This is not my post, it's an early-morning squeal.

There's something inside you that isn't right

Dear Lord. Starset has unclean vocals in their new album, Vessels. Lots of them.

*Dies happy*

Told you it wouldn't take much.

('Unclean' means death metal screaming, not dirty words if you have no idea what I'm talking about. We call it Cookie Monstering. The fact that I need to explain this MAKES BRIDGET SAD.)

Talking to a different ghost.

(Known her forever but it's like we just met.)

Back to the sea early today. Well, late enough that the children were up for school already (in a blur of honour roll certificates found crumpled among science papers and the excitement of graduation photos/shoes/dresses/tickets/fundraisers and college applications, mind you) and the men (it's time to stop calling them boys) had scattered to the four corners of the house and beyond.

I avoided the rocks as promised, hugging the cliff as I make my way left to the beach, slowly. When I get past the boulders and down to fine peagravel and sand I march right up to the tide and crouch down, sticking my hands in the water, flat, palms down. Up to the bracelets is as far as I can go else I'm facefirst in the seaweed.

Hello again. I'm here.

The cold saltwater (my blood, I swear) stings a cut on my hand and whitens my skin as my bluer, undiluted blood beats a hasty retreat back to my heart. The draw threatens to pull me in but it's only teasing.

I did it, I tell her. I made it back to him. She pulls back in blind surprise, before rushing at me for a brief frigid embrace. I stand up and take two big steps backward so the water doesn't flood into my rainboots. Eventually I learn the lessons I am meant to. It just takes a long time.

I go into the driftwood house. I sit on the little shelf-bench and look out the doorless doorway. The Pacific ocean is framed perfectly here. I watch the tide become higher. It won't be all the way in until dinner time but it was lowest while I slept in Lochlan and Ben's arms through the darkest hours. She's already busy covering the treasures she dropped on her hasty middle of the night retreat, knowing I'm awake and searching. I don't mind. She'll do it again tomorrow and every day after. And I'll be here to see it. I'll be here to collect them.

I'll be here.

Garage fire.

Twelve hours of talking, sleeping, sorting, and listening later and we've come back to where we're supposed to be. Loch is the love of my life. I know it. He knows it. Hell, everyone knows this. It's always been this way, since I was ten and my heart started doing that weird lurching thing every time I saw him. I've strayed along the way but I always come back.

I'm assured that my misguided loyalties as well as my attempts to leave the collective by marrying Jacob (AKA running away from the cult just as I've run from everything else all life long) are long forgiven and not taken personally. Loch promises me I didn't break his heart when I said that so quickly yesterday, so assuredly. His heart was already previously broken by everything else I'd done since we're bent on making sure life is an eye for an eye. He broke my heart at fourteen for the first time and just about every minute since yet here we are with two partially-fused, tangled-together, strangely-timed beating hunks of bloody romance and we're fucking thrilled. We kept score but we're happy to be here.

Fucking thrilled.

At least I am. He probably shouldn't be. I told him he got a raw deal with me and he corrected me and said he got everything he ever wanted in me.

I tried to listen more than I talked. I tried to hear him, really hear what's in his heart, interpret his words, listen to what his soul wants, what it feels. This sounds so cheesy, I know, but I tried to be better and it feels good to know we didn't have a catastrophe over a fleeting thought, that we can allow for space to make mistakes. God knows, we're so good at it.

I don't want him to end up like the others. I don't want to be a burden on him. I don't want drama and confusion and 'arrangements'. I like our big bed and our routines and our time together, just us and with Ben too. It just feels like I'm where I'm supposed to be. With Lochlan. Always his shadow. Always his view. His sounding board and his comfort. His muse. His prized possession. As he is with me.

I wouldn't trade Lochlan if Jacob came back to life tomorrow. I would tell Jake that he missed out. That he fucked up. That he bailed when I needed him. He bailed when LIFE needed him and that means he no longer has a place. It would hurt but that's what I would say. I can miss him until I'm blue in the face from holding my breath crying but at the end of the day I'm where I belong. Always with Loch.

