Still sick. Kind of really sick but being treated and soon to be good as new. Or better than ever. Okay, at least no worse off than before.
In other news, Lochlan's compiling the Time Life Collection of Quintessential Songs From The Past That Paralyze Bridget Like Nothing You've Ever Seen, Physically, Mentally and Emotionally.
I thought the Rock Band game had that covered, since both collections open with Carry on Wayward Son.
I'll be dead by Saturday at this rate. Or frozen in place. Meh, nevermind, it all feels the same right now anyway. Back to convalescing and looking amazing while doing it.
Oh scratch that, Ben just said I look so pale I'm green. So I match my eyes at least. Here's to color-coordination in fever dreams!
Thursday, 12 January 2012
Wednesday, 11 January 2012
In a room with the unwell feral child at noon on a cold sunny Wednesday.
So...if you could...who would you bring back first?
Freddie Mercury.
I test Caleb's patience so. Bridget-
I was just teasing. John Bonham for sure. Or Peter Steele. You know what? I'm not sure now.
Are you going to make jokes all day?
Jokes? That's the holy triad of unrequited bucket lists right there. Three bands I will never see intact, Queen, Zeppelin and Type-O Negative. You need to get with it.
I meant Cole or Jacob.
I'm only answering that if you're prepared to invoke your evil powers right this second to pull it off. If we have a deal, I'll give you a name. If you're not playing Satan than fuck you for asking. AGAIN, I might add. I don't understand why it even matters so much when they're both gone.
They aren't gone. You conjure them up in the fucking garage on every day that ends in Y. If they weren't in our faces all day every day we wouldn't wonder so much.
No one told you you had to live here. I reached past him and pried the honey dipper out of his hand as he spiraled the golden liquid into his tea. I stuck it in my mouth, then pulled it out and held it up over my open mouth to let the remainder drip onto my tongue.
No one told me you were such an incredible pain in the ass when you're sick, Bridget.
I'm worse when I feel well.
Yes, yes you are.
Gee, thanks.
Don't mention it.
Freddie Mercury.
I test Caleb's patience so. Bridget-
I was just teasing. John Bonham for sure. Or Peter Steele. You know what? I'm not sure now.
Are you going to make jokes all day?
Jokes? That's the holy triad of unrequited bucket lists right there. Three bands I will never see intact, Queen, Zeppelin and Type-O Negative. You need to get with it.
I meant Cole or Jacob.
I'm only answering that if you're prepared to invoke your evil powers right this second to pull it off. If we have a deal, I'll give you a name. If you're not playing Satan than fuck you for asking. AGAIN, I might add. I don't understand why it even matters so much when they're both gone.
They aren't gone. You conjure them up in the fucking garage on every day that ends in Y. If they weren't in our faces all day every day we wouldn't wonder so much.
No one told you you had to live here. I reached past him and pried the honey dipper out of his hand as he spiraled the golden liquid into his tea. I stuck it in my mouth, then pulled it out and held it up over my open mouth to let the remainder drip onto my tongue.
No one told me you were such an incredible pain in the ass when you're sick, Bridget.
I'm worse when I feel well.
Yes, yes you are.
Gee, thanks.
Don't mention it.
Monday, 9 January 2012
Smoke and mirrors.
She dreams in colorTen minutes after eleven I make it back inside, slip off my shoes by the door and tiptoe upstairs. Cole is sitting in the hall on the top step in the dark.
She dreams in red.
We'll have to add some hot water, he says as he gets up and walks back into our room.
I follow him right into the bathroom where he has a million candles lit and a deep steaming bubblebath ready.
He turns to kiss me but stops just as I close my eyes.
What in the hell is all over you?
He walks back to the door and flicks on the light while I face the mirror.
Well, fucking SHIT.
Handprints. Carbon, charcoal-black sooty full handprints on both sides of my face, my neck and my hands. Cole starts to pull my clothes off and there are more. Everywhere, just everywhere.
The look on his face would have killed a lesser human but I have something to live for now. To get back at Cole for giving me to Caleb I upped the ante and started to see Lochlan behind Cole's back. Loch will never say a thing, he will look Cole in the eye and lie so convincingly it's easy to see how he can charm a crowd.
It's also easy to see how careless we can be when rushed, when desperate.
I look back at my own expression. Wild-eyed surprise. I look..happy. I look crazed and exhilarated and satisfied. I look amazing, like a living work of art, almost like when I become covered with paint when Cole paints a study of me or wants to use me for figure painting except this is in black and white so it's as if I have been molded and shaded by Lochlan's hand.
