's precisely the same and I love it.

Wish I had a gravity gun right now, I'd pick up Christmas and move it back to after American Thanksgiving, instead of before, at the very least. To buy myself a few extra weeks of Christmas-free existence instead of having it shove right in after Halloween disappears, leaving a space behind in the calendar that Christmas is determined to fill, Latin donkeys and all.

Oh, they just called my name. Bye.

Closures.

Ben and PJ had it out on the lawn this morning while Sam (on his final Sunday off for the year because advent begins next week) stood there supervising them from the safety of the patio steps.

With paintball guns and day-glow orange paintballs.

Oh, and PJ wasn't armed and may have been running away. Because cold paintballs hurt like fuck and PJ may have made the mistake of losing his patience with the endless comments about how he was just like every other man here except possibly more desperate and he told the wrong person to fuck right off already and Ben looked at him quite crossly and put down his coffee and said,

Run. 

Padraig isn't actually stupid so he did. It took Ben a couple minutes to load up and then he was off after PJ, faster than you would think for someone so big and now I have another outfit to soak in the set tub in the laundry room for a few days. Pointlessly, as the paint never comes out completely.

Once PJ made it to the pool Sam suggested to Ben that he give up and maybe try using words instead of paintballs so Ben turned around and shot him in the chest.

(Another outfit to soak. Christ, boys.)

Sam swore at him and Ben cut him off, saying it would be no different had it been Sam in the hotseat and Sam said something about wishing he could be so lucky so Ben shot him in the mouth.

Oh, stop it. He was far enough away. I've eaten many a paintball in my life. Granted, through a mask. With a lot of scared-sounding apologies afterward (Sorry, Bridget! Oh my God! Are you okay? That was supposed to go over your head!)

Sam swore again and turned and went inside. I passed him and went outside to take the gun from Ben (Give me that and maybe you should run before I shoot you too.) and then put the gun in a place they won't find for a bit (no one looks down low) and messaged PJ with an apology for Ben's attack and Sam's apparent initial blindness that morphed into regret.

PJ said it was okay, that he already told Ben he was sorry even though he isn't actually sorry.

I laughed. In spite of myself, I laughed. PJ is human. I'm flattered but also highly aware of the balance of our closeness and the distance that necessitates to succeed. As is he. Now more than ever. Sam? Well, he's a different story. He said some uncharacteristic, inflammatory things, but I'll have to deal with him later when he's in a better mood. Maybe at the end of the paintball gun again, though I prefer the pressure washer. It's messier and sends a message that holds no ambiguity whatsoever. It screams I'm drowning and out of control, instead of Ha, I left a neato color on you! It demands to be dealt with rather than being diffused by moving out of the line of sight. 3000 psi trumps 300 any day of the week.

Sam will agree with me once he is soaked to the skin.

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHH.

A little over a month after the acrylic nail tips experiment and my nails are still peeling, thin and weak. My fingertips itch and my hands look like those of a child. Sigh. Daniel said no more nail polish so I dug out the cuticle oil and am religiously using it two or three times a day. This is akin to winters in the prairies when my fingertips would crack and bleed as they dried out in the cold, no matter what I did. Lesson learned. You can try to be perfect looking but if you're Bridget, it's never going to work.

I can distract with cuteness because I am clearly never going to be one of those tall leggy sexy super model type women.

I need to be okay with this and every time I think I am I get waylaid by some weird beauty trend that they all seem to pull off that I can't even remotely navigate, let alone maintain long term.

Like eyelash extensions. Fake nails. Stilettos. Waxing. Running. Very long hair. Diets. Bras. Hosiery. Lace. Body conscious clothing. I don't know. Pick something. I was raised by wolves. I don't know how to be a girl. The only reason I know I'm a girl is that I have an undying love of handbags and everyone always wants to get into my pants.

Narnia, dryer edition.

We woke up to winter today as the usual sandwich made of L&B&B (much to the relief of the whole collective, for whom it is none of their business), to a world of white-frosted everything. My car went away on Monday, as I held out to the very last second with it's riduclous summer tires and lowerable (or maybe that's raisable) wing. It isn't a winter car so it will be stored offsite. I don't think the R8 is either but Caleb persists with it to keep up his Christian Grey vibe or whatever.

