Hold harmless.

There is a sideshow school (!!) at Coney Island and I'm drowning in sleeplessness today. Ben and I each seem to average about three or four hours a night, less when we are being dramatic, more when we are tired of ourselves and each other and give up the ghosts in favor of healing rest.

It's the way it is.

I still harbor the great escape in my head. For times when I am sitting at the bottom of the pantry in the kitchen and everyone wants me out but no one wants to come in, I run away to join the sideshow freaks and they welcome me home and it's glorious and it's simple. They want bacon and cars from the seventies, they want to find some fun on a cool autumn evening and they want to be love. They want to get some mail and fresh wildflowers and a pretty ring. They want to entertain you for their dollars and they know how to boil life down on the rusted ring burner of an old electric stove in the back of a booth on the edge of the pier and they know how to eat what remains and thrive on it.

We, on the other hand, are just pretending.

Ben opened the pantry door, via the gorilla goalie method because I was already on the island and failed to hear his final warning and I was launched out of the park and back into his arms and he smelled like whiskey and love and cigarettes and sad. He yelled at Lochlan to back away and he put his hand over my ear so I couldn't hear him anymore. He is growing to be attached to my hair. Like the others.

Touch=safe.

He would do well to come back to the carnival with me. There are no devils in New York and no complications and no history of anything. Just grindstones and mermaids and cheap Louis Vuitton fakes and Production. Also there is the Aquarium but I haven't made it there yet, I fell in love with the gritty boardwalk and the lights and I can't be torn away from them, I must be physically carried until I can't see them anymore and then I'll walk under my own power.

I would love, oddly enough, to see that in snow.

I would love to be in the mermaid parade too.

I found miracles there.

I'm at work. I feel like shit. I don't sleep or eat. I just runrunrun and try to stay upright as long as possible and when I get sixteen or eighteen hours into a day I can stop and sit for a bit and sometimes maybe I get a couple hours of sleep.

Right now I'm busy trying to scan in the kid's school pictures. Caleb has the past four years here too so I'm going to make a slide show that shows how much they have grown. Ben should be here any minute to collect me from my day in hell and we're going to go have coffee with Nolan and discuss the weekend. I want to go to the farm for our 'merican turkey day. I want to escape for a few days. I want to go back to where it was when Ben and I were the only two people on earth and it was dark and snowing and we broke the surface of life together and took a really deep breath.

That's what I want.

He's here. See you later.

(Getaway in) Stockholm syndrome.

I say hell it is love
You say I must suffer
She's a motherfucker
Resurrect me

Sleep well in your killing bed
Give a jig and show some life
Favor for a favor
Don't separate the
Pain from the knife
All the doctors sing
You got to suffer for the cure
As the world fades away
You wonder where you were

I can be bought for the price of a few pretty little things shipped from Agent Provocateur, so says Caleb yesterday as we were preparing to leave his loft. He laughed as if he was kidding only that's when you know he is not, just like he always smiles when he lies.

The tightrope is worn rather thin over that part of the city.

And he is right, for I came away from the weekend with some gorgeous new sets of black ribbons and ruffled pink satin, a favorite combination. Dress up the doll and put her on display. Use your timeshare wisely. All girls like to be spoiled rotten and treated well and not the other way around.

Ben's eyes grew dark as he fought to honor his agreements and quell his own appetites and I let the excuses of history serve as our joint confession. He goes with me into hell. I won't be made to choose between Ben's continued success and my intactness. It's a no-brainer. It's a wash. So I kept my apologies to myself and I took my husband by the hand, box under his arm and we took the car that was sent across town and fulfilled obligations that sometimes seem never-ending and decadent and possibly undeserving and sometimes seem as if they were scraped out of the gutter and presented in a silver teacup.

Kind of like how you can scrape a girl out of the gutter and dress her up in pretty pink satin and tell her she's beautiful when it's all a mistake and a miscommunication. An error in being. A flaw in time.

An aberration in humanity. Like a half-formed future reject off the assembly line that makes people, I appeared with broken ears and a broken mind and a heart that loses whole big pieces and a total lack of judgement that makes everyone who loves me want to alternately scream and line up for whatever sort of enkindled torture it is that I can produce for them.

