Mini-update. It's still 38 degress and my fingerprints melted off two hours ago.

Home safe and sound and wtf is that bruise on your arm and wow you didn't shave or do laundry or possibly shower for eight days straight and Jesus Christ, just sleep now because you haven't and it would have killed you had you stayed out there any longer.

The bruise is where he backed into a piece of equipment.

The laundry because hardly any places had laundry service and when he got to the hotels he was tired. So tired.

I don't think he ate.

I don't think he knew what day was which, honestly and he's stone cold sober and clean and worn the fuck out and maybe too old to do this without a keeper and a hushed, irate call to Duncan confirmed that (because Duncan is still out there) Ben didn't do very well at all and hardly spoke and wouldn't participate past wanting to help with load out and showing up quite surly to everything else.

Okay then.

This is my fault. When pressed Ben would point out he wanted me, that I could fix his mood, his demeanor, his mean. He was angry and difficult and exactly like himself out there and the moment he walked through the door and I threw myself at him wholeheartedly we both knew that yeah, maybe we do need to be together more than we might 'want' to sometimes. He was instantly better, instantly happy, relieved and peaceful. No fake anything, no rage, no hostility. Dalton (who walked in behind him) said he saw the moment when the switch was flipped and it was the exact moment that Ben saw me.

Which is kinda...well, awesome and DOES A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT FOR MY PRINCESS COMPLEX, YOU KNOW.

So there.

He is still sleeping, having had a forty-minute steamy hot shower to wash off the road and the airplane fuel and the homesickness. Sleeping like a baby.

GUESS who just walked through the door?!

That's right.

Ben.

:)

On playing all your cards and I have a big mouth. Or big fingers, I guess.

To keep the flow (is there a flow? Am I cliffhangering again?) I'm just going to point out that I won't be detailing Caleb's latest proposal. He makes one up every time he has a checkup or every time a day ends in y at this point and also at this point both Ben and Lochlan have chosen to ignore them completely. They aren't worried in the least.

Basically his proposals are reward packages. If I leave Ben, I can have x. If I leave both of them, I can have x and y. If I am exclusive to Caleb, I can have..like, the whole alphabet.

But this time he said if I change my mind I can keep it all. I can go back to them. I will have it all and I should do it just to secure our futures. Just because throwing away that sort of offer is absolutely wasteful and selfish. Do it for the children, he said.

Right. Um. No.

That's why this one was so different and open-ended and supposedly ironclad, as he pointed out the day he dropped it on my head. I have also decided to just wait him out. I don't believe there's any sort of threat of removal involved, I don't think he'll walk away, and I don't think things will ever change so maybe it's best to just ride the waves and enjoy the sunsets. He left himself without any breathing room on this one, so maybe there won't be any more at all.

Here's hoping.

Are we caught up now? Oh right, I still haven't told you about August coming back from the East coast with a broken heart nor did I tell you John put in some sort of wacky formal request to move here.

Also! Ben is getting on a plane in mere hours minutes (they're on the plane!) and will fly through the night and half of tomorrow to get back to us because he belongs here, not Out There and Corey? Yes, Corey is still an asshole.

Feel like you're in the loop now? Trust me, nothing's changed.

I want to stay up all night and wait for him but that might be dumb. So I'll go wedge myself back under the fireball so no one can find me. Goodnight.

Advantage.

I woke up suffocating this morning, my face wedged in tightly under Loch's jaw, his elbows pressing into my shoulders, his hands wrapped around my head tightly. Protecting me from his nightmares as we sleep. I forced my arms up through his until I could release his hold and then he turned away, leaving his hand behind, holding mine tightly.

For as analytical and as sensible as Loch is in mixed company, he's still by far the single most affectionate man I have ever met, always within reach or closer. Always ready to spend hours in a hug if that's what I want. Frankly he's destroyed most of the other boys for me, they can't understand how a hug can last for more than a couple minutes at the very most. They don't understand how holding someone can go on for days.

Thank God he isn't them, for no matter how exasperated he gets, his arms remain open every second of every day, asleep or awake. I am grateful for that.

Too.

Ben's coming home on Saturday. That turns five days left into less than two. I can get used to that kind of math and my extreme bristling over his absence has been replaced with relief. His ire at me trying to bury my head in the sand is replaced with relief. There is far too much relief going on around here for two people who literally shared a kiss at the airport and then said Fuck you at the precise same moment.