That's exactly how I became who I am. I was created by him and finished by Cole. Cole took a work in progress and tore me back a few layers to make changes and broke some unique features and I was never the same.
I am hoping to circumvent him now with Lochlan to finish myself. To complete Bridget and not have any more teardowns or revisions. I am defying him with every step I take, burning the memories in the flames, extinguishing my loyalty to him in a bucket of water that I ran and fetched at the tap behind the barn, crying the whole way, big hitching blubbering sobs because I thought Lochlan was going to burn.
It takes exactly five days for the marks to wear off my pale skin and another three for Cole to speak directly to me. I don't notice. I keep seeing my face in the mirror that night. Full of life. Loved. Wanted. Taken.
Vaguely singed.
Sunday, 8 January 2012
Game of chance.
He's down on the back patio practicing with his torches. Eating fire. Slow burn tricks and human lighter stunts that make me smile. Showy stuff. His arm still hurts. They refused to cast it anymore. He refused to let them anymore. He said it will heal on its own, eventually.
I am inside, washing pots and pans, watching closely since he is out there alone. I turn and quickly scan the room for my phone in case he goes up in flames and I have to call emergency. My face hits Ben's chest squarely and I bounce back against the sink.
Ow. You really have to stop sneaking up behind me.
You really should wear those tiny things that help you hear me, bee.
When I wear those I can hear Mars sneaking up behind me, Benny. Possibly Jupiter too.
He laughs and spins me back around so I can keep washing dishes while he puts his chin on my head and leans forward to look out the window.
Fuck, I gotta learn to do that.
Why? I'm guessing you have enough talents.
Oh really. He leans down and plants a kiss directly behind my ear while squeezing me so tightly I hear popping noises in all sorts of different places.
Crushing me should not be one of them.
Depends on the circumstances. He wraps his hand around my throat and pulls my face to the right to kiss me. I struggle, pointing out that I would love to cuddle as soon as I'm finished the dishes and Lochlan comes back inside.
Why? Do you have plans?
I always watch him to make sure he's safe.
Too bad he couldn't do the same. It's out before he can censor himself.
Low blow, Benjamin.
True story, Wee-Bee.
We engage in a thousand-yard staring contest. I'm not going to continue to defend Lochlan, my position on that is well-documented. I'm allowed to point out Lochlan's epic failures and he's allowed to point out mine, as they pertain to each other. No one else will get that privilege. Ben changes tactics, because he doesn't think it's worth continuing either.
How about we rendezvous at eleven then? A hot bath with some rose petals, just for my beautiful bride.
I nod but my eyes flick toward the window again, checking the patio. Ben misses nothing.
Eleven then, he frowns and shoves me toward the back door. He points at me. Why the hell is everyone doing that lately? Don't get too close to the fire, okay? You'll get burned. He does the Kurgan impression again, winks and turns away, walking out of the room.
I stop long enough to pull on my shoes and then I run out the back door and across the deck toward the steps. If there's a show starting I don't want to be late.
I am inside, washing pots and pans, watching closely since he is out there alone. I turn and quickly scan the room for my phone in case he goes up in flames and I have to call emergency. My face hits Ben's chest squarely and I bounce back against the sink.
Ow. You really have to stop sneaking up behind me.
You really should wear those tiny things that help you hear me, bee.
When I wear those I can hear Mars sneaking up behind me, Benny. Possibly Jupiter too.
He laughs and spins me back around so I can keep washing dishes while he puts his chin on my head and leans forward to look out the window.
Fuck, I gotta learn to do that.
Why? I'm guessing you have enough talents.
Oh really. He leans down and plants a kiss directly behind my ear while squeezing me so tightly I hear popping noises in all sorts of different places.
Crushing me should not be one of them.
Depends on the circumstances. He wraps his hand around my throat and pulls my face to the right to kiss me. I struggle, pointing out that I would love to cuddle as soon as I'm finished the dishes and Lochlan comes back inside.
Why? Do you have plans?
I always watch him to make sure he's safe.
Too bad he couldn't do the same. It's out before he can censor himself.
Low blow, Benjamin.
True story, Wee-Bee.
We engage in a thousand-yard staring contest. I'm not going to continue to defend Lochlan, my position on that is well-documented. I'm allowed to point out Lochlan's epic failures and he's allowed to point out mine, as they pertain to each other. No one else will get that privilege. Ben changes tactics, because he doesn't think it's worth continuing either.
How about we rendezvous at eleven then? A hot bath with some rose petals, just for my beautiful bride.