None of this is true, mind you. I don't think I'm flawed, actually. Not all that much, anyway. Ruined for sure, but I can harbour enough of a reasonable facsimile of myself to make Benjamin so incredibly happy he married me if only for claiming ownership of a visual that is tactile for him. Everyone else must be content to entertain it in their dreams save for for a handful of others who have passes but they are only good for certain times and the only way I can rectify that inside the brokenness of my head is to embrace some other part of my personality that remembers these boys don't remark on beauty that isn't remarkable. That I am worthy or they wouldn't want me. And that no one rocks the pink and black satin like Bridget rocks it. Like she rocks everything.

There will be no remorse until tomorrow.

Here where the tightrope is thicker and I have better balance, the pink satin is tucked away in a drawer that sees less of a confident reflection and more than a little doubt, thinner skin with which to be stung by judgement and hurt by glances carelessly stripped of their intended ignorance and doubt bubbling up from a well that should see the most confidence in all.

It isn't a sport, it's an obligation. Hunting princesses in order to leave the knights alone, I have a real life monster who thrives on making me afraid but also knows how I thrive on the attention it gives me.

I am not one to apologize and I know it will be dismissed as Bridget being crazy in the first few years after Jacob..well whatever it is that they say and I pretend not to hear because I am too busy being Shocking and Difficult and Impossible. Too busy making sure everyone loves me.

Just in case.

Just in case something else happens and a little more of my heart gets crushed into glass. In case you fail to understand that there are actual rules of engagement, something I am not required to share. It's a rare and precious occasion for him to actually touch the satin, don't you see? He much prefers to view me like a movie, burning me into his brain. Trying to erase Benjamin out of the picture, maybe. I don't know. I don't ask.

You think I care that you don't understand?

I do not.

Not tonight.

Black clouds with silver linings.

Very long day, bear with me. I need a vacation and not like the mini-Vegas one I just had. That didn't count. What will count is the fact that the children brought home their school picture orders and as soon as Ben gets home we are headed back out for Thai food. The fridge is restocked (so you can come back now, PJ) and neither Lochlan nor Caleb gave me a hard time today. August is a prince among thieves and I finally had a whole cup of coffee like ten minutes ago and plan to sleep the sleep of the dead tonight no matter what. Tomorrow has been canceled due to lack of interest and we're going to make fried potatoes, coffee and bacon and build a fire to keep all day long and watch movies. And it ain't even snowin' yet!

See I can be an optimist, I just need something to work with.

But damn, the day was long and difficult. So damned difficult. I'm done with that. No more please.

ARGHHHHHHH.

Benjamin is watching Hangry & Angry videos right now.

That is all.

(Snort.)

Presenting Miss Bridget Doolittle (oh, but doesn't Eliza Reilly sound more romantic?)

I’m becoming a monster just like you
After it all you’ll try to break me too
Falling forever chasing dreams
I brought you to life
So I can hear you scream

Because I don't know what else to do.

I'm not presentable. I'm not good in high society. I have a small town, south shore-girl accent and under my pretty dress I have dirty bare feet, and a chip on my shoulder that makes my dress hang funny. Awkwardly off my bony white shoulders and it lifts it up a little more and shows that much more thigh which is fine, they're one of my best features.

But no one is looking at my legs, they're always looking at my head because it's mayhem from ear to ear and beautiful chaos from my fivehead to the bottom of my overly pointy chin and Jesus H. Christ on a pancake, don't even get them started on my big quavery green eyes that appear to leak. Steadily. Drip drip drip. The plumber's been in, there is nothing that can be fixed.

How goddamned embarrassing it is and yet I want to yell fuck you into a crowd of people I'm supposed to live to impress and walk out. I don't want to be famous. I've seen what famous does. I've seen what infamous does as well. I want to be quiet and arrange my words and go for hugs when I need them and not talk for days if it suits me lest I open my mouth and all these unrefined and inappropriate emotions fly out and people wonder where you found me. She's wild, perhaps, they whisper as if I am their curiosity, even though ironically these are the same people who, for the price of a ticket, will come and bring their families and sit safely under the big top and watch the show in a controlled environment.