It's meant to be, clearly.

Also, my gums are bleeding, my bangs are too long already (YES!) and I've cleaned every bathroom on the peninsula except for PJ's because PJ is a slob and we just don't go there. I think he might be nearsighted.

That is all.

Six days left and six days ago.

We both made the call
But it was only my fault
Such a beautiful view with a long way to fall
I was afraid to leave the safety of above
But if it doesn't it's not love

I've grown accustomed to seeing Caleb in what I can only call 'smart casual'- clothing that is not bespoke suits, steamed and pressed within an inch of their lives, delivered every third day by a service because I think a wrinkle might ruin his evil intentions or something. No, smart casual is Caleb in lighter shirts and jeans. Sometimes even in a hoodie and cargo shorts. It's less of a surprise but some outfits are still surprises, like today's black watch plaid pajama bottoms and a tight grey waffleknit t-shirt.

So tight it made one wrinkled line straight across his chest, binding against his biceps and his chest..and hey, what do I know? 32 degrees in the shade and the sun hasn't even come out yet and I need to beat back the fuzzy little cougar inside my head because she's becoming a problem.

So is that shirt. And if I talk about his clothes I can ignore everything else, right?

Like his hair, with the waves sort of messed up in front and the tousled ends and no comb, no forcing it to conform today, more Cole than Caleb, more sweet than sinister, somewhat defeated and open and welcoming and today I took the embrace, even though I knew it wouldn't do either of us any good at all.

The moment his arms closed around me I felt like a deceitful teenager and so I ducked out of his arms, asking instead for the report he promised.

He turned away and said Follow me, walking barefoot into his office, where he dragged a second chair around his desk and placed it next to his. He sat down and indicated I was to sit beside him. I took the chair and waited.

He reached into a drawer and pulled out two files. One was grey and had hospital addresses stamped on the front. The second one was pink, labelled BRIDGET. He opened the hospital one first and then he stopped. I'm sorry for making you wait. I needed time to rest, the headaches have been so bad. He went on to explain the high blood pressure of late, the stress and inability to manage his anxiety.

I'm foundering. The devil doesn't have anxiety, does he? How is that even possible? What stress again? I'm not understanding and he turns so that our knees are touching and I realize he hasn't even shaved today and wow. Beautiful. I see cougaring is some sort of defense mechanism. I wish I could just take a break already.

He continues to explain while I stare at the places where his shoulders turn into his neck and since when was his neck this wide anyway and he's not unaware that I am not exactly paying attention and so after a few minutes of me not replying to direct requests that I confirm what he's telling me he closes the folder and sits back in his chair while I reconcile his visual perfection with his internal imperfections. How can someone that looks like this be so ruined?

Oh, right. That's what they used to say about me, before the black circles under my eyes and the black hole that is my heart swallowed the pretty alive.

I'm not going to die any time soon, Bridget.

Cole did. BOOM. He was dead. Just like that.

Cole was taking things he had no business taking, Bridget. That's what killed him. It forced his heart into overdrive and his heart then gave out. Nothing more.

He took pills for his ADHD. It kept him calm enough to work.

Caleb frowned. The quantities of speed he took moved far beyond his diagnosis, doll.

I know this and I don't want to listen but he keeps talking about how he was forced to choose between watching his brother fail miserably and at least seeing him go out on top.

You could have kept him from that life and instead you made it worse?

My point is that I don't take drugs presently and I'll be swearing off alcohol as well now. My health is paramount. Cole refused to listen to reason and refused to stay clean and he paid the ultimate price.

He wasn't a junkie.

Caleb gets down beside my chair. Bridget, I loved him too, don't you doubt that for a second. But when I realized he wasn't going to change I had to shift my energies to you and the kids. This is what the second folder contains.

What?

Read it.

Can I take it home?

I'd prefer it to stay here. You can come and read it over as many times as you need to.

My hands are shaking when I pick it up. I was so sheltered. They continue to shelter me, Caleb and Batman do. Batman was as aware of this as Caleb and yet he's never said more than a sentence or two to me about Cole though he knows almost as much about him. More proof that I made the right decision sticking close to Caleb while cutting Batman loose.

I read the first few paragraphs and my eyes cross and I put the page down.

I can't do this right now. You want to cash in on his flaws.