It is a hot car. If I could have sex with a car, well, wait a minute, it would be a bright-green Dodge Super Bee with a 440 six pack.

I'm not dumb.

They raised me better than my stories would have you believe, actually and finicky American muscle somehow will always trump reliable German engineering for the cool factor, in the same way FrankenBen trumps everyone else with the sheer expanse of morning wood he wakes up with.

It was not frosted over from the cold. No, it's probably the warmest part of Ben, if I recall, except I don't have to recall, he reminds me right away. Tout de suite. Post haste. He's still mad at me for waking up in PJ's bed, though that's not exactly my fault so it's semi-hate sex which is sadly my favorite kind.

Then he's gone to shower and find Duncan for a meeting and then he's actually going to finish working for the year. His work is akin to self-directed grade school in that they give him a final timeline and he can either do it regularly or wait and get it all done at the end. He waits. He wasn't a good student in school but really none of us were, I don't think, except for Caleb who got good grades to get into law school, and Christian, who's a word nerd like me but he's different because he cares for grammar and doesn't get lost in these crazy run-on sentences like I always seem to because it was always easier for me to write instead of talk.

I was a dreamer in school, which makes sense because I'm a dreamer in life. Instead of focusing on chores I'm looking for the magical worlds past the clothes in the dryer. Instead of paying attention at meetings I'm conjuring stories about the people pouring coffee at the sideboard, or the elevator attendant or maybe the girl I passed walking down the street with her old robin's egg blue wool swing coat on paired with a pretty new pearl-white Dior bag.

Then I realized she was me and I look kind of cute and a little vintage and not very warm in all honesty and probably about to get into trouble because instead of taking this gift back I went and put all my stuff in it and planned a week's worth of outfits around it and decided since it cost around a quarter of what that last bracelet from Tiffany cost I could probably just keep it and soothe the Devil a little bit and everyone's happy.

Well, the Devil is happy because he made a good choice and I didn't take it back and I'm happy because...well, duh. Dior.

But mostly I was happy because I have only three presents left to buy now and then I'm done Christmas shopping. The decorating is coming along. I have my menu plans and wrapping schedule all done and I have set a record in comparison to every other year when I wait too long and then rush around. An old Irish neighbor yelled at me years ago that It's the same feckin' day each year! You know the date! What's the rush?! and she was absolutely right and we've lived by that ever since.

Best of 2015.

When I open my eyes it's to the waning dark, as hints of coral and lavender begin to infiltrate the sky to signify morning and the trees crowd close outside the windows. Yellow walls. A soft pastel shade I chose myself and it's been a long time since I woke up in this room. I can't hear a sound. I close my eyes and almost fall asleep again as his arms tighten around me, pulling me back in close from where his hold had loosened in his sleep.

He ducks his head down against the back of my neck, his lips press against my skin and his breath is cool. He chuckles softly and my eyes fly open.

Oh, fuck, PJ. What time is it?

Time to go back to sleep. Until you hear noise on this level you don't have to get up. 

There will be a witch hunt for me. 

They know where you are. Go back to sleep, Bridget. 

What did you tell them?

Uhh..I told them what happened? That you fell asleep watching Chef's Table with me because pretension makes you groggy and I was going to keep you here until you woke up on your own. Because really, between the pills Loch puts in your food and the ones Caleb puts in your drinks it's a wonder you can ever walk a straight line.

I pull the covers up over my head. This is embarrassing. And also deeply comforting. PJ is a giant teddy bear with his long heavy metal hair, big shoulders and kind eyes. He's the figurative alpha. Absolutely no one ever crosses him or has even tried. Not Caleb, not Cole. Not Jacob. Not Loch. No one fucks with PJ, he's earned our respect a thousand times over.

This might change that though.

What actually happened? 

What the fuck do you mean?

PJ. I'm trying for casual offhandedness and it comes out bewildered. Strangled. Panicky. I point to the chair in the corner by the closet. Those are my clothes, right? Over there? Not actually on me? 

