Living saints, hungry wolves, stupid girl.

(Here's how it works. The moment I stop talking the ballads spool up in my head, blindingly loud. Maybe I'm not deaf. Maybe the music's just in the way. You should hear the incredible screech when someone says something and the music stops so that I can respond. Please make sure that gets put in the movie, that loud ballads play constantly while she walks around, while she thinks. It'll make more sense that way, I promise.)

I got cornered. It was around midnight, the house was dark and quiet, tiny fairy lights the only lights I use to make my way around. Since Ben is away we can have nightcaps in bed, Lochlan and I, and we really need our rituals tonight. It's been a long and difficult week and it's Monday so that's something right there.

When I step out of the butler's pantry Caleb is blocking the door. I startle but steady my arms and I don't spill even a drop. Lucky for me, as it's the very best stuff.

You're not wearing August's ring. 

No. See my hand? Right now it's only Lochlan's and Ben's. Yours is in the dish already because I don't sleep in it. 

You wore it with him-

I look at the floor. We were in a rush, Diabhal.

He sets his face and looks at the ceiling. I don't want to miss my chance, Neamhchiontach. 

You didn't. You're right here. 

I don't want to be on the outside. I don't want to be alone anymore. If I don't push this, if I don't take this chance I'm dooming myself to a life alone. 

I stare at him in the dark. Forever. I finally take one of the drinks, pressing it against his chest. Let me talk to Lochlan. Lochlan who never gets a break. Lochlan, who's been so patient I may as well change his name and press him into a medal to wear at this point. Lochlan, patron saint of wolves.

Caleb lets out a visible rush of stress, passing me back the glass. No, tonight is his night. Knowing you aren't willingly shutting me out, as if on purpose, is all I need to sleep. 

I stare at him once more. I can't decide if he's overdramatizing this to secure his intent or if he's just being real with me.

Bridget-

Listen. If you can't sleep or if you can't stay asleep come find us. Ben's away. There's space-

I know. Thank you, Neamhchiontach. He kisses my forehead, takes my glass again, drinking a sip, and then he's gone into the night.

I spilled a lot of whiskey on the way upstairs because I ran. I was scared he was going to pop up again out of the dark and chase me all the way home. When I made it to our rooms, Lochlan gave me a look that said he knows that the music is pretty loud on the inside, especially after I see the Devil in the flesh and so he took both glasses, poured what was left into the other, drank the result and told me I was fucked in the head.

For every dream that is left behind me
I take a bow
With every war that will rage inside me
I hear the sound
Of another day in this vanishing life
Returned to dust
And every chance I pushed away
Into the night

Last evening after dinner I lingered at the table for a moment to finish my wine. Kids and PJ long excused, Duncan and Loch rising at the same time to clear dishes. Dalton puts the dog out. Ben is away (goddamit) and Sam took his plate upstairs to work because he's behind and Advent now breathes down his neck like a stalker. Gage rarely comes over for dinner. August comes over most nights but last night he didn't and I set down my glass, two sips to go and sure enough, across the table rests the Devil. No wine, just water. Eyes black and blue. I can see the rage boiling up toward the sides and so, for once, I throw down just on the other side of the line.

Jealous?

Of August? He laughs. No. Never.

The look on your face lies on your behalf, Diabhal.

You've had too much, Bridget-

No, but I've had enough. If wearing this ring gives me an extra few carats of weight then that's all it means to me. If it's peace of mind for you then fine but don't start in on me tonight.

I thought August-

August is off limits to you and your thoughts.

He-

Or your opinions!

Neamhchiontach, please let me finish.

Fine, go ahead.

Seeing August right on the end of a difficult season is a poor plan for progress. That's all.

Then you'll be happy to know I cried out his name instead of Jake's this time.

I couldn't resist. I finished the rest of my wine in a gulp, fleeing the room just as he made a grab for me. I heard shouts from downstairs as I made it up to my rooms but I didn't hear any of the words and I didn't care anyway.

August for August's sake.

August runs his fingers over my rings. He is sleepy, holding my hand up in the air, blinking slowly as he counts and notes each and every one.

I see it's back, he says darkly.

I nod against the side of his head. I want my hand back. It was busy exploring under the sheets, waking him up slowly, basking in a rare moment in which he didn't demand that I leave just as I was beginning to relax. I guess I passed all of his unspoken tests. I didn't call him Jake. I didn't ask for more or anything that isn't something from his personal repertoire. I didn't make him promise me I could stay longer, or stay over and maybe I've graduated with honors, as for the first time in a very long time I found myself texting Lochlan on a darkened screen early into the morning that I would be back before church. I should have done it far earlier but I was busy holding my breath.

August didn't even act like he was doing me a favor. He didn't acknowledge me jumping through his silent hoops or make any motion for me to leave when he finally let me go. He just readjusted his position and scooped me in firmly against his chest, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, resting his chin on top of my head and within seconds he was asleep.

It took me close to twenty minutes to hardly believe this turn of events and then to extricate myself to let Lochlan know I wasn't going outside to run the gauntlet of early-winter bears to come home.