I nod but my eyes flick toward the window again, checking the patio. Ben misses nothing.
Eleven then, he frowns and shoves me toward the back door. He points at me. Why the hell is everyone doing that lately? Don't get too close to the fire, okay? You'll get burned. He does the Kurgan impression again, winks and turns away, walking out of the room.
I stop long enough to pull on my shoes and then I run out the back door and across the deck toward the steps. If there's a show starting I don't want to be late.
Saturday, 7 January 2012
I didn't mind the wait. I was watching the sunlight kiss the waves. All the way out past the sandbars where the whitecaps threatened even the best of swimmers. I swam out there once and only once. It was exhilarating, terrifying and life-changing. I'd like to do it again only that sort of courage is hard to muster and harder to maintain.
I can feel my skin starting to burn. I frown and pull out my sunscreen. SPF 15. I don't think it's working so I slip my sundress back on over my bathing suit. I don't own any sunglasses. I pull off the ribbon from my braid and let the wind comb my hair. That will protect my shoulders, ears and neck at least.
And then I see him, hurrying down the boardwalk, arms tight with the weight of the canvas bags he is carrying. He jumps off the high end of the step and slogs through the deep sand between the dunes to where I sit waiting, my bag full of sketchbooks abandoned beside me.
He drops down and scrutinizes me.
Sorry for the delay. The lineups are incredible with the tourists here. He frowns slightly. You're burning. Let's go back.
Can we eat first and then go right home? Always hungry. My stomach growls for effect and Lochlan laughs.
Look what I found for you. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a small bottle of Orange Crush, and then a second. It's like a scavenger hunt in every little town for us now. And this, he pulls out two bags of chips and then two sandwiches. I am busy spreading out the quilt that was in the other bag and then I check to see if there is anything else to be unpacked. At the bottom of the bag I find a folded up piece of notebook paper. Not so much folded, but crumpled.
I take it out and begin to open it up when Lochlan reaches out and takes it from me. He is abrupt and rough.
That's a list I made for my birthday plans, I should keep that. No worries.
But he's lying and we both know it.
He stands up and shoves it deep into the pocket of his cargo shorts. When he sits back down everything has changed. The sun runs to hide behind the clouds. The seagulls cease their cries along the cliffs. The waves smooth themselves and lurk under the surface.
He opens my pop and hands me the bottle. Eat, Bridget. We have a busy evening ahead. I think we can manage a quick swim though. He smiles gently now.
I nod and tilt the bottle up to take a sip. He is unwrapping the sandwiches. Egg for me, Montreal smoked meat for himself. They are from the deli beside the corner store. In exchange for the free lunch Lochlan will allow the owner's children to ride the Ferris wheel all damn weekend long, whenever they please. It's a small risk with a big reward: food. Something that is always too scarce on the road. No matter what we do we're always vaguely hungry. When I see deer at the edge of clearing behind the campers I don't want to feed them, I want someone to shoot them so we can barbecue them and then sleep deeply instead of fitfully, woken by pangs of hunger.
I have become a tiny carny, savage and with bloodlust in my eyes. At least that's what Lochlan describes me as in the stories he tells me late at night while we watch the stars through the little window above our bed.
I should have asked about that piece of paper again. I know what's on it now but it would have made all the difference back then.
I can feel my skin starting to burn. I frown and pull out my sunscreen. SPF 15. I don't think it's working so I slip my sundress back on over my bathing suit. I don't own any sunglasses. I pull off the ribbon from my braid and let the wind comb my hair. That will protect my shoulders, ears and neck at least.
And then I see him, hurrying down the boardwalk, arms tight with the weight of the canvas bags he is carrying. He jumps off the high end of the step and slogs through the deep sand between the dunes to where I sit waiting, my bag full of sketchbooks abandoned beside me.
He drops down and scrutinizes me.
Sorry for the delay. The lineups are incredible with the tourists here. He frowns slightly. You're burning. Let's go back.
Can we eat first and then go right home? Always hungry. My stomach growls for effect and Lochlan laughs.
Look what I found for you. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a small bottle of Orange Crush, and then a second. It's like a scavenger hunt in every little town for us now. And this, he pulls out two bags of chips and then two sandwiches. I am busy spreading out the quilt that was in the other bag and then I check to see if there is anything else to be unpacked. At the bottom of the bag I find a folded up piece of notebook paper. Not so much folded, but crumpled.
I take it out and begin to open it up when Lochlan reaches out and takes it from me. He is abrupt and rough.
That's a list I made for my birthday plans, I should keep that. No worries.
But he's lying and we both know it.