Oh, that.

He gets up (at least SOMEONE remained dressed) and goes over to the chair, picks everything up and tosses it all on the bottom of the bed. I'm going to go start some coffee. You can stay as long as you like. He winks and shoots an imaginary gun at me and turns to leave.

PJ. You leave this room and I'm never speaking to you again! 

Aw, come on, Bridge. I just remembered that you don't like clothes on when you sleep so I figured you'd be more comfortable without them. I should have put a shirt or something on you. I didn't think it was a big deal. Well, I didn't. Until I saw..Uh. Want coffee? 

Saw what?

Nothing. You've ah...got a lot more tattoos since we had our weekend together. 

That was seven years ago, Peej. And you've seen me in a bathing suit since then. Multiple times.

Yep. That's a long time. I mean...up close.

Almost a decade, I suppose.

Almost, Bridget. 

Padraig?

Yes?

Did you cop any feels?

Yes, ma'am. I couldn't help myself.

Which ones?

All of them. You think Ben or Lochlan will kill me first, before the other resurrects me to kill me again?

They won't mind. It's you. 

Huh?

You can get away with things no one else can. You're untouchable. Invaluable. 

Oh, you tell me that NOW. Would have been nice to know that yesterday. 

Wow.

I know. I'm grossing myself out right now. Get out of my bed and dressed. It's your turn to make scrambled eggs. And I can't believe I just said that. Who tells you to get out of their bed? I must be unwell. Maybe you should make the coffee too. Or just stay here. Don't leave. We'll order out.

To drive home his point he pushes all my clothes off the bed onto the floor where I can't reach them.

PJ, give me those. 

You can get them. 

I'm not getting out of this bed with you here.

Then I have won the day. 

(Update: Internet outrage continues on. Christ, people. Stop emailing me to yell about PJ now. I told you a decade ago that the affection levels in my house are neither appropriate nor normal. Kind of like me. That's why no one here on the point is surprised, but everyone off the point is.)

Or you could just come back to me. 

He has his hands in his pockets, facing the window so I can't read his expression.

You're so busy sizing up your next conquests you don't even see the obvious solution. It doesn't have to be public. It wasn't, once upon a time. Let them think they know everything, let them think they can find out whatever secrets they assume I have and meanwhile we can pick up where we last left off. 

He finally turns to look at me and I'm somehow immune to his Jeffrey-Dean gaze.

He points at me and nods. Oh, you're only immune because you're tired and because they drug your food. 

Diabhal-

Neamhchiontach, DON'T. Don't come in here and be sweet and innocent and act like the world is such a wonderful place. It isn't. Humans aren't Good People, Baby, they're miserable, selfish fucks and if you can make this spinning blue ball a little less miserable for me and get something out of it for yourself then what's the harm in it? Where's the harm? He resumes his gaze out the window.

You're such a romantic. 

I'm allowed precious little time to practice it, but I think you would be impressed these days. 

Another time, Diabhal. 

I know. I'm thinking New Year's, hopefully sooner. You're a little ticking time-bomb and I'm no longer the big bad wolf. I'm just a lonely guy with a lot of assets. He chuckles and comes over to me. Indulge an old man in a shared drink? 

I have to check. 

With whom? 

August. 

Oh, well, then I guess that's a no if you're still waiting for permission from the closest thing you can get to Jake. 

I bite my lip while he stares and make a decision I will just pay for later. Not like going anywhere else for company will make the day better, may as well stick with the familiar.

Okay, one drink. Then I need to go. 

Or what, Princess?

Or Loch will get mad. 

He'll turn red, catch fire and then melt like wax the minute you turn those eyes on him. I wouldn't worry about breaking his rules if he's not going to have a suitable punishment. 

I'm a grown woman, there is no punishment. 

You're a child to him. He'll ground you, maybe take away your computer and then you'll charm him back in out of the cold and we'll go around in circles again. 

Or maybe he'll kill you. 

