All these broken souls
Each one more beautiful
They don't, they don't know my heart
They don't know my heart
I'll send out my soul
To worlds more beautiful
But they won't, they won't know my heart
It's the darkest part
When I came in he was already hungry. The fire roared in the hearth, biting back the chill of the night, reflecting in his eyes, making him look like a lion in the dark. He pulls me in for a kiss and then walks us backward, pulling me down into his lap, kissing the space up underneath my ear with a groan that sent a shiver right up my spine. I reached my hands up into his curls to hold on to his face when he came back for the kiss on the lips and he laughed.
There's my girl.
I forced him all the way back and his eyebrows went up, the grin remaining on his face for the next hour or two as we devoured each other in our practised familiarity, every curl, every freckle, every tattoo so well known at this point we have forged a well-travelled route and if you look closely in the light, beyond the scars and the burns of the past you'll see a worn path along our limbs that shows where we travel and how we get home.
There's my Locket.
His eyes fill up suddenly. Jesus, Bridge. How did I get so lucky? I have nothing to give you.
You give me everything. You give me you. That's all I want.
And your ghosts.
Only in the white fire.
I'll only ever throw the red, then.
I look up at him and he's no longer smiling. Sometimes he gets very serious and we have very meaningful talks and we make promises and plans and fun of each other and then we're back on track. We fight too much. We struggle too much. We call each other horrible things and we wish we had never met. And we wouldn't have it any other way at this point.
I might save Ben first. I might wish for Jacob on an absolutely hourly basis sometimes and I might dance with the Devil a little too close but if I take one step backwards I will crash into Lochlan and he's promised me I always will.
Even as he hates all of it. So, so much.
***
Caleb never threw the mug, never brought up how much he loved me being high, how much he adored being in control, dusting me with angels or snow, watching me check out in slow motion. He listened to my unspoken directive as I attempt to control my own narrative with him for what always feels like the first time in my life even though it's been nothing but a magnificent struggle over the past fourteen years since he came back into it.
I never thought he'd come back. I never thought it would be this hard to get past certain things. I never thought I would fail so spectacularly at it most of the time.
I didn't yesterday though. So I'll call that a victory and hope it's the first of many.