Laundromats in Santa Monica have free wi-fi, and I still have the same problem I had when I was a preteen and would fall asleep on long drives, waking up tremendously carsick.
I've made some headway, however. I managed to get OUT of the camper. But it was a small victory in that I still managed to barf on Loch, who was not all that impressed and then almost barfed himself.
We're doing great, thanks.
Sunday, 12 August 2012
Friday, 10 August 2012
But listen carefully to the sound of your lonelinessRoad trip, he said. Right now. Pack.
Like a heartbeat drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering
What you had and what you lost
I wanted to ask where or how long but I know better than to ask that when he looks like that.
Yes, Loch. I said instead, and went to get my things.
Thursday, 9 August 2012
Fair and square.
Ben's index finger trails across my top lip. He is on his knees in front of me, my wrists caught in his left hand, his right hand silencing my protest. He is frustrated, growing more heavy-handed by the hour in spite of his efforts to stay light. He keeps tightening and then loosening his hold on me as if his very limbs are breathing through the effort. I am held within his heartbeat.
Just once, Bridget. Face your fears and feed your demons? (It's something we tell each other sometimes when one of us hesitates just a little too long. In my case a little too long translates into days.)
The demon gets fed. Far too often. I'm not encouraging him anymore. And Loch won't like it.
Loch doesn't have a say and it changes nothing. Everything's on your terms.
That's when I feel hands on my shoulders and I am pulled backward until I am leaning against Hell. Hell is in a suit vest and matching pants, white shirt with sleeves rolled up, tiebar still fixed in place, tie loosened and bowed over the top of the bar. Caleb's chin presses down on top of my head and Ben's finger slips, his nail scraping my lip just enough to illicit a tiny cry of protest. He stands up and takes a step in toward me, pulling my face up to his for a kiss to make it better. This won't make things better, this makes Satan worse and Lochlan worse and sometimes Ben worse and yet here he is still looking for the tiny domestic thrills wherever he can get them. Still looking to watch. Still looking to bleed out on the inside while he fights and loses the battle to control his whims.
He has a sweet tooth. I am the candy store. Caleb, the sugar daddy. Nothing changes. Not money, not positioning, not the promises he made to Lochlan on a beach ten months ago to cleave their hearts in half and be NICE and not pull my arms apart as if I were a ragdoll and they were the children.
And yet the minute Loch turns his back, Ben steers us all on a collision course with the dark.
Caleb's hand slides up the side of my neck and my goosebumps betray me. I close my eyes. Fucking touch my head and my composure is swallowed whole, never to be seen again. He spins me around to face him, lifting my chin up, asking me what I want.
And I'm such a brat that I open my eyes and say Lochlan.
Just to be as difficult as possible. Just to tell the truth.
This is not the promise I made to Ben. I made it to Cole and Cole's long gone now. But according to Caleb, a promise is a promise, and according to Benjamin, life is short and according to Bridget, tomorrow's going to suck and involve things like Robax platinum and shots of whiskey when no one is looking to calm my frayed nerves and a jeans and a hoodie to hide the marks and I'll walk rather slowly and look no one in the eye and when Lochlan comes home he'll just know because I don't lie very well and he'll blame me anyway because he thinks I engineer my life and if I do then no one has told me how, I'm just along for the ride, be it on a Ferris wheel with all the pretty lights in the night or on the pitch-black rollercoaster, screaming into the dark at a high rate of speed.
Just once, Bridget. Face your fears and feed your demons? (It's something we tell each other sometimes when one of us hesitates just a little too long. In my case a little too long translates into days.)
The demon gets fed. Far too often. I'm not encouraging him anymore. And Loch won't like it.
Loch doesn't have a say and it changes nothing. Everything's on your terms.