Lochlan never replied. I probably waited too long. But that's okay. I close my eyes, reach up and wrap my fingers in August's waves and I'm out like a light. Still wearing my necklace, my rings and my socks, of all things. The bed rocks gently from it's ropes and I remember nothing until the sun comes up and he is stirring gently. I had turned toward him, gently stroking his chest, his thighs, his arms when he decided to check out the new state of affairs of diamonds on my fingers.
 
Does this mean I should have sent you away? His whole body is suddenly tense.

It's just for weight. I whisper it and his eyes tear up. My kingdom to not make them sad any longer. He pulls me in harder, kissing the top of my head and holds his mouth there against my hair for a heartbeat.

Even though I hate to, because I feel like this was a really good visit, based on this new development you should head home. 

They're afraid I'll disappear on the wind, it's just a metaphor-

I'm not fucking with him, Bridge. Go home. 

Now my eyes tear up and I climb out of bed, dress quickly and flee the loft. For the second time in a week he's reduced me to tears. I thought we made up but he's always looking over his shoulder at his shadow.  I don't know who he's more afraid of, Jacob or Caleb. I look at my hand as I cross the brick driveway and suddenly it comes to me: I just need brighter lights. Then when he turns around there would be nothing there.

Their, there. They're.

He's right. Just wear it. 

Not on that fing-

Does it matter? The rings aren't the point. The bond is.

I don't know if Lochlan means himself or Caleb but I'm not going to ask for clarification. I slid the diamond on my right hand ring finger and he nods, after a heartbeat or two before answering my unspoken question.

The bond may extend to the collective but you are mine and I am yours. And he can't come between that. Never will. Besides, he's right. We need to weigh you down.

Justification.

You have at least five rings on now. 

Seven. If you count (I turn my hand around so he can see my thumb) this one. Three are wedding, then these ones-

Right so can't you just add it? I'd rather not see it fly out of a pocket or be sent through the washing machine because you have a tendency to-

Be careless?

No, I believe distracted is the word I would choose. Busy. Not really too concerned with the loose contents of your pockets. 

Well I am, don't worry. 

Are you really still carrying that key?

I reach into my dress and hold it up. Are you surprised?

Not at all. But I still think if you're not going to wear the ring I gave you at least let me keep it in the safe. 

Fine. I hand it to him. He takes it as his face falls.

I was hoping you'd put up a fight, at least.

What's the point? 

Passion. I guess, importance to you. If it's a treasured object that you carry I would think you maybe find it a talisman and would fight to keep hold-

It weighs me down. 

How so?

I want to sail on the wind over the sea and this ring is too heavy for that. 

Bridget-

The alarm on his face sends me backtracking. Like the girl in the book-

Oh. He visibly relaxes.

I'm not...being...(I struggle with my defence) literal, Cale. 

Hope not. I can hardly hear him. What if you wore it on a different finger? What if it just meant something but not as much as the other ones? What if you wore it on a chain or a bracelet?

Why is it so important that I wear it?

I need to..I need to weigh you down. Just in case.

Just in case?

Just in case.

(Hold your head up, Bridge.)

Just the other day I stared at the ocean
With every new wave another must go
One day you'll remember us laughing
One day you'll remember my passion
One day you'll have one of your own

Sometimes I carry a button from Jacob's shirt, too. I found it on the dresser top after he left and I kept it nearby in case he came back so I could sew it on his shirt. It's tortoiseshell, small and flat. He used to find it incredible how I paid such close attention to the orientation of the holes on the buttons when I sewed them back on his shirts.

It's important it look just right.

It's not important, Princess, he would implore, not understanding how I work, that if everything is orderly and perfect then everything will be fine. It still holds and I am militant, OCD, determined, though with so many souls here now it's hard to keep things tidy, let alone orderly. Maybe it's not that important anymore, Jake. Maybe you were right.

The key that I always carry is from the castle. It was from the door at the top of the steps, that led up to the roof to my glass writing room. They just roofed it over after we left. No more copper Victorian filials. No more beautiful prairie sunrises. Whoever lives there now has made it a happy home and that's good. I hope I never see that house again. I call it the key to my brain. I used to wear it on a silver chain but it's too heavy and so it stays in a pocket, chain still attached so I don't lose it. They've tried to talk me out of it but I say it's like a pocket watch.

It keeps perfect time.

They don't like that I say that. Maybe they're right.

The ring is Caleb's. The diamond ring he gave me. Maybe I'm crazy. Sometimes I put it on. It's a bookmark in my story to keep his place, in case I lose it (the place, not the ring). It's a beautiful diamond but I have Lochlan's heart diamond and two bands already and if I want to be able to bend my finger there's no room left but Caleb won't let me wear it on any other fingers and Lochlan won't let me wear it at all.

The phone is my GPS tracker. They always know where I am.

The heavy things at the bottom, pulling out the stitches with every step I take, are their hearts, complete. They soak through the cotton, blood pooling around my shoes whenever I stop to take in life, slipping as I resume my steps, leaving a trail of gore and rebirth in my wake as we try to reinvent ourselves every single day.

(Rachmaninov, if you're curious. Not my favorite by a long shot, but it will do.)