Bridget, he takes my hands and places them against his heart. I manage my health. I am doing everything in my power to make sure I'm still around when Henry has children. Hopefully longer than that even. But I accept the fact that I have weaknesses and I need...help.

I can't save you, Caleb.

His eyes well up but harden. Yes, you can.

I need to go now.

Bridget, please. Just stay. Stop dancing around this and take what's yours. I watch you struggle. That's what's killing me.

I'll see you later.

It's ironclad. You'd be a fool to refuse.

I've been a fool all along.

Se7en (head in a box).

I must obey the rules
I must be tame and cool
No staring at the clouds
I must stay on the ground
In clusters of the mice
The smoke is in our eyes
Like babies on display
Like angels in a cage
I must be pure and true
I must contain my views
There must be something else
There must be something good
Far away

Seven days left and Ben has lost his phone already, supposedly putting it down on a table at a cafe and forgetting he didn't put it back in his pocket. We've wiped it from here, we think. Who knows, this is the area of the experts, not me. I just get even less time to speak with him now, publicly and on someone else's phone and so Ben reduces his discussions to nonsense like what he had for dinner and questions about who is at the house today. I lie, he lies and we just keep on counting down the minutes together and separately while the elephant in the room gets bigger and bigger. I swear to God it's inflatable and at some point it's going to burst, leaving bits of grey all over the walls, stuck to my hair, fluttering down like feathers from the sky.

Only it would be red, not grey. Elephant guts. My insides. Lochlan's hair. Pick a shade of red. Red is the color of shame and the color of my blood, the color of my heart and the color of my face when I blush or get very cold.

Or very warm.

Loch is so quiet and gentle right now, you would hardly believe it's the same person. Careful with Peanut-Brittle, they told him when they left. She's not sleeping so well. As if he doesn't know this. Ben's face was full concern when he left, masked with artificial jovial anticipation. Fake. Fakefakefake.

But the last-second hug from him at the airport buckled my damn knees.

You can come with me. He whispered, out of range of the showman.

The road is no place for your family, I reminded him, a direct quote the last time I wanted to go and he refused. I stepped back, bitter and composed, all of it a show of my own.

Our send-off on the weekend ended with a massive Fuck You to each other because when things get tough we both withdraw completely. He refused to stay and I refuse to be loyal. Everyone save for us will reap the benefits of the latest war (they call them Bores. B-wars. Ben versus Bridget. The Bores. Get it? I know. It's not funny at all.)

Lochlan went out of his way to remind Ben that I would be fine, and so he also incurred the wrath of all that is unholy and metal. And oversized. Depending on how ostracized Ben feels when he comes home, we'll just pay for this later and play house for now.

Depending on the day Ben either feels generous or selfish and I never know which, I can't set my watch by it, it just flies up out of nowhere and envelopes everything in darkness to the point where no one knows which end is up. This is one of those times. One of those awful, miserable times where I wonder if he'll even come back and he'll wonder why he stays.

And to add insult Caleb keeps sending me messages and leaving voicemails. He wouldn't dare show his face right this second, I might eat it off in my sudden sparks of tiny, ineffective rage.

Have you thought about our conversation? He wants to know. Fuck you I reply. And sometimes No and I don't plan to. When I'm so moved I just write Later.

In a burning building I would save Ben. All three of them are there and I would focus on the biggest. Save him, save myself. The rest are capable. The rest of them started the fire. The rest of them can burn.

Love how they police each other.

Oh well, then.

Caleb came over and admonished pretty much EVERYONE for dropping the ball. Since I have soothed their broken hearts, hungry bellies and bruised egos, Where is the reciprocation here?, he wondered.

They are suitably chagrined and we're ALL doing a lot better this afternoon.

Especially yours truly.


Also, he remains evil. Just in case you were wondering.

Little monster indeed.

Just stay away from the white light
I'd say your worst side's your best side
I never hurt anyone
I never listen at all

Eight days left and I've reverted back to many of my old behaviors of the late days of 2007. Living in my pajamas. Not getting out of bed at a 'reasonable hour'. Clutching the phone all night while I lie in the dark with my eyes wide open. Loch on a cycle, waking up to gently admonish me to Get some sleep, peanut before drifting off again sitting up only to wake up in alarm and yell at me again, under his breath.

