Stop the clocks and turn the world around, let your love lay me downBlisteringly present, always right here in the moment ripping it to shreds only to gather it up and chew it to a pulp until my teeth meet, grinding into each other attempting to leave ruts in my brain. There's a fix for Stockholm Syndrome. It's very intensive therapy coupled with a definitive and glaring absence of the perpetrator.
And when the night is over there’ll be no sound
Lock the box and leave it all behind on the backseat of my mind
And when the night is over where will I rise?
What if I’m already dead, how would I know?
What if I’m already dead, how would I know?
Perpetrator. Every time I see that word I think Penetrator.
Oh well, what's the fucking difference?
What do you mean by intensive therapy? That sounds like a catch-all.
We would teach you right from wrong, Bridget. Boundaries. What's appropriate. What is okay and what isn't okay. From scratch. We'll start over.
Safe and not safe?
Exactly.
Ever since I was very small 'not safe' held so much more appeal. It was always further, faster, darker, stranger and off I went like a duckling imprinting on a...carny named Loch. But mostly that was because I didn't want anyone to go anywhere without me at all. Those are called abandonment issues. You can't talk people out of those, you can only medicate them into a fine light stupor and they don't make you feel bad about it anymore, they just sit there and scream on the inside.
Makes things easier for everyone.
At the same time I chased the dark I was deathly afraid of it. Afraid of going too far, stepping off the wrong ledge, hooking up with the wrong person, feeling a feeling that might be too strong and explode me into pieces (I guess I don't have to worry about that one anymore, I'm stronger than my emotions. They haven't killed me yet and oh, how they have tried.)
Then I won't be who I am anymore. I won't be Borderline-Bridget anymore and no one will want me.
Lochlan let out a sob and buried his face in his arms as if I am worth him being exploded by his own feelings or something.
Let's do it, Bridget. We'll take it slowly (they started talking to me like I'm eight again, I notice things.)
He's right here. This doesn't work and I may not like the Devil but I still love his little brother and you can't just come and take more people away from me. I'm getting loud and kind of panicky now. Pretty has given way to crazy. Didn't take long. Never does. Just leave it alone. Just don't change anything right now. This works. I try to keep everyone happy but you need to let me do it and stop fighting me all the time. I stand up and PJ's hand goes around my arm, like he's going to keep me there if I run but I'm not running, I'm just terrified that I'm going to have to deal with more absences. More empty chairs at the table. More time for my mind to savor the moment that I've destroyed so fast instead of being good. Normal. Whatever the fuck everyone else is. They want to take my ghosts, they want to take my master. They want everything. They're selfish. They're just like me. Just leave it all just like it is right now. What harm can that do?
You're getting worse.
I don't see how. I really don't. I mean how can it get worse than it is? And if this is as bad as it gets I can handle it. He just gives empty threats. He wouldn't hurt me. He loves me too and you all can't stand that. You're traitors. You turned your back on him and it made him mean, that's all. It's not my fault.
Who said it was your fault that he's like this?
I did. But it's not. I didn't do this to him. You did.