Dreams I'll never see.

As we packed up Jacob's office earlier today, I realized how laid-back his new colleagues were towards him and precisely how much this job might have fit him had he given it more of a chance.

After all, it isn't every day that we would be stopped seven different times in the span of one hour and reminded that the entire department suspects that Jacob was the model for all those wicked Molly Hatchet album covers.

They have a point.

He's going to be missed. The Viking makes quite an impact wherever he goes.

Tour guides.

    Show me how defenseless you really are.

Every night I get into the middle of our big bed, a tiny form wrapped in my own nakedness, and I drift off to sleep between two men, locked in a three-way embrace while my head wages war with my heart. While the baggage lying unclaimed inside my brain wreaks havoc with my flawless itinerary around the sun. While I fight on for order and peace, a one-girl SWAT team named Bridget with her useless and broken emotional weapons.

Every night is a wild swing, a battle between heaven and hell. Four strong arms wrapped around me, two strong and warm, smooth and muscled, two rotting sinew and bone, grating and rough against me.

For one is so so alive and one is so very completely dead.

But they are both here, with me. Surrounding me with their own ideas of what love means.

Every night the angel brings me to heaven for brief glimpses of sunshine and lightness of being and every night the devil's little brother drags me down to stand before the burning gates of hell to show me the pain within. My views of heaven are blown open and offered lovingly, the views of hell a locked-down purgatory of torture with a soundtrack of laughter and my own screams.

One set of arms holds me aloft, an offering to all that is good, a smile, some encouragement, while the other set holds me down in order to inject the nightmares, grinning while I cry.

The nightmares would be worse if I had buried Cole instead of having him reduced to ashes. I did that so that he couldn't come after me any more where I lie, protected by wings I can peek over to make sure we are safe.

And I have failed. No one is safe here.

He's right beside me when I sleep, he won't go away.

I'm not even sure if I want him to go away.

Nightingales.

A melodious plot indeed.

He was quoting Keats all evening in his painkilled creative state.

Jacob did very well, no complications, in and out and home to the couch where I surprised him with some new DVDs, a documentary on Mount Everest and three installments of Eco-Challenge. He asked if I would make him some fruit salad and then when I brought it back to him he was out cold, sleeping because he hadn't slept Thursday night.

This morning he woke up and we exclaimed over how bruised he was and wow, are we ever a matched set because I bruise astonishingly as well, and then he looked at me and told me not to worry, that this closed door is a blessing for us and that doors are opening all over the place and we'll notice them soon enough and that he is content, that he is happy, he has a perfect family and he's a lucky man and that if I have absolutely any doubts that this was the right thing to do I am to let them go now, because it is the right thing for us.

And then he apologized and asked for another pill and said he was going to go back to sleep for a bit.

This weekend isn't going to consist of any more than taking it easy. Work stops for a little bit on the house. We probably won't go to church tomorrow. It is supposed to be a little warmer so maybe later today he can sit outside and watch the kids practice their gymnastics and maybe we can grill a final summer dinner before the cold returns.

While I keep my eyes open for those new wide-open doors.

Sunflowers, turkeys and little hopeful beans.

    Happy is a yuppie word
    Nothing in the world could fail me now

Surviving another week has brought us some rewards, a cottage sold and finalized and a large quantity of cash in our bank account. I can be bought, we got a good offer on the property and we took it because the money is worth more than a difficult trip once a year. We can see the location of Cole's ashes from any one of a dozen spots along the way, the kids are not emotionally attached to the place, and yes, my rocking chair will be shipped back to me here. Really it was too much money to pass up, okay? I never said I was sentimental.

I have Switchfoot on this morning, some quietly comfortable songs while we get ready for a long and interesting day. This morning I'm helping in Henry's class, I have a few pounds of clay and we're going to make turkey placecard holders for Thanksgiving. It's a two-stage project, I go back in a few days and we'll paint them up. Should be fun and noisy.

In contrast, this afternoon will be deathly quiet and a little weird.

Jacob is having his vasectomy.

I'm driving him and will coddle him to pieces when we return home. He is very incredibly one hundred percent sure of it. Sometimes I wish I could be like him, develop a problem and just fix it and get over it and then move on, though this issue was a huge one for us and he wound up being more sure of it then I was, in the end. His single-minded devotion to every last aspect of his life is extraordinary to me, while I ping and pong all over the place, my newfound freedom and safety and his bottomless pit of offered affection wreaking total havoc on a human bean positively withered from previous neglect and poor treatment.