(And sometimes with others but that's totally casual and completely sanctioned so whatever. Shut up.)

On being the antagonist of your own story.

(I need a mouth with a time delay.)

There's no dreams in the waves
Only monsters
and the monsters are my only friends

A very early trip down to the beach this morning heralds the end of the snow and what we're going to officially call 'spring' here on the west coast. Heavy rain that has no end in sight resumes, washing away the remainder of winter like it was merely a streak of dirt on a pristine surface.The stairs are clear, the beach is unfamiliar after such a lack of contact that I don't even know how to greet the ocean suddenly, stepping forward shyly like it's our first date.

Hello. I bend down and check the water temperature, sticking my hands in up to my bracelets.

It's freezing cold but clear. I stand back up and head over to check on the condition of our little driftwood house and the breakwater. There is still a thick layer of ice on the dock so we'll skip that side completely. The house stands strong. I go inside and check to make sure the little piles of seaglass are still inside. The boys leave them for me to collect and bring up to the house, offerings I can't bear to touch or alter in any way and so they stay right there, safe and sound.

Are these offerings to the ghosts? 

No. 

Are they attempts to bring some permanence to your surroundings? 

Jesus. You sound like August! 

Your life is never stable and it's my fault. 

My life is like the tides. In and out. Up and down. Exactly how it's supposed to be, if that's how it is.

That's a defeatist view. 

A realist view. That's your fault, if you're looking for blame to shoulder. 

It's not good to talk back to the love of your life-

You're not the love of my-

And I stopped and looked at him with horror.

He stood in place but closed his eyes so I couldn't see his expression.

He finally opens them again. At least if I'm going to be second best it's good that it's to someone who isn't here. How did he get so much weight, Bridget? How did he take that place from me?

He saved my life. 

Lochlan looks at the sky. Pain is all over his face. Agonizing realizations crush simple conversation into a tidal wave. Forget knowing how to swim. We don't stand a chance.

I suppose I should be grateful for that, he said. And I am. Truly. But I plan to replace him. 

Am I worth it? Because I'd like you to do that but only if it's worth it in the end. 

Oh, it is. You have no idea. I'd walk through fire for you. 

I'm pretty sure you already have. 

Then we're well underway. 

I'm sorry, Locket. It's not like I can compare. It's like when one of your children asks you who your favourite is. There isn't one-

I get it, Bridget. I guess if nothing else I'm glad you're honest and not lying through your teeth about where I stand. 

There's nothing to be gained from it. 

And then you evaluate the merit of telling the truth. I taught you too well. Some days I wish we could start over and then I wouldn't have to stand here arguing with a mirror. 

Well, that isn't nice at all. 

Maybe it isn't, but that isn't your fault either. 

(Update: he's not fooled by my rash declarations. I'm crushed by them but he insists it's just kneejerk loyalty to someone who isn't here to fight for himself, and that I don't really feel this way. I like his interpretation, mostly because he promises me I won't feel like this forever and that he was there before and he'll be here after. Forever. Happily ever after. Unlike Jacob.)

(Someday I'll be) Saturday Night.

(Let me just cover my eyes and blush like a fucking fool here. We're not going to discuss this in house but DAMN. It was fun.)

Sitting on his lap, he pulls me forward for a kiss. A very gentle kiss. He laughs into my mouth quietly. His arms slide around my back as he holds on tightly. So good. He presses me to his chest and I close my eyes.

At least stay tonight until I fall asleep.

Maybe. I promise nothing as he exhales against my throat. It gives me goosebumps.

Better than nothing, he whispers. Behind me I hear Loch get up and walk out of the room.

Caleb watches him leave and takes his cue. Are you okay with this?