He stands up and shoves it deep into the pocket of his cargo shorts. When he sits back down everything has changed. The sun runs to hide behind the clouds. The seagulls cease their cries along the cliffs. The waves smooth themselves and lurk under the surface.
He opens my pop and hands me the bottle. Eat, Bridget. We have a busy evening ahead. I think we can manage a quick swim though. He smiles gently now.
I nod and tilt the bottle up to take a sip. He is unwrapping the sandwiches. Egg for me, Montreal smoked meat for himself. They are from the deli beside the corner store. In exchange for the free lunch Lochlan will allow the owner's children to ride the Ferris wheel all damn weekend long, whenever they please. It's a small risk with a big reward: food. Something that is always too scarce on the road. No matter what we do we're always vaguely hungry. When I see deer at the edge of clearing behind the campers I don't want to feed them, I want someone to shoot them so we can barbecue them and then sleep deeply instead of fitfully, woken by pangs of hunger.
I have become a tiny carny, savage and with bloodlust in my eyes. At least that's what Lochlan describes me as in the stories he tells me late at night while we watch the stars through the little window above our bed.
I should have asked about that piece of paper again. I know what's on it now but it would have made all the difference back then.
Friday, 6 January 2012
A year of living dangerously.
(Oh, hello, she says as she turns around to acknowledge your presence. I don't know why you jumped. After all you were the one who went looking for her. And you always find what you're looking for.)
I was going to come in here and distract you with flighty, nonsense words. I was going to show you my resolutions for the new year. I was going to share my hopes with you, and my plans to become a better, new and improved princess, starting the year off right but then two things happened.
Thing one was that Lochlan and PJ got into it. I mean, really got into it. They took us all by surprise and since the dust is still settling I can't say too much yet. This is one of the hazards of an intentional family, in reality. In fantasy, this was a terrible, horrible no-good fight.
Thing two was that I looked at the list of resolutions I have typed up and I noticed that there are only two things still on the list that I haven't already broken.
So fuck that, I guess.
And no, one of them wasn't to swear less. Jesus, people. The rest of the world can mind their mouths, I like mine the way it is, thanks. Filthy as a Sailor, twenty-four seven.
And now since we've done nothing but watch four entire seasons of The Wizards of Waverly Place in the past two days while sick with the second round of the holiday flu, I need to go. The final movie starts in an hour, and I need to see who the family wizard will be.
I know who it is in this house.
Me.
Snort.
I was going to come in here and distract you with flighty, nonsense words. I was going to show you my resolutions for the new year. I was going to share my hopes with you, and my plans to become a better, new and improved princess, starting the year off right but then two things happened.
Thing one was that Lochlan and PJ got into it. I mean, really got into it. They took us all by surprise and since the dust is still settling I can't say too much yet. This is one of the hazards of an intentional family, in reality. In fantasy, this was a terrible, horrible no-good fight.
Thing two was that I looked at the list of resolutions I have typed up and I noticed that there are only two things still on the list that I haven't already broken.
So fuck that, I guess.
And no, one of them wasn't to swear less. Jesus, people. The rest of the world can mind their mouths, I like mine the way it is, thanks. Filthy as a Sailor, twenty-four seven.
And now since we've done nothing but watch four entire seasons of The Wizards of Waverly Place in the past two days while sick with the second round of the holiday flu, I need to go. The final movie starts in an hour, and I need to see who the family wizard will be.
I know who it is in this house.
Me.
Snort.
Thursday, 5 January 2012
Residuals.
It's seven in the morning and Ben and I are sitting on the cliff, legs swinging.
What do we do now?
Live in the moment, baby.
I don't think I like this particular set of moments.
Okay then, let's drink some coffee and watch the sun come up.
And then what after that?
You plan too much. What about just taking things as they come?
What about actively seeking your dreams?
Tell me your dreams.
I don't know what they are anymore. Things have changed so much. I used to know. I used to have a plan.
And what happened?
Life happened and my plans fell apart.
Right, so maybe plan less and watch more sunrises and maybe a new plan will come about.
How much time did you spend with Jacob again? You sound just like him.
More than you might realize. I kind of liked the guy.
Shut the fuck up.
I cross my heart, pig-a-let.
Hey Ben?
Yeah, Bridget?
You're totally ruining this moment, imitating him.
But you're in it now, at least. And that's what I was aiming for.
Well you got it. Straight through the heart.
Yeah....
Yeah what?
Oh nothing, I was waiting for you to break into that Bryan Adams song.
I said straight through.
Close enough.
Not even.