I'm not worried about that, Bridget. His bark was always worse than his bite. He doesn't like conflict. He just wants a simple life with you, on the beach near the fair. 

And I gave him the circus instead. 

That's what he gets for trying to kick it up a notch, doesn't he? 

With very few exceptions.

(Cravings are stupid. That's why three is such a magic number. Without including myself, I mean. Hey, you wanted honesty, well, that's why I write the way I do. I could make myself look good but that wouldn't be fair OR true.)

It's a new day, right? That's what Ben says almost every single morning. So far PJ refused to take me for a walk on the beach even though I got up and put on lined jeans and a big sweater and made a thermos of tea, Lochlan got bombarded with work contracts and one very surprising side gig, Ben took Duncan and Sam to a meeting because Sam is fucking losing it and I had a window of opportunity that allowed me to present myself in Batman's front hall at nine sharp.

Where New-Jake wandered in in pajama pants and I kind of almost bit my tongue to poker-face myself into the expressionless championships. So what does he do? Stands there asking me what I'm up to.

(Obviously not working out like you are, I'm thinking but Batman saves me. He makes New-Jake look like a forbidden teenager and FUCK I'm a cougar here but Batman ratchets me easily back into handsome sugar-daddy territory simply by shooting a cuff to check his watch.

Early for you, isn't it? I'm happy to see you. Join me for coffee?

But the fledgling outrage is already rolling through me and I'm not in the mood. Early? What the fuck, I get up at five or six seven days a week. 

Oh, I wasn't aware. 

Yeah, you were. Pure carny belligerence is taking over. I always forget I'm a lady because it's usually hard to pretend. Thanks for the coffee invite but I can't today. 

Plans?

Lockdown. I just needed to know what's up.

New-Jake is standing there smiling innocently at me. Was he always this good-looking? Someone shoot me, please. Batman stares at him too. Probably not with the same ideas in mind and New-Jake is slow to clue in. Oh. Hey, I gotta go get ready. See you later, Bridget. He grins and disappears down the hall.

Batman looks at me and smiles like a cat who has caught his canary.

What are you thinking, Princess?

I'm curious about your message. 

Oh. It's not for you to worry about quite yet. 

I didn't ask you to dig around under Caleb. 

It's something I would have done anyway. I don't need any un-audited surprises in my life. 

Caleb operates above board. 

Professionally..

It's none of your business to be poking into his private life right now.

Sure it is. I have an interest in seeing that he doesn't pull anything when it comes to you. And since his business interests are closely tied to his arrangements with you it's inevitable that the two paths will cross. 

I didn't ask you for this! 

You don't have to. We look out for you. If you think I'm the only one-

Who else?

I get a list. Half surprises, half confirmations. I don't say anything.

He is well aware that he is closely monitored. It's not as if we're sneaking around, but I have some concerns that will eventually be confirmed, I think. 

Is this something I need to worry about?

As I said, not yet. 

Then for Gods' sakes keep it to yourself. I'm trying to keep from drowning here. 

Then consider me the lifeguard on duty. You sure I can't convince you to join me for a quick breakfast? I know how you like big breakfasts. 

I already ate. (LIES) But thank you. 

How are you going to spend your morning? 

I dunno. (Oh, thank God he CAN'T read my mind at all. It's a traitorous monster right now and I have just enough shame to be offended by my own thoughts about his housemate.) Probably going to go home and take a shower. 

To warm up?

To cool off, actually. 

Oh he knows. He's laughing at me with his eyes. Nice. And I bet if I asked New-Jake would go for a walk on the beach with me. Hell, with a word he would do whatever I asked him to, but like I said I'm a lady so I'd better keep my distance for now.

My mailman has recovered from his nervous breakdown and other Monday tales.

I'm bigger than my body
I'm colder than this home
I'm meaner than my demons
I'm bigger than these bones

My mailman HATES me. After I decided he was inept and unprofessional (no uniform, no badge, nothing, driving a filthy little sedan that seemed to be full of garbage and practically snarling at me every time a package was brought to the house), he disappeared for most of the fall and surfaced today, driving a clean sedan, in uniform and with a smile on his face, as he greeted me and chit-chatted about the shitty weather while he tried to get the packages to scan.