I nod and he lies me back flat. He begins to unlace my dress, smiling quietly to himself. Like he's opening a present. I smile back at the devil. So far so good. He swears and gives up quickly, instead lifting the hem of my dress up from the bottom. I arch my back and he pulls it off my body gently, swearing softly at what he sees. Tattoos in vintage lingerie. Beautiful delicate lace and satin in colors to rival the cashmere from before.

Wow.

Yeah. Hey? Isn't it beautiful?

Yes. I like it.

But then it's on the floor and he's busy fighting muscle memory. Instead of letting history run a familiar scenario, he's trying to start over. He wants this to be new. No mistakes. No loss of control or emotions. No winners, no losers. Good experiences only.

I cry out and Lochlan comes back. He turns to go out again and Caleb calls to him. Come in. Come here. Hold her.

Something flashes across Loch's face that I don't recognize and he responds, joining us. The night becomes a blur and I am shaking when I finally untangle myself from them. They keep reaching for me though and I can't do anymore. I fall asleep with one arm around Lochlan's neck, in a spoon with Caleb, Lochlan's free arm thrown over us both. He's up higher than we are so his arm is mostly against my cheek. The music keeps playing from the living room and I fall asleep hard. I'm not bitten. I'm not ashamed. I'm thrilled that Lochlan came back and didn't leave me here alone. I'm wondering how long it will hold. Lochlan's generosity. Caleb's temperament. My bravery. Pick something.

I get my first answer at three-thirty when sleep is abruptly broken as I am lifted off the bed. Surprised, I cry out softly. Caleb pushes me up against the door and shoves himself into me so violently I can't breathe. He drives hard against me as I hyperventilate, trying to catch my breath around his fingers, his hand over my mouth. I try to peel his fingers away and he takes my hands, pinning them high up over my head with his left hand. His right hand is underneath me, holding me up and I can't help myself.

Come for me, Doll. Come hard. Right now.

I always follow his orders and this time he's right behind me. His fingers lift away from my mouth so I can breathe again just in time to ride the wave of adrenaline and he keeps me there forever until he joins me on that wave. He gently slides me down so that my feet touch the floor. Lochlan is sitting up. He wants you now, Caleb whispers into my hair from behind me now and I go back to Lochlan, who puts his arms out, pulling me in, pulling me underneath him, back to holding me so tightly breath is going to be the one thing that doesn't come easily tonight. Lochlan's not going to be shown up. Not tonight. He turns me over and then lifts my whole body up so I'm still pressed against him, head back against his shoulder, eyes closed as he picks up speed against me, one hand jammed down underneath me until I'm seeing stars. I practically keen and he matches the sound, putting his head down against my back, pushing me down on my face as he leverages his weight on me while his hands pull my hips up hard against him. He finishes as all nice guys do.

Last.

Best for last.

We have another toast, this time with bedhead and I can hardly hold my glass for my hands are shaking too much.

Time to go. Lochlan smooths my hair back down, kissing the top of my head. He dresses quickly and then pulls my dress down over my head and laughs at my surprised expression when my face pops out the top.

It's good to be on the right side of things again. Caleb shakes Lochlan's hand and then impulsively pulls him in for a hard hug. Lochlan hugs him back but it's hesitant. Guarded still. Even after this.

Caleb pulls me up and gazes at my face. Go get a little sleep, Neamhchiontach. You've made an old man very happy tonight. 

Yeah, he is, isn't he? I look at Lochlan who waits at the doorway for me. Relief is on his face mixed with a little guilt maybe. And there's some incredulity in there as well. This is the way he looks when he wakes up every morning in a cuddle with Ben when he thinks it's me. It's the most adorable thing on the planet and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Come on, Peanut. We need some rest. 

Thank you for bringing her, Caleb tells him.

She brought me. 

Thank you for bringing him, then. Caleb says to me and I'd laugh but I'm too tired now.

Truants and rogues.

My nightmare is death, it's running out of time, leaving hearts broken, harsh words spoken or worse, nothing at all. My dream is a rush of panic to fix it all before it's too late.

