He's trying to talk to me but Ben and I are trying to find ways to cover Chandelier as I discovered I love singing it but can't hammer my voice into that four-syllable build to the falsetto and I can't reach it any other way and so he's rearranging the whole song on his acoustic guitar because the drum machines were making me laugh.
Plus with him I get the good monitors for my ears, the ones made for me, and Everett sits in the booth with Ben, a semi-politely exasperated expression on his face because I don't think he's used to loud pulsing music at six in the morning. My LochMessMonster is still sleeping. My bed is fucking wrecked and I'm glad I don't have to make it and my Devil is oh so quiet this weekend because I wear him out and I had a whole week to do it so he's been sleeping the better part of the past three days.
That or he's avoiding Everett, since Caleb is suddenly in the crosshairs again.
(Come for the ghosts, stay for the demons.)
(Do you think they would be offended if I had t-shirts made?)
(Maybe it should read Come for the demons, stay for the ghosts. But that could be taken two ways, and then only I can technically wear the shirt. I guess.)
I'm doing my part. Offering Everett a truthful view, no rose-coloured glasses here. No tinted windows. No pretty paint on rotting wood. This is me. I bounce between the men I love. I love some more than others. I make no apologies and no room for strangers either. I love to sing in spite of being deaf and I don't want to get rid of my ghosts or my devils. I've said it before and I'll say it again for the boys in the back.
But if he's having a good visit, he can stay for as long as he likes. Though if he really wants to do Oms and bulletproof coffee on the patio he should enlist August instead of Ben.
Because at the end of the day Ben will back me up. Every fucking time. Burning buildings go both ways.
(You should hear Ben singing about being a party girl. Of course he can hit all the notes. Fucker.)