Rehab? Fell in love, maybe? I have no idea. It's just great to get packages again without having to pull them from a snarling void.

We get a lot of mail. This is important.

Caleb also seemed to recover from what seemed to be a panic attack last evening. He got very pale and short of breath and it occurred right in the middle of a fresh tear-down with Ben, who jumped in with both feet after Caleb lobbed a shitty comment at Lochlan about not being able to afford a real trip and Lochlan said something awful in return that I won't even repeat and Ben said it was nice to get away and be in the present without any history in the way.

Or any future, Caleb interjected, because it's not like you two are going to have one with her.

Cue a shoving match, a freshly cracked glass door and maybe I should be the one having a nervous breakdown.

But he gave in so fast and sat down on the back steps and just asked everyone to stop.

That's my cue to lose my mind but he swore he was fine, just tired. Didn't sleep with me away. Worried about my safety and my psychological comfort.

Man, they don't like it when I travel with anyone other than whoever is worrying, do they?

Well, you can rest easy now. I'm home and I'm fine. 

I guess I don't have to worry about any more trips in your future, as it will take Pyro another decade to save for one. 

Don't be an asshole. 

Why not?! He is! 

Wow. You sounded sixteen for a minute there. 

I certainly don't feel it these days, that's for certain. 

***

Five gifts left to buy and I'm fucking DONE Christmas shopping. Done and done.

So happy. Been at it since Labour Day.

Don't act offended, there are only thirty-eight days left!

(I only have eighteen thousand things coming in the mail though, that's why I was so happy to see that my mailman got his shit together finally. Last year I was too afraid to order much of anything at all.)

***

Neat cryptic message from Batman over the weekend as well, and I still can't get ahold of him to find out what it means. Digging. Good news. Someone's full of shit. No worries.

I hate it when people say No worries. It's artificial and flippant. It's usually reserved for stupid things like if I apologize after I ask for an extra topping on a pizza I just ordered that's already been rung through or if we can move tables after being seated in a high-traffic area at a restaurant. As if they have nothing at stake and are trying to talk me off the ledge but they don't actually care. I fucking hate it. Say it to me and I'm liable to rip your face off and shove it down the hole I just made.

Can't wait to see him, in other words.  No worries, indeed.

Pancakes for everyone.

Home too late for church but Sam said he would lecture me later, as he had his hands full with the children all weekend, not that he minded, exactly. That's a long story for tomorrow, for today I'm still on a cloud.

The best moment of the whole thing was when Ben held up his glass of orange juice (because he didn't want the fake champagne because that's like a vegetarian eating wannabe-weiners, he said) and said simply Happy four years. You guys make me so happy. His face held nothing but joy and both Lochlan and I felt our eyes welling up and then my nose started to run and my words left my brain. Because yeah. If Ben is happy it seems like everybody is happy. If he is happy the world is good.

I held up my glass and looked at Ben and said simply, I love you. Then I looked at Lochlan and said I love you and I watched as their eyes misted over something fierce and they returned my words to me so I can keep them forever.

We clinked our glasses again and then Lochlan said about seven hundred words in a mix of Romanian and Gaelic and I had no idea what he said but his eyes were red and streaming by the end of it and he wiped the back of his hand under his nose and looked at the floor and I understood his words without knowing what they were and Ben put his hand out on Loch's shoulder and drew him closer and we stayed like that for a long time with me in the middle but not. All threequal. Even. You know what I mean.

This weekend was sorely needed, a respite from routine and from people too. Not saying the boys aren't very respectful of space and time but sometimes you just....need to sleep until five o'clock without people gingerly knocking on the door asking you if you want anything, if you're okay. Sometimes you want to wander into the kitchen in your cashmere underpants that fit so perfectly it might be criminal and hold the fridge door open to see what might be good without someone yelling at you to close the door, already. Or Put on some clothes!