Ben calls first thing in the morning in the time zone he is in. It's very late there, the time zone he is in is so far away. I listen to his voice, holding on to every word, squeezing the life out of the sound of him breathing, panicking when the connection is lost more than once. He reminds me to get a new phone before he goes. He says he loves me. Then I get fifteen seconds to catch up with Duncan and the phone is silent again. He'll call me late afternoon again to say goodnight. He'll sleep just when I miss him most and once again I'll realize I forgot to do a whole host of things because I am busy, watching the minutes tick by on the clock until he is home again.

Eat something, Lochlan orders again as I arrive at the table still in these fucking pajamas. I dutifully pick up a piece of toast and bite a crumb off the corner. It tastes like sand and I drop the toast back on the plate.

It's only a week, someone points out helpfully.

Ten days, I correct automatically without realizing who I'm talking to.

Nothing more is said and I sit in the chair until Lochlan takes the plate away eventually, toast still on it. His hand is on my shoulder, rubbing my back. He reminds me to get dressed. To brush my teeth and smile for the kids. He reminds me repeatedly that Ben isn't dead. That Ben has a job and whole lot of talent that he needs to cultivate that on a regularly basis and I look up at him and nod. I hear that Ben isn't dead but I worry that maybe he is and this is what's it's like without him. The moment anyone leaves the house they die, resurrecting upon their return, coming back to life when I see them.

My brain is operating just fine, thank you, it's my heart that's in full flight-or-er...flight response (RUN!). It's running the show and I can't seem to stage a mutiny to retake control. Maybe that will change? Seven more days after today so there's the week someone mentioned. Then six five four three two airport and I will stand in the private lounge near arrivals and realize I have aged another thousand years, therefore I must be immortal and I'll live forever, which is not something I am interested in in the least.

I'm only interested in next Tuesday, thank you. And until then, yes, I'm going to be impossible, Lochlan.

Deal with it.

Epithets and airports.

Ten days, he said.

I'm fine, I said.

Ten days to go out and wreak havoc, albeit more slowly than he used to, tearing up the stage in a place where they all know enough English to sing along but not enough to understand the meanings of the songs they're singing. Ten days to get a taste of a life he used to have, albeit sober this time around with no women, no drugs, no booze and no all-nighters. Prescription medicine and aftershow Skype calls home each night replace a few forties of poison and a line up of girls.

Shopping for souvenirs for his stepchildren and his friends replaces writing cheques for trashed clubs, hotel rooms and equipment.

Counting days of mayhem is replaced by counting the days until home.

We shouldn't be doing this replaces we should have done this a long time ago.

Payments begin to trickle in again where before the funds sat stagnant and uninspired, earned long ago and still undecided on. What to spend. What to keep. What to invest. What to plan. What to do now that life is so suburbanized beyond what he ever thought he would have. He used to have nightmares about overdosing on the road, dying alone with nothing. Nowhere to call home, no one to call his own and nothing save for the liner notes, some fancy framed records and a Wikipedia entry to tell you who he really was.

That doesn't happen anymore. The nightmares have been replaced with ones involving who is Alpha and who is Omega. And how long before someone snaps and tries to push the Devil off the cliff, bringing a curse down upon our heads that lasts a thousand lifetimes over, dooming us to the purgatory of hell on earth. How long before the Princess explodes, her head a magnificent cocktail of incendiary thoughts and explosive moods that threaten to blow it right off her fucking neck at any given moment and that is why he keeps his hand wrapped around it when he sleeps and who's going to look after that while he's gone and what if the job is easier for someone else and what if the plane goes into the Atlantic and what if the stars don't align and what if he likes it too much to come back and what if, what if, what if?

And none of the above is relevant to you specifically unless you, like Lochlan, ask me why I'm being so awful today and maybe it's because Ben promised he wouldn't go anywhere ever again but then you know, it's only ten days, Bridget and it will be over before you know it and all sorts of half-lies and...placations and crap spewed out and the very last thing I will be to Ben is Yoko Ono and so I nodded and told him he should totally go! And he pointed out that my eyes were far removed from the rest of my enthusiasm and then with equal alarm he assured me that Lochlan would be here. That only Dalton, Duncan and Corey are going with him so I have everyone else but I'd better miss him (Ben, that is) or he would be really sad.

I said I was already sad and I cried as I helped him pack. Best wife ever. He had to switch out to a larger suitcase just for all the misery I lovingly squished in around his things because I ran out of arms to hold it and I've always been told it loves company.

Nine days left.