If we keep bickering we're going to miss the part where the colors fade.
You need to stop reading my blog.
I can't help it. It's fascinating. It's like the junk drawer of your brain.
Really? How so?
A scrap of REM lyrics, some love letters, a paperclip bent into the shape of a heart, some dead birds, a thousand seashells, some faulty, unlit stars and a Slipknot CD you didn't tell anyone you still had. It's a shadowy drawer though, hard to see everything in it. I bet it keeps going forever, you can just keep pulling it out and you never reach the end.
Sounds perfect.
Kinda like you.
My eyes filled up and I shook my head. Not even close. But I know what's in your junk drawer, Benny.
He wagged his tongue at me, Kurgan-style. Yeah baby.
No, not that junk drawer.
Okay, what's in it? Serious now.
It's empty save for a guitar pick and a pair of rose-colored glasses.
Exactly. Now tell me, Bridget. What the fuck is cerulean?
What do we do now?
Live in the moment, baby.
I don't think I like this particular set of moments.
Okay then, let's drink some coffee and watch the sun come up.
And then what after that?
You plan too much. What about just taking things as they come?
What about actively seeking your dreams?
Tell me your dreams.
I don't know what they are anymore. Things have changed so much. I used to know. I used to have a plan.
And what happened?
Life happened and my plans fell apart.
Right, so maybe plan less and watch more sunrises and maybe a new plan will come about.
How much time did you spend with Jacob again? You sound just like him.
More than you might realize. I kind of liked the guy.
Shut the fuck up.
I cross my heart, pig-a-let.
Hey Ben?
Yeah, Bridget?
You're totally ruining this moment, imitating him.
But you're in it now, at least. And that's what I was aiming for.
Well you got it. Straight through the heart.
Yeah....
Yeah what?
Oh nothing, I was waiting for you to break into that Bryan Adams song.
I said straight through.
Close enough.
Not even.
If we keep bickering we're going to miss the part where the colors fade.
You need to stop reading my blog.
I can't help it. It's fascinating. It's like the junk drawer of your brain.
Really? How so?
A scrap of REM lyrics, some love letters, a paperclip bent into the shape of a heart, some dead birds, a thousand seashells, some faulty, unlit stars and a Slipknot CD you didn't tell anyone you still had. It's a shadowy drawer though, hard to see everything in it. I bet it keeps going forever, you can just keep pulling it out and you never reach the end.
Sounds perfect.
Kinda like you.
My eyes filled up and I shook my head. Not even close. But I know what's in your junk drawer, Benny.
He wagged his tongue at me, Kurgan-style. Yeah baby.
No, not that junk drawer.
Okay, what's in it? Serious now.
It's empty save for a guitar pick and a pair of rose-colored glasses.
Exactly. Now tell me, Bridget. What the fuck is cerulean?
Wednesday, 4 January 2012
Hush, now.
Bury all your secrets in my skin
Come away with innocence, and leave me with my sins
The air around me still feels like a cage
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again
So if you love me, let me go.
And run away before I know.
My heart is just too dark to care.
I can't destroy what isn't there.
Deliver me into my fate
If I'm alone I cannot hate
I don't deserve to have you
My smile was taken long ago
If I can change I hope I never know
I still press your letters to my lips
And cherish them in parts of me that savor every kiss
I couldn't face a life without your light
But all of that was ripped apart
when you refused to fight
So save your breath, I will not hear.
I think I made it very clear.
You couldn't hate enough to love.
Is that supposed to be enough?
I only wish you weren't my friend.
Then I could hurt you in the end.
I never claimed to be a saint
My own was banished long ago
It took the death of hope to let you go
So break yourself against my stones
And spit your pity in my soul
You never needed any help
You sold me out to save yourself
And I won't listen to your shame
You ran away - you're all the same
Angels lie to keep control
My love was punished long ago
If you still care, don't ever let me know
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
A wild night and a new road.
Every whisperBen confronts me late last evening in the upstairs hall.
Of every waking hour
I'm choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool
Oh no, I've said too much
I set it up
Consider this
Consider this the hint of the century
Consider this
The slip that brought me to my knees failed
What if all these fantasies
Come flailing around
I've said too much
What's the point, bee? Why are you still trying to reconcile Cole and Jacob's war anymore? It doesn't matter now.
Good, they're all still reading. That makes it easier.
I'm not doing it for me, I wrote that for Caleb. Just because I give someone a cookie doesn't mean they are forgiven.
Who? Who isn't forgiven?
But I didn't answer, I just walked around him out to the balcony to say goodnight to the sea.
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