Reilly because I kept it. Couldn't do it, lost my nerve. Poor Benjamin, she doesn't trust him enough to take his name.

(Cover my bills, Mr. Higgins and I'll show you what talents 'high society' can learn from me.)

No, actually there were other reasons involved. Very significant and well-thought out reasons that led me to keep my last name and no one here had any issues with it whatsoever, especially Ben.

But you know what's great? He is so much like Cole. So much like him. Save for one thing. That quiet confidence. Ben only has that confidence in certain places and it's rather obvious. He's fallible. Forgivable. Unsure, even. Which is a far cry from Jake's unsure, because Jacob dealt with his weaknesses by hiding behind God and hiding behind rules that would Keep Bridget Safe and we all know how that went down. Thanks, asshole. You left me unable to trust the only guy who gave enough of a shit right through everything to stick around and pick up the pieces of me no one else appeared to want.

So now without Jacob's guidance and Cole's quiet violence we're left to do damage control while we're still busy wrecking shit and at this rate Eliza or Bridget or whoever the heck she wants to be today will never be presentable to your public, for your approval.

If you want her she and the big guy are busy putting on their tights and their makeup, there's a show tonight. We're billing it Pygmalion. For all the heartless guttersnipes like me who like that kind of thing.

I just know when you marry a girl from the circus your life becomes one. And it isn't always shiny happy exciting, is it?

Goodness, I've left dirty footprints on your silly marble floor.

My favorite is the Creelman Blickensderfer.

For anyone who thought I was harsh on Lochlan the past little while, please remember this is the curly golden boy who says whatever will make him look best. Of course he'll finally have my best interests at heart. Of course he won't try to come between Ben and I.

Pigs. Flying. Look how pretty.

None of it matters because nothing can come between us. Ben and I are nothing apart and everything together and I have yet to be distracted from that. Okay, I was mightily distracted from it this morning as Ben wandered around the house with his coffee and his tattoos and his pajama bottom pants yanked down just perfectly and the hair all tousled and sexy and his Movember beard and moustache now at ridiculous lengths and we were the only ones home and took full advantage and now he has gone to some meetings and Daniel is home sick and sleeping, having gone to work and returned with perfect timing and so I am shut in the library hall with the tiny desk at the end of the room in front of the window with my pleats arranged just so on this black dress that shows too many tattoos in itself and black stockings, black shoes and a dainty little silver evil eye necklace. Hair in the customary disconnected, cascading chignon and black glasses halfway down my nose. I always make an effort to sit up very straight while I type and apart from lunch, which is soon, I have the remains of the day in which to arrange the words so that I like them.

It's been a while.

Sometimes we go off the tracks and weeks go by and something rocks me and I lose my focus and then suddenly it's there again and I can block out everything else and the windowsill corners get dusty and papers pile up on the table and I begin to forget to do things like buy groceries and follow Ben around unplugging his instruments and amplifiers because if I didn't sometimes we get a loud surprise from a trespassing cat or a curious Henry.

I don't actually forget to buy groceries, it's more like I put it off until we've done a pantry challenge and use up some meal ideas that have been waiting for a bit. That's all. If you think I could ever go a day without pouring hundreds of dollars worth of food into these growing boys, you would make me laugh. These are the three-cheeseburgers-in-one-sitting type of eaters and then I am given ample opportunity to curse their male metabolisms as I try and zip up my dress after half a burger, no cheese.

I'm relishing today with the cold winter sun hitting at just the right angles to avoid needing lights in here, the books lining the shelves all the way around have a tendency to darken this room and the rickety glass chandelier that I can't reach to change the bulbs does little to help one to read. That's why I removed the window seat in this room and Cole made a built-in desk instead and lower shelves for my collection of antique typewriters. Only it's so narrow it borders on unusable, except by me and sometimes Ruth when she is moved to come in here. There are whole areas of the house they just don't bother with and others you will always find them in.