Too late is one of the most frightening, disappointing phrases in the English language. You should have been faster, worked harder, made a better effort to get it all done before time was up.

Time is always up. That's the one sureity we're given in life. Death. We're running toward a finish line. It does not matter if we run slowly, fast or detour to a different track entirely. It's still there. Way up ahead. Waiting for us.

When I get to the finish line I want to have been loved, and I want them to know that I love them. All of them. With everything I had.

That's why, to answer PJ's question when we rolled in just after four-forty-five this morning. I am so tired this morning I'm hallucinating and didn't even attempt to go to church. I told Sam I'd get struck by lightning anyway, if I tried and he started in with some attempt to tell me God loves me most when I fight the hardest and I turned around and pointed out God doesn't love me at all so let's bail on these miserable charades. Sam didn't say anything else but went off to probably give a sermon about being disappointed in those you put on pedestals and why you probably shouldn't do that. They're going to let you down but don't worry, you're not off their list because they're insatiable, incorrigible and ruined already. You won't even have to take blame with you when you go to them. It's built right in.

I need coffee. More later, maybe. Everything's fine. I'm just so fucking tired.

Buckingham Nicks.

I traded my Converse All-Stars, green nail polish, ripped jeans and a sweater five sizes too big (Cole's) for Louboutin stilettos, mascara by the pound and a dress so snug PJ's been staring at me unabashedly now for upwards of twenty minutes.

I can see your heart beating, Bridge. You sure Lochlan's okay with this? 

He's fine. I smile really big so he knows I'm lying.

I'll stay dressed tonight in case you need me. 

Did I ever tell you you're my favorite?

If I was you wouldn't be going over there. 

Don't, Padraig. 

And you wouldn't be wearing that. 

Enough. Please. 

Enough what? Lochlan comes in. In a dress shirt. He refuses to indulge in Caleb's rules for my dress so he's pretending we decided to dress up tonight because we're a team. We are. Doesn't matter what we wear. And we always will be. Like Lindsey and Stevie. No matter what, no one ever pictures one without the other. At least I don't.

We're going to have drinks in the library and see if the evening holds. That's it. No promises, no expectations and no plans to see it through until morning because if Caleb woke up here there would be hell to pay and I'm pretty sure I covered that bill already.

With his money, though.

(I'm not stupid. Just crazy.)

(If he stays I'll kick him out around four. That's usually when Ben comes to bed and space or not, that just won't work.)

All your dreams are on their way/Feeling small.

He's been working out the piano to Bridge over Troubled Waters this morning. I'm in tears. It just moves me. No other reason but that. Sometimes music does that. His voice is perfect for it. Lochlan has a soft small range to work with and mostly sings falsetto. Higher than most. Accent fumbling through the sounds. It's beautiful. It's the perfect opposite to Ben.

Like everything, I suppose.

Last night Loch had just grabbed me up to himself, remarking not kindly that he hasn't seen me in days and maybe I should take a break and then Caleb rang around and he had a point and the timing was terrible but we went over anyway. Just a nightcap. See where it goes. Lies. Promises. Despair disguised as impatience. The night grew long, the glasses emptied and Lochlan put his head down in his hands and prayed to God to save him. The whole thing just ground to a halt. Caleb tried his best to fix it but it wasn't being fixed on that night so we left, maybe with all three of us in tears at some point but it was a good thing we stopped when we did because he was losing his mind and Caleb was losing his control and I was uncomfortable and out of place, feeding off their tension. Torn between my fierce loyalty to Lochlan and whatever the fuck this other thing is becoming.

We came home and had incredibly angry desperate love, Lochlan yelling at Ben to just stay out, Jesus, just cut him a break here. It wasn't fair or nice and he made his amends this morning after fixing our broken love last night. He voiced his doubts, we counted up fears and concerns and then we invited the devil here instead. Tomorrow (Saturday evening). We'll start over starting over. Over again. We'll get it right. We'll sort it all out.