I was a sunflower that was tossed into a dark corner and dried up but then was lovingly uncovered and watered and placed in a sunny windowsill and now I won't stop growing and sometimes I choke off the sunlight, covering that whole window in my enthusiasm and then you cut me back or turn me so I can grow straight and I'm fine again and beautiful and strong and bright.

Someday to be admired.

We were lucky it's Thursday.

Therapy was lovely this morning as I slid into the hole and hung on by the tips of my aching fingers to Jacob's hands.

Today they talked about stupid things like electroshock therapy to try and scare me. They scared Jake, I'm not scared, he'd never sign off on that and he's in charge. I believe they think I'll snap out of it if they use threats. Smarten up, girl. Ha. Jesus Christ, this is ridiculous. I was fine until Cole died and then I fell apart and that's all there is to it. I can't collect my shit together anymore and I can't figure out why. Well, yes I can. Because the fun never stops. Because instead of a giant stressful event every two years they now seem to come every two weeks. That or I just can't manage life anymore. I can't manage anything anymore, but the writing, well, the writing goes along swimmingly, thanks for asking. Sort of like how the best songs are written while heroin is in heavy use. There's a reason for that.

For those of you blaming me for being this way, please know, I don't want to be this way, I know it isn't right, and yes, Cole did do it. It's a result of his abuse, which I've barely discussed here, hell, I've barely discussed anything here. Don't try and diagnose me over your computer. You'll fail.

Today I was called on my trust issues and Jacob got to blow off a lot of steam and calmly yell at me in a controlled, supervised environment. Which is better than at home. They always side with him and put a wall up between us and send us back to our corners and then we spend the afternoon tearing the wall back down until we can be nose to nose again and it makes things harder.

He pulled me out of the hole and we left the office an hour later after having worked some things out. Mainly, that no one's electrocuting Bridget.

Today we tore the wall down in the truck, soaked because it started raining again (better than snow) and we weren't prepared. He threw my wet mittens into the back and kissed me and told me I wasn't being fair and I can call him every name in the book but I cannot doubt him, ever. That I'm his life and I will be his life, forever.

Cue melted princess, who stopped going under long enough to really appreciate that exchange.

I live for those moments. He has come to believe they're no longer necessary, that I should know by now but I still need them.

He insists that I will be fine and he knows damn well that I'm working and I'm working against myself and it's such a hard road and it's sucking to be with me but he loves me.

I think all this does in the end is positively cement the idea of my needing rescue. Look! She's not just fucked up, she's Fucked Up. Enjoy, Jake!

Be careful what you wish for, they say.

He has decided to extend the no contact orders to include Ben. So I can get better in peace. They're all busy engineering a city-sized rubber room so that I can bounce around and not get hurt. This should be interesting.

We came home, got the kids and made lunch, took them back and now. he's. singing. Gravedancer. at. the. top. of. his. lungs. On purpose. I feel better. It sounds awesome.

His last band mostly covered Stone Temple Pilots tunes, so that's a given. He does a good Scott Weiland.

    I relieve and release your hurt that you may be set free.

Funny how I go poking around in my brain for Carroll quotes only when I feel completely unhinged. That and the lyrics to Home. Funnier still is precisely how many days the pills and the changes work before everything just stops working like the turn of a dial and I am right back where I started. I have what they call "resistance".

Snort.

I have something, all right.

I think it's called crazy. The funniest thing of all is that Cole knew how to work it. He created it, after all.

I think I'd really like to figure out how to end it all.

No, that's not what I said.

Go away. Bridget isn't having a good...um...year. Life. Whatever.

Mixed messages.

It's supposed to snow tonight.

I went running last night. Stupidly. Alone. Recklessly. In the dark in the city, only I didn't head toward Chinatown and I didn't head down through the financial district to the river trails on the other side, no, instead I headed all the way down the boulevard to the bridge and flew across it and up the other side until I hit Cole's park bench and I couldn't run anymore.

Jacob found me there an hour later. It got so cold. Perfect. I could indulge in a little release, a little pain to help ease the homesickness. He put his jacket on me and his arms around me and took me back to the truck without a word, short of the relief-swearing I heard when he saw me.