They prefer the sunny back of the house to the gloomy front and I can see why. It's been a challenge to find a balance between warm family-friendly rooms and my penchant for medieval chill and gothic revulsion in decorating. The urge to paint every room black gets bitten back in favor of the weird warm shades, like the pumpkin guts color that wound up in my kitchen.

The urge to leave the words in a tangle on the table is gone as well. I've put it off, let it go, ignored it in favor of letting the low grade fear run through me, incapacitating my brain again, letting the boys call the shots, fight over me and run the show.

Sometimes it's necessary. Voluntary even, as my head checks out and I live on auto-pilot, breathing quick and shallow, pulling the ribbons on my dress tighter so I don't notice and sabotaging the moments of levity with the greater future threats and past weight that precludes just being who ever in the hell it is that I am.

Whoever she is has enough charisma to secure the means to figure the rest out. Everything else I will just blame on words.

Biggest brownie I've ever seen.

One morning I woke up and the guard had become the thief. Jacob could always see things that much more clearly than the rest of us. Divine foresight through God. Yahweh for the win. Dumb Newfie luck.

We beat him to it last night and managed to reach a new level of understanding in the process. If only it serves to bring some comfort to Ben. I think he needs it very badly.

Perhaps I do too.

Lochlan and I got into it during dinner. He asked Ben if he knew of anymore concrete plans. When Ben is leaving. What the dates are. Was it before Christmas or right after? Perhaps through the bitter end of the cold weather and onward to spring? Let's talk, brother.

This, after I specifically asked for a moratorium on any talk of change for just one night. Please. One night of peace. One night of no bullshit so I can breathe deeply.

So I called him on it. I asked him what the fuck his problem was and if he was just going to be completely absent from me all the time while he was here he could go on ahead because I don't need his crap. He asked me if that's what I really wanted and what I really wanted was to stick it to him so I said yes. Go. Get the fuck out already. Give me some peace and quiet and stop doing whatever it is you do that unsettles everyone because you're judging us.

I'm making you unsettled.

Yes.

Holy Christ, Bridgie. Let me find you a mirror.

What the fuck, Lochlan. Where have you BEEN? Why are you doing this?

Because HE asked me to, and I'm trying to give the ape the benefit of the doubt.

We both looked at Ben. Okay, everyone at the table looked at Ben. Ben looked at the floor.

Benny, what have you done?

He checked the ceiling for holes and then he looked at me.

He'll have you all to himself. I wanted to know what that felt like.

You know, Benny. Christ, you already know.

No, I don't, Bridget. I've never actually had that.

You never wanted it, Ben.

He just stared at me while the revelations clanged into place all around me.

You asked him to leave?

No, I asked him to just back off and give me a chance. Baby, I don't know what I'm going to come back to. This is all I have.

You'll be coming back to me.

That's not what he says.

He doesn't know me anymore.

When I looked at Lochlan next, his eyes were glassy and he was staring at the table like it could put his composure back together on his behalf. I went and got the bourbon and I took his hand and pulled him outside, on the porch where it's freezing cold and we could be alone.

I thrust the bottle at him and he took a drink and passed it back. I took a drink and gasped because yuck. I could never understand how people can- warmth flooded me right then and I understood perfectly.

What really happened?

I offered to lay low.

Did he ask you to?

No.

So why did you offer? Why did he lie?

Ben is terrified he's going to lose you to me.

So then why does he tolerate you at all anymore?

Because you want me here.

Oh.

By now every sentence has been punctuated with a gulp and my knees have begun to vibrate. Lochlan's eyes are permanently glassy (he is a beer drinker and even then, not a good one) and we're losing the train of conversation.

But do I?

You tell me, princess.

I'm using you.

Why's that?

Because I know it hurts you and I want you to feel like I felt when you broke up with me.

Jesus, Bridgie, that was in 1986. You going to hold that against me forever?

I loved you.

And now?

I still love you but I'm not leaving Ben for anybody. Not you, not Jake and not Batman either.

I think Batman's chance expired years ago.