That's when I feel hands on my shoulders and I am pulled backward until I am leaning against Hell. Hell is in a suit vest and matching pants, white shirt with sleeves rolled up, tiebar still fixed in place, tie loosened and bowed over the top of the bar. Caleb's chin presses down on top of my head and Ben's finger slips, his nail scraping my lip just enough to illicit a tiny cry of protest. He stands up and takes a step in toward me, pulling my face up to his for a kiss to make it better. This won't make things better, this makes Satan worse and Lochlan worse and sometimes Ben worse and yet here he is still looking for the tiny domestic thrills wherever he can get them. Still looking to watch. Still looking to bleed out on the inside while he fights and loses the battle to control his whims.
He has a sweet tooth. I am the candy store. Caleb, the sugar daddy. Nothing changes. Not money, not positioning, not the promises he made to Lochlan on a beach ten months ago to cleave their hearts in half and be NICE and not pull my arms apart as if I were a ragdoll and they were the children.
And yet the minute Loch turns his back, Ben steers us all on a collision course with the dark.
Caleb's hand slides up the side of my neck and my goosebumps betray me. I close my eyes. Fucking touch my head and my composure is swallowed whole, never to be seen again. He spins me around to face him, lifting my chin up, asking me what I want.
And I'm such a brat that I open my eyes and say Lochlan.
Just to be as difficult as possible. Just to tell the truth.
This is not the promise I made to Ben. I made it to Cole and Cole's long gone now. But according to Caleb, a promise is a promise, and according to Benjamin, life is short and according to Bridget, tomorrow's going to suck and involve things like Robax platinum and shots of whiskey when no one is looking to calm my frayed nerves and a jeans and a hoodie to hide the marks and I'll walk rather slowly and look no one in the eye and when Lochlan comes home he'll just know because I don't lie very well and he'll blame me anyway because he thinks I engineer my life and if I do then no one has told me how, I'm just along for the ride, be it on a Ferris wheel with all the pretty lights in the night or on the pitch-black rollercoaster, screaming into the dark at a high rate of speed.
Wednesday, 8 August 2012
Mercy wakes.
Ben is plotting ice cream sundaes and television for a rainy night. I am already asleep on my feet, getting over this stupid flu bug and not getting nearly enough sleep besides.
I fall asleep midway through the bowl, tucked into his arm. I think he ate his spoon but I forget to ask as I turn and walk down the hall toward my dream while he settles in to watch a documentary on Bob Marley. My brain is fried, my synapses firing blind, nerves shot into a target painted black with large circles and holes, clean through.
In my dream, the devil marries me and the ring he puts on my finger is the mood ring he ripped from my finger when I was twelve. In my dream the ring fuses into my bones and becomes a part of me. I put a curse on it so that you can never get away, he whispers, his face turning black in the hollows, stretching long into the dark. His voice drops to a whispery-growl and I shrink away as the thunder rolls and crashes around us.
Blessed are those who mourn! shouts Jacob into the wind, standing at the top of the path under a tree bending dangerously in the high winds. His blonde hair whips against his teeth, lips spread wide into pure joy. You will be comforted! He points down at me and I shrink back against the devil, aligning myself with the dark. The devil wraps his arms around me and I disappear into him, screaming.
He squeezes hard and all of my breath escapes my lungs in a rush. My eyes fly open and it's Ben, his face an inch away from mine, his eyes filled to the brim with concern. He kisses my eyelashes. Just a bad dream, little bee. Just a dream. You're okay. I'm here. Everything's okay. I open my mouth to tell him I'm fine and begin to hyperventilate instead. He holds my attention and counts, one arm holding me close, the other stroking my cheek until I can exhale normally again and then after a few minutes he asks what this nightmare was about. It helps to talk about them, or so they say. I'm still on the fence.
The Beatitudes.
From the bible?
Yes.
Preacher dreams?
Satan was there too.
Which one was scary?
Both.
Ben squeezes me closer against him and presses his lips against my forehead. I hear Bob Marley singing in the background and for once I'm grateful for music that doesn't ask an emotional ransom of me.
I fall asleep midway through the bowl, tucked into his arm. I think he ate his spoon but I forget to ask as I turn and walk down the hall toward my dream while he settles in to watch a documentary on Bob Marley. My brain is fried, my synapses firing blind, nerves shot into a target painted black with large circles and holes, clean through.
