My heart is a rocket ship, exploding in space only to fall to earth where the pieces are found scattered far and wide, brought back together to be reassembled and shot up over and over again in the cloying darkness, sparks heralding my departure from earth every single night. You can trace my path by the clouds, singed with black, burnt edges all along the way.
Jacob is a myth. He says it through the thick glass, wading through a fourth whiskey, up to his knees in flames by now, courage pulled up over his head like a blanket against the monsters that won't scare us but haunt us still. He is a little boy and my ghosts are his boogeymen, now.
Don't, Locket.
I have to.
No, you don't. We're reduced to half-conversations now. He just wants everything to stop but he's never going to be the one to bring an end to anything he hates, lest it backfire and I hate him for it.
I would never.
He does not believe me.
I could bring him up to space and show him there's nothing to be afraid of but he wouldn't believe me. Jacob may as well be breathing still for the risk he takes up in Lochlan's Big Book of Dangerous Things For Bridget to Stay Away From.
Let's go to sleep.
I can't sleep anymore. The minute I close my eyes everything always goes wrong.