He took me down to the church for a little while. One of the few places where he feels as if he is on sure footing. He prayed. He asked me to, and I could not. He shook his head. We ended up talking for an hour in circles once again.

Jacob is an enigma.

He's so simple in all aspects of his life. His needs and likes and wants are basic and prolific. He doesn't make time for frivolous things. He's cut and dried, black and white, he doesn't want to exist in shades of grey, and yet he grows into a man who chooses faith as his path, along the way he picks up odd talents like telekinesis and hypnosis and illusionist tricks, like Lochlan has. And that's not all.

He jumped into my life with both feet. He tells me he'll never leave, he has my name permanently marked onto his skin. He adopts the kids, he swears up and down on his bible, on my head, on my life and his too that he won't leave, that he's never letting go and then we go to therapy and he tells them he's not sure how much more he can take. That he wants to run but he knows he can't and the only thing keeping him here are promises and glimpses of what things could be like.

If only he could have me deprogrammed fast enough.

He firmly believes Cole and Caleb brainwashed me and the only thing missing is a word or a memory and Jacob could undo all of it. That I'm locked in a mental prison and as soon as he can find the key I'll be out and we'll be happy and I'll be just fine. It doesn't matter how far we go or what he is told about what is wrong with me, he likes his version better and oh fuck, he digs with both hands and he's covered with dirt and he's exhausted and where is that goddamned key?

It's beautiful, really. It's almost as if you can visibly watch as his wings come down to rest against his shoulders in defeat. My angel, who has used up every last ounce of energy he could muster and he's not able to do this and maybe now that he's figuring that out we can get somewhere, because he is what's holding me back right now.

At least that's what Cole tells me in my sleep.

    So lie to me once again
    and tell me everything will be alright

Why?

It's an excuse to indulge. That's why.

Why?

There's no responsibility to be had. Everyone knows where they stand. Everyone knows the rules.

Why?

Because I could.

Why?

Because I don't think I'm worth more than this.

Why?

Because and only because he grew tired of the game.

Because it's time to grow up now. I think I went one game too far. I'm afraid I can't go back.

His summer girl was gone a long time ago but he refuses to accept that. And so he thinks he can reinvent her.

Why can't anyone tell me why I'm getting worse instead of getting better?

Read twice, cut once.

Here's the thing. It isn't the way it appears to be. Jacob is not Cole, and Ben has not become Jacob. Tell that to my head. It's successful this time because I spend no time with Ben anymore. Because I don't have to get away from Jacob, I'm not afraid of him, he's not systematically destroying me and Ben is not rescue. No one gets this. I'm not an idiot, but...

but...

But.

What kind of love is this? Ben and I have destroyed each other. We've broken each other down and used each other up and he is not someone I could have or would have made a life with. The day I met Ben he was singing. He smiled and complimented me and I complimented him right back and then I introduced myself and discovered he and Cole were already friends. I liked everything about Ben but namely I liked how shamelessly perverted he was. And it has stuck and we were twins in how sick and twisted we could be together. Verbally. How well we got on together.

Verbally.

And I knew when he fell and I knew the moment I became his muse, too and not just Cole's. A different sort of muse that now takes the brunt of the truth for what he felt for me.

Unaware but so so aware.

I held no shame, I let it roll, and on it has rolled for a million years and I really thought it was a surface thing. A flighty, crushy, lowkey, softcore kind of love. And he slapped me in the face with truth and it changed everything and it changed nothing and it took me away from him and then I realized that I loved him like a brother and he loved me like a wife. He wouldn't have cared if it was incestuous, I'm not even ever sure if Ben cared if I were male or female, there's something that he needs from me.

And I need something from him, only I can't figure out what. And don't be sarcastic with me because you think you know what that is. You don't know a thing about me.

For scorekeeping purposes, whatever I had with Loch I'm hopefully getting out of my system, we haven't talked nor have we felt the need to. But with Ben, I'm having a really hard time letting go.

And he has fallen apart.

Jacob will tell you I am vulnerable and it doesn't matter what I feel. Maybe he doesn't know me either.

Wearing the inside out.

There's something so romantic and chillingly sentimental about candlelight on a dark night in the city, the quiet din of glasses clinking and couples sharing secrets while the rain slides down the glass outside in rivers. It's inviting.