If we don't we will chip away at it until we do. It's an unfinished masterpiece, my heart. It needs a lot of work yet.

Strawmen.

Did it work, Princess? Do you feel like yourself again? For what it's worth, you felt whole to me.

The irony in knowing I felt the same way about him, that he felt whole right up until I found out he was gone leaves me ignoring his questions as I fight instead with the tears. He's not going to get the better of me now. I've come too far.

Did you know Sam is just trying to help out? They're trying to claw up as much of you as they can, because it means less of you for Caleb. I thought you weren't naive about this but I was wrong. Hope they enjoy their tiny pieces of you.

His bitterness (he never liked Caleb OR Loch) wakes me up abruptly and I force myself more tightly against August, who sleeps easily, propped up on pillows, clutching me gently as the bed sways from where the ghost got up and walked away. When I press into him his arms tighten and he wakes up, his voice raw and thick.

S'wrong. 

Bad dream. 

'Bout?

Jake. 

What'd he do? August asks quietly.

He's angry about Sam. He thinks Lochlan recruited Sam to keep me from Caleb.

August opens his eyes and rolls them comically.

I don't think Lochlan is smart enough for that. Besides, the timing is fucked on it.

I'll tell him you said that. 

Please do. Think about this. If he was, it could backfire just as easily. I still think he's-they are-, hell, we all are-only trying to make you happy. Besides, you can't subdivide human emotion. But you can explore dissenting voices from a source you use as a sounding b-

Isn't that what you're all trying to do now? Subdivide me?

No, Bridget. We're not. Get some sleep. I'll keep the dreams away. And he closes his eyes again while the bed swings gently. He falls asleep mid-shhhhhhh against my forehead, and I fight brief panic, feeling out his heartbeat over my own, using it to lull myself to sleep again too.

It works.

No dreams this time and when I wake up August is gone and there's a note on the table.

Taking Sam for lunch to talk. Stay here til I get back.
    -X A

Grace sets you free.

I turn the box over in my hands. It's dark. I can't see my hand in front of my face let alone the contents of the box but the Devil told me my soul was in it, that he's kept it in here since I was a little girl, that he never trusted anyone else with it for a second because flighty, free-spirited magical people who feel this deeply aren't trustworthy or responsible (all lies) and so he thought it would be safest with him. He started this off, tripping me as I ran and then steadfastly refusing to pick me up or stop and thus began the pattern of tripping and falling on my face for the rest of my life. I've broken teeth and I've broken hearts too in the process. It seemed like it would never end.

But is it over or is this just the beginning?

I can't ask the expert. Sam, the only person hellbent on seeing me get somewhere. As everyone else was demanding I stay in one place Sam was putting me through the paces, making sure I came out the other side of the grief for Jake and for Cole, learning to live around and through it, instead of in spite of it. You don't get over it, you learn to live with it. It becomes a big part of you but not every part of you. Then he taught me how to swim, sick of seeing me saved, excused or helped (A marked contrast to when I fall), making sure I could do it myself. I got a pretty mermaid as my badge, to hang in the window I look out each morning as a reminder that some things I can do myself.

Sam finally came crashing down all around me, giving in to his needs the way they all do, eventually. I can't figure this out. I don't recognize it. Now I can't ask him about it. Understand?

Do I put this thing back wherever it's supposed to fit and pick up where I left off? They said I was still a child, they said I was stuck there fast, someplace vague between nine and seventeen, with events to mark the days tied up like knots but no way to chart the path. Becasue I'm not a map, I'm a tangle, a string frayed on both ends and almost worn right through the middle but tied tightly around them nonetheless.

I never felt like there was a hole inside, just more of a distant ache for myself, for this thing that's supposed to be worth so much that they would give up each other for me, only to watch me turn around and fall on my face again, getting up only to run the other way.

I hope I can do this. Figure out how to put it back. Make myself whole. It's a start, maybe.