(The kitchen was very well-appointed if we wanted to cook for ourselves. We didn't, but I got admiring looks for standing in front of that fridge door anyway. Ben asked why I didn't do that at home and I just stared at him with horror until I dissolved into laughter because he never did understand why, even after being reminded that the three of us share our house with eight other people. He was still sweet about it though. So? he said and smiled at me widely.)

Lochlan asked me what I wanted for dinner and I was quick to answer. Pizza! Pizza for everyone. Pizza in bed. He laughed too and asked what it is about pizza I love so much when I'm away from home and I never know the answer to that other than it's always different and always good and I'm not irrational or elitist but very down to earth and easy to please. (The other dinner was pancakes because that's what we had for our wedding dinner. Because..oh my God. Pancakes. I don't have to explain. They're delicious.)

Wonder where I got that from? I poke him and he laughs. He is relaxed away from the Devil. Calm and pragmatic and silly all at the same time. He slept well over both nights (when I let him) and there didn't seem to be any jealousy issues. They took turns. They were affectionate with each other. They talked a lot but they also kept the conversation in the moment. We didn't bring up the past. We didn't plot into the future. We just focused on right-now, right-then.

But mostly we slept.

And it was probably to keep up our strength and fortify our resources for the next round of whatever's coming. Which is probably a good thing because one never wants to go through a rough period OR a war already exhausted and weakened. It's better this way.

You want to be strong.

You want to be ready. 

Four for three in two because one.

The trip for our anniversary has indeed been rescheduled and we're leaving in a couple of hours (!), just as soon as we get the children settled in for their weekend of pizza, video games and movies with Caleb, who has his turn anyway this weekend to choose activities and Henry likes camping at Dad's house. Ruth loves that she can watch any horror movie she wants and stay up as late as she wants.

I want to tell her that's how the Devil operates, he gives you anything you want in exchange for your soul, but really that isn't what he's doing, he already has the soul he wants, he just wants to be the 'fun' dad with all the lax rules where Lochlan is still prone to yell Eat your vegetables! across the table when the dinner noise reaches full throttle and she attempts to be excused with half a plate left in front of her.

No one's going to miss us, in other words, not even PJ, who is looking forward to an extended break. The only one I worry about is Sam, who doesn't really cook or eat anymore unless you put something directly in front of him and is on shaky ground as of late with Matt gone but Duncan and August both promised to draw him out and at least keep an eye on him.

Otherwise every last one of them was all smiles and encouragement. Go. Have fun. Get rest. Reconnect. Enjoy! The same words over and over.

We do need this. We get lost. We pick sides. We forget that it isn't two or twenty or the past or the future. It's three and it's now. It's us. It's this. I'm so excited I could burst. I've seen some pictures of where we're going and it's somehow cozy and incredibly luxurious at the same time. I hope it's nice.

Happy fourth to us. We packed non-alcoholic champagne and sparklers. And hardly any clothes.

Snort.

(Schuyler and Daniel are going to see Matthew Good this weekend in place of Caleb and I. That works out a little better than our original plans, in all honesty and they are really looking forward to it while Lochlan breathes a big long sigh of relief. He didn't plan it this way though, the resort had a cancellation and called to offer us the weekend on short notice so we said hell, yeah and here we go. Storm and all.)

A world covered in bees.

I see you returned the bracelet. I got an email for the credit to my account and you aren't wearing it so I supposed this is a lesson learned. 

The lesson being not to buy expensive jewelry for other people's wives?

No, I should have gotten it engraved. Then you wouldn't have been able to return it. 

I think I have enough monogrammed things. 

An army, if I recall correctly. 

I do actually. He's not being generous. Most of the boys have a B tattooed somewhere. It's like playing Where's Waldo? (Maybe that's Where's Bridget?) when I find it tucked into the design on inked sleeves or worn brazenly on the chest like a shield. Gage wears his coyly, in his knuckle tattoos that, when held together, spells B-I-G-B-R O-T-H-E-R which is sweet (he is Schuyler's older brother) but also hilarious because his left hand, when held alone, says OTHER. I always tell him he didn't think it through, though he says it's fine. (The boys call him their 'other' brother, a nod to Neil Gaiman's Other Mother character in Coraline.)