I waited for him under the restaurant canopy, my umbrella dripping water around me in a circle as the rain poured down upon the midnight city lights, leaving them to exude a steam laden with dust and grit from a long hot summer, now turned to icy fall days. My red raincoat was the color of blood in the darkness, the rich hue contrasting with my pale wet skin. My hair was damp, pressed against my head like golden parchment. My shoes were flimsy in this weather, my feet soaked. I heard the distant rumbling beyond the traffic noise, beyond the ebb and flow of the crowds. I checked my watch for the fifteenth time, the hands illuminated in the dim glow of the window. His meeting ran over. He was late.

Just then a yellow taxicab pulled up to the curb and he emerged from the back, unfolding into his recognizable form. His hair was tousled, his face relieved. He called out and quickly crossed the sidewalk to where I stood. He picked me up in his arms, umbrella and all, causing the water to arc out all around us in the air. He kissed me as if we hadn't just parted that morning, his damp beard brushing against my lips.

Did you wait long?

Of course not. You're right on time.

He smiled seductively, honestly.

Are you ready?

Yes, let's go inside.

We retreated in through the wide glass and mahogany doors. He put his hand on the small of my back and we stopped at the lobby to leave our wet things, and then he replaced his hand as we were led to a quiet table in a private corner of the restaurant. He pulled my chair out and waited for me to be seated and then he took a chair across from me and ordered a bottle of Masi soave, a favorite, to be brought while we perused the menu. And bread, he always likes bread with wine.

The wine was delivered, tasted and approved of, and then he took over pouring duties and smiled as I covered my glass with my hand. He chuckled and asked for water to be brought as well.

As we talked and enjoyed our dinner the rain traveled in sheets down the glass, the navy blue sky divided every now and then by a fork of white lightning. The rain made caustics dance on my skin and his too, shadows of nature at play. He reached for me once our dishes had been discreetly removed. He turned my hand over in his larger one, running the tips of his fingers around my wedding band and over the face of my watch, as if he could sense time and intent.

His eyes met mine across the table.

Hey, beautiful.

Hi, handsome.

Would you like cake tonight?

No, I think I can do without.

What next? Jazz club? Dancing? Brandy in a smoky bar?

Home.
He smiled. You sure?

I'm sure.

He gestured for the bill and we paid and left quickly. He hailed a cab easily and we bundled into the back and gave our address. The ride home was quiet and close, the smell of wet pavement and dried leaves all around us coupled with the aura of smoky air and fresh rain. His arm around me, keeping me warm, keeping me close.

By the time we pulled up to the house, the rain had stopped. The lights were burning in the front windows and we hurried inside, anxious to get out of our wet clothes and into each other's skin. We tore our coats off and and met in a blur of warm lips and frantic hands.

He smiled and blocked me into the corner. I returned his smile and put my arms around his neck. His hands traveled from my waist up to my shoulders and then to my ears, holding my face as he kissed me gently, breathing lightly, hesitantly, as if he was waiting for my response.

I tightened my arms around his neck and kissed him hard, forcing his head back, making him laugh. He wasn't going to let me control the events, and so he kissed back and I was pinned against the wall, in his arms, in his heart. His hands dropped to my hips as he gathered the hem of my dress up in his fists, raising it high, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he lifted me up and carried me upstairs to our bedroom, where the curtains billowed violently, the windows open as the remnants of the night's storm slid off the edge of the wind in the early morning sky.

The lights flickered and he smashed his hand on the switch to kill the interruption and the room plunged into blackness punctuated by the lightning strikes. He fell onto the bed with me underneath him, safe from his weight, supported by his muscled arms.

He ripped his shirt off with one hand, his tattoos visible in the electric dimness. He slid his hand up my thigh, raising my dress once more, bending his head to kiss my thigh, trailing his lips up to my hip. I sighed softly, he frowned and flipped me over onto my belly. He slid the dress up and over my head, kissing up my spine and then turned me back around to face him. We made our own stars to match the ones already beginning to show their hiding places in the sky as the clouds cleared away. We made millions of stars, our gifts to each other to remember this moment in time.

We passed the rest of the clear cold night in a warm flush of arms and legs and hair in our eyes and breath caught in our throats, need bringing out a lust that canceled everything else out. The sun rose on our bodies, now spent, exhausted, renewed and refreshed all at once. He smiled sleepily and wrapped his arms around me once more, wanting me to stay in bed longer, willing the night to return for one last round of lovemaking, for one last touch before the distractions of a new day crowded around us.

He said he was beginning to love the rain.