I do love you, Loch.

I know, Bridget. I love you too.

So stop being a fuckhead, please. You guys are impossible.

I think that was the end of the discussion. I remember seeing Ben's face and I remember telling him I loved him more and holy the house was warm inside and I don't feel so hot and he got me undressed and into the sheets and bam. Lights out.

But I keep my appointments because precisely at five before the sun even thinks about coming up I woke Ben and left Lochlan sleeping. I stretched my aching legs and we dressed quietly in darkness and went to see Jake. Because Jacob had asked for Ben. Because I go no matter what.

Princess, you look tired.

I didn't sleep. I used the Jack Daniels equivalent.

Something moved to my left and I looked and Lochlan was sitting with his back to the wall just inside the door.

What are you doing here?

Bridget, I've known you your whole life. I know where you keep them.

How did you beat us here?

I don't walk as slowly.

Is this your concern?

Jacob nodded.

Lochlan needs to hear this too. You both need to let Bridget lead because she's drowning in the crap you guys are throwing around. Did you notice she doesn't sleep? You fight over her twenty four hours a day and then you both give up to punish yourselves and she's the one who pays. Meanwhile, Caleb has become a refuge and no one even sees that. It has to stop.

They all looked at me. I looked from one face to another. Faces I know. Faces I love so much it's unbelievable.

What do you want, princess?

Ben, asking kindly in the way that he does because he's not above pointing out that he's going to put me first, and he probably does more than anyone else. To the point of overbearing claustrophobia and then he'll vanish in a fit of self-doubt. He permissions himself so strictly with me instead of letting himself be free to love me without guilt or second-guesses or a sense of entitlement. I wish he could do that with everything else, and not with me, but this isn't how Ben is designed, and he has to be told sometimes.

Lochlan has to be told things too. Since he doesn't listen to me.

Lochlan, can you do this?

If you mean can I be there for Bridget when Ben is away, preacher, I can.

Without pressuring her, without expectations? She isn't going to have a magical change of heart.

I laughed. It was nerves, or maybe I was still drunk. You don't describe things as 'magical' to Lochlan or you'll lose him completely. He deals in black and white.

Sorry.

I know, preacher. I've come to realize that things are different now. Bridget and Ben, well, they just work together. I'm not going to fuck with that. I love them both too much.

Ben reached over and squeezed my hand.

Then keep her safe and happy. Because she's come to me in tears every day for a long time now and I'm tired of being blamed for it.

And I woke up with a start.

Ben was flat on his back and I was wedged against him, my forehead against his elbow. Lochlan's arm wrapped around my shoulder. Unbelievable heat and I'm about to vomit and I didn't understand how Jacob could stand there with his wings and have a long parental conversation with the three of us so pedestrian-like. It was a sour-mash dream probably brought on by the stress and the fear and the fever and the arguments and it was odd to frame the resolution to a long-running upset in that light at all but I did it for a reason.

I was sick and while I was sick Ben woke up and he came and stood just outside the doorway. He would not hold my hair or he would probably throw up all over me because he's skittish about things like barf and cat poo and it's okay because he's fine with blood and he's great with zombies. Choosers can't be beggars and I can deal with the former if he can handle the latter.

I ignored him and went straight for the toothpaste and aspirin and then when I felt human again I asked him why he was up.

In case you needed me.

I do.

I know.

He put his arms out and I went straight into them. Because we work together. And we do not work apart.

Watching you lay into Lochlan at dinner last night was the best entertainment I've had in a long time, princess.

Careful or you'll be next, Benny.

No, see, I was smart. I gave you all my shit up front so any behavior I exhibit is an improvement over what you're used to. Lochlan isn't as bright as he looks, I guess.

I laughed. In spite of myself I laughed and then I went and threw up again. Oh my God, hungover. This time, Ben held my hair.

For brownie points, he said.

I awarded him seven million and twelve.

Points made.

• Am not drunk but here's hoping.
• Switchfoot is coming back to town. Happy New year! Holy gosh.
• Lochlan is being nice. Too nice too many drinks. Goodnight