The Devil sighs and puts his hand out for mine, lifting it up and putting it in his coat pocket, still holding it, so I'll be warm. I didn't think I would need gloves for this early Remembrance Day ceremony but it's freezing. My ears are red from the cold and he squeezes my fingers and says we'll go get breakfast once this is over. He was invited to this, one of a long list of local business people. I'm the assistant today, the plus-one. And yet he doesn't seem to care that people near to us are openly staring at the fact that he is holding his assistant's hand. He will pass it off as his freezing sister-in-law. What a great excuse.

When the silence ends he lets my hand go and we head to a favorite brunch place. It's exceedingly busy yet they find a table for two in the back, probably paid for with a fifty or maybe even more, I ignore these things and wait in line unless he is here. The table is quiet and sunny but not glaring and he quickly orders plates for each of us and hot coffee. Not just coffee but hot coffee as if there is a difference.

While I wonder what he ordered for me, he wonders how I plan to keep him close exactly. How long I'll hold out on him. How long I might use him by stringing him along telling him he isn't banished from my heart exactly until I figure out my next move or simply wait him out.

Henry will be eighteen in a little over 1300 days.

Maybe I can wait that long. Or, you know, maybe not.

The food arrives just as he's reading my mind, his face fighting to remain neutral in expression. He ordered matching Monte Cristos and fruit. God, sometimes he gets everything right though. Feed Bridget and she's yours.

At least until the next meal.

It's complicated.

I tried to fire Claus but he refused and said he'll be reachable when I decide to summon him again. God bless that man. He tried.

Where's the good in goodbye?
Where's the nice in nice try?
Where's the us in trust gone?
Where's the soul in soldier on?
Now I'm the low in lonely
'Cause I don't own you only
I can take this mistake
But I can't take the ache from heartbreak

The family meeting this morning after the kids set off for school was adjourned quickly on account of everyone ganging up on Caleb, who then started shoving back, catching Sam off guard. He landed on his ass. Lochlan got a good shove too but he recovered easily because he's smaller, more nimble and a fucking former acrobat so really, no big deal.

I helped Sam up and asked them to stop fighting and just talk but apparently that won't be happening today. Sam walked out dragging his pride behind him. Caleb asked if anyone else wanted to go to the floor or could they just honor the choices Bridget makes without adding to the pressure.

When I said I wasn't giving anyone else up ( and really the longer I live in this freaky 'after' life that Jake isn't a part of any more, the less inclined I am to write people off) I meant that we still have to strike a very fine balance with each other with regards to Henry, first and foremost, and then all the other stuff secondarily. Like my finances are pretty much tangled in his octopus reach, our histories are equally interlaced and frankly we have some goddamned serious issues between us with regards to sex and permission and brainwashing that I don't think Claus will live long enough to fix and even if he could I won't share ninety percent of the details with him because he would judge me or run away horrified.

Everyone judges me, which is why I'm so up front with certain details that seem provocative but are just my own attempt at transparency. But not all the details, because...yeah. No one needs to read that.

And as angry as Lochlan gets he feels as helpless as I do sometimes, in that Ruth and Henry are mostly inseparable and she goes where he goes, so if Caleb takes Henry away for a weekend, he takes Ruth too. And I know Caleb would never harm them. He's a very good father. But he still runs legal roughshod over me and if he decided to be less nice about things he could make my life as a mother pretty fucking difficult.

So, yeah. It's a dance that I only know half the steps to. It's a dance I'm going to continue to learn, and if anyone is surprised that I crawl into people's beds to have important conversations with them about important things than you don't know me very well at all. What I did was not give up and resume a sexual relationship with Caleb, instead I merely left the door open in case it comes to that again. Sometimes it's easier to give the Devil what he wants than try and be as powerful as he is. Something I am clearly not. I'm just a well-indoctrinated little clown.

And I don't see that changing any time soon.

So if you see his name mentioned in my posts, hold your cries of hyprocite! and consider the permanent damage instead. Sometimes it's too severe and people can't be saved, no matter how hard Lochlan tries.