Crusted in salt, mired in concrete, I wait. Peace of mind is coming back. Contentment will return. They promised it would. I pace in the wind, a pretty mess, hair tangled around my throat, fingers icy and blue. The frost makes this perilous, my world set under glass. I can look inside. I could break it and cut through my veins, spilling crimson on a diamond glaze. I could turn and walk away but still I hold. I hold on to the frosty daydream, weighted down with the cold. I hold on to the plans I had, to my happily ever after.

I hold, and so music plays in my brain. My very own on-hold music that drowns out every other sound for miles. I peer into the cloying fog but I see nothing. I cue the light, sweeping it back and forth along the shore only to be met with a blank wall of soft white that drowns in a Holbein caerulean, pulling up the waves only to drop them against the shore.

My pocket rattles. There's a key, and a ring and my phone jammed deep down underneath my frozen fists. I pull out my phone, being so careful as to not bring the other items out with it and read the screen. It's Lochlan.

Come inside.

He doesn't know how far out I am, and that's okay. This is fine. I just needed to breathe. I'll go back in a minute. It's always just minutes, always enough seconds to count but never enough time, if that makes any sense.

I said I was letting the dog out when I came back from the loft and I did but then I kept walking. I was careful. I always am. I'm not in the water today but I'm as close as I can get because I can always feel everything from here but none of it hurts. I wish they understood that. I wish they could acknowledge that. I wish I could stay here longer but I made myself go back.

Couch-potato twins.

It's Tuesday! But more importantly since I wasn't keeping track it's also end of a tour leg! That means just before lunch JOHN walked back through the door and I forgot it was today and dropping my plate and screamed when I saw him, for .02 seconds before launching myself across the kitchen like he was Elvis and I was his biggest fan.

He told me I'm his biggest fam and I argued that Ben should get that honor since Ben is enormous but John said it's about level of obsession rather than actual size. Glad he clarified. Glad he's home, having signed up for the North American leg and now the overseas portions belong to his replacement. It actually felt a little like when Ben used to disappear for months. I kind of hated that he was gone but we have facetime and text constantly anyway and he wanted to earn some cash for the holidays plus he was returning a favor to a friend so twelve weeks out as a tech is a nice run for an old guy.

He clutches his heart when I say this. Ow, Bridge. You're so hard on me. 

I have so much work to deprogram you, may as well start right away.

This is true.

What do you want to do today?

Sit and not move for about a week. Then we'll do stuff.

Sounds like fun to me.

Maybe I'll just get fat.

Never settle
Make your mark
Hold your head up
Follow your heart

Want to go for some ice cr-

YES.

I had my bag and was in the car before he could finish the word. Getting ice cream has become synonymous with long car rides where I get to choose both music and flavours and Caleb just drives the car and pays the bill. I won't apologize for that as it's a form of escape that isn't bad for me, unless you note the facts that not only is highway ninety-nine a crazy risk on a good day, but the ice cream, when it's done hardening my arteries into solid blocks of ice and fat, begins to attack the rest of me as I don't process lactose nearly as well as I'd like. But I persist and we share a cone now, as he watches every single thing that goes into his face anyway, and with the amount of escapism I tend to like these days, well..

That's a lot of ice cream.

I wish it were cake but I'm not allowed to bake cakes unless it's a birthday (the sugar) and since I bake a good fifteen to twenty of those a year there's technically almost always cake anyway.

Thank God for that too.

I'm trying to find a little zen here. I'm grateful for all of this and yet so unsettled all the time too. Sam and Loch share the same mind in that they say it's a natural progression that after grief comes a massive need for change and rebirth but I don't know if that's what I need, or what I want. I just wish things were better.

Like ice cream. Ice cream makes everything better but when it's gone so is the good feeling.

***

Ruth has a lead on a future career, which may be beginning before she finishes her degree. Holy shit.
Cross your fingers like mine are, this will be a doozy. If I can't live vicariously through myself then I will stand on the sidelines and cheer her to the fucking moon.

Post consumerist nightmares.

Yesterday I braved the lunch crowd at IKEA and hated every second of it, escaping with four hundred and some dollars worth of cabinets because for a house this big and this nice, there is precious little in the way of built-in storage and the clutter sometimes gets to me, especially on the edge of beginning to decorate for Christmas. Lochlan had this one under control and I fought and hissed and snarled the whole. way. through.

We snapped at each other until late last evening, but got everything put together and organized and now it's done.

We made up. Sam played referee. It was great.

Then today I braved the after-church, after-lunch mall crowd to pick up a few presents that need to be in the mail shortly for the faraways, and I did it even as it was busy and stupid to have people walking at a snails pace in front of me (Grrrrrr. Snarl.) when I need to be somewhere. I can't slow down and enjoy the lunacy of it all, in spite of Sam's advice to do just that but I was treated to the worlds most perfect Banh Mi afterwards.  Lochlan had one too. That made it worth it. I feel in control again. I also found the INC.redible crystal ball gemstone rollerglosses at Sephora. I bought the jade and the rose quartz and I love them. Chakras beat makeup any day of the week and I'm hoping to turn my mood back from exceeding cranky to fakin' it eventually here.