Autodidact.

(This day is brought to you by Between the Buried And Me's cover of Blind Melon's Change.)

Two people aren't happy about my penchant for waking up in strange places, like I did yesterday, though a suspended king-sized bed in the middle of a bright airy room isn't as strange as it is exhilarating, and they're not the people you'd expect.

The first is the Devil, who thinks he should carry carte blanche on any nocturnal attempts at comfort that I wish for, and the second is August, who continually kicks himself for allowing me past his head into his heart. Into his hands. He thinks he should hold himself at arm's length and be objective, productive and effective.

Naw, I tell him. You're effective alright, just not in the way you think.

And the part of me that needs the ghost that is Jake quiets just a little, probably taking a breather before spooling up hard in time for the week after next.

Because it's anniversary week and birthday week (9. 46.), a time when I am reminded that I'm not as wonderful as I think I am, or anyone thinks I am, but I was just enough to send him on a one-way trip to anywhere I wasn't. That I am too much and not enough and as impossible as Lochlan always says I am. That I was too dark for Jacob and not enough of anything else to be worthwhile.

It's not you, it's me, Jacob always tells me through a fine filter of swirling, settling dust motes in the light through the garage doors. But we sure make beautiful children. That's a gift.

I nod and leave him there. Too bad it wasn't enough of a gift to keep your feet on the ground.

Reparation anxiety.

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

I covered my face.

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

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

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

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

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

What is the end goal?

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

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

Tastes so good it makes a grown man cry.

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

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

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

Kidding! These cherries are incredible.

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

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

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

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

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

Sugarmaybes.

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

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

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

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

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

Or something, he smiles.

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

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

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

But instead I bit my tongue and nodded.

I never defy Lochlan.

To his face, anyway.

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

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

Smorgasbord.

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

What in the hell are you doing? He whispered.

Caleb leaned across me. Making up for lost time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

You prefer sweet or scary? 

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

Me. 

Sweet. 

Little liar. 

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

Then maybe tomorrow I'll ask again. 

***

Duncan came in the house all huffy.

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

Why? 

He was acting like Bridge was his. 

So are you, right now. 

Dude, I didn't mean any harm. 

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

***

PJ is rinsing cups to put in the time machine.

Want coffee?

I'd love some. 

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

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

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

What else has he forbid?

How much time do you have?

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

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

Belonging/Beloved/Bee.

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

Sometimes I adore being commodified. Sometimes I do not.

***

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

Don't call him that. 

I'll call him whatever I want, Neamhchiontach. 

Don't call me that. 

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

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

I absolutely love you when you're belligerent. 

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

Just so there's no mistake. 

Safe travels, Diabhal. 

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

I'm not telling him that. 

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

Pretty sure they've got that covered, actually. 

On being careful what you ask for.

Last song played on your iphone? 

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

Favorite band name?

Oddly enough, Bedouin Soundclash. Coolest name ever. 

What song do you like most by them? 

I don't know any of their songs. 

Last meal? 

A chocolate ice cream cone. 

Was it satisfying? 

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

Favorite car?
The R8.

Latest celebrity crush?

Jimmi Simpson on Westworld. 

Female crush?

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

Agreed. One regret of today? 

I missed my Friday contraband coffee. 

Aw. You poor thing. 

I KNOW, RIGHT? 

Plans for tomorrow?

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

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

Wow. What a question. 

Entertain me.

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

Why?

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

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

NOPE.

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

*Bears everywhere*

I'm not afraid of the bears though.

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

It's starting to rain, Peanut. 

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

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

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

How about a hot bath?

Yes. I'd love that. 

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

A really huge fucking spider.

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

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

Nice.

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

But I'm still screaming because spiders.

I'm afraid of them.

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

HUGE.

Would you have run like that for a bear? 

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

So why aren't you relieved now?

Because it's probably still in my hair! 

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

Right. That's meeeeeeeeeeeee.

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

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

(See? I technically tell you NOTHING.)