In my dream, the devil marries me and the ring he puts on my finger is the mood ring he ripped from my finger when I was twelve. In my dream the ring fuses into my bones and becomes a part of me. I put a curse on it so that you can never get away, he whispers, his face turning black in the hollows, stretching long into the dark. His voice drops to a whispery-growl and I shrink away as the thunder rolls and crashes around us.
Blessed are those who mourn! shouts Jacob into the wind, standing at the top of the path under a tree bending dangerously in the high winds. His blonde hair whips against his teeth, lips spread wide into pure joy. You will be comforted! He points down at me and I shrink back against the devil, aligning myself with the dark. The devil wraps his arms around me and I disappear into him, screaming.
He squeezes hard and all of my breath escapes my lungs in a rush. My eyes fly open and it's Ben, his face an inch away from mine, his eyes filled to the brim with concern. He kisses my eyelashes. Just a bad dream, little bee. Just a dream. You're okay. I'm here. Everything's okay. I open my mouth to tell him I'm fine and begin to hyperventilate instead. He holds my attention and counts, one arm holding me close, the other stroking my cheek until I can exhale normally again and then after a few minutes he asks what this nightmare was about. It helps to talk about them, or so they say. I'm still on the fence.
The Beatitudes.
From the bible?
Yes.
Preacher dreams?
Satan was there too.
Which one was scary?
Both.
Ben squeezes me closer against him and presses his lips against my forehead. I hear Bob Marley singing in the background and for once I'm grateful for music that doesn't ask an emotional ransom of me.
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
Monday, 6 August 2012
Get your mind together.
I know, I knowBen finally got up in time to see Curiosity land on Mars and indulge in a bit of conscious holding of the Princess before he frowned and removed my Agent P gear completely. I thought he would enjoy it but he doesn't want any affectations, no window-dressing right now, no disguises. I wondered for a brief moment if I was going to get to cross #1 off my bucket list and be herded outside to ride around the yard on a motorcycle sans clothing but no, not last night I guess.
You'll probably scream and cry
That your little world won't let go
But who in your measly little world are trying to prove that
You're made out of gold and can't be sold?
I can wait for the motorcycle. In the meantime I will just ride the Rockstar.
Snort.
***
Today is weird. Today every time I stand up my eyes cross and I feel like I'm going head over heels, almost to blackout-stage but just not quite. I have eaten. I did sleep. I helped pass up screws while the ceiling fans were installed in several bedrooms and I felt the sweat trickle down the back of my neck from the time I got out of the shower until the rain began, midafternoon.
I opened every window in the house and relished the cool breeze. I cursed the intense heat because I no longer adore it. It just makes me incredibly cranky and tired and impossible.
Daniel asked if I would pick him up a Utilikilt too since Ben and Loch and several others have them and I said I would and Googled a shop that sells them, in addition to things I had never HEARD of and boy am I ever sheltered. I went back to Daniel with a list of questions as long as my arm and he laughed and then blushed, admitting he could only answer a couple of them, so I went to the walking fairy-boy encyclopedia that is Schuyler and he knew and then I told him he was far too worldly for my Danny. He countered that Ben could have answered any of those questions.
What?
He's worldly, is what I meant.
Well, so am I.
Not like we are, he laughed.
Oh, Schuyler, I've done things that would curl your hair.
Sadly, you think those things give you cred, Bridget.
I need cred now too?
Bucketloads.
Hey, I think I saw something with that name on that website!
So I think I'll keep the unknown unknown for now. It's much more delicious and fun that way, imagining. But this doesn't fix the What-to-wear-when-it's-twelve-thousand-degrees-out question now, does it?
I went back to Daniel and told him to just wear his Speedo and pretend he was going to go swimming or something. Eventually.
Sunday, 5 August 2012
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.
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.
Friday, 3 August 2012
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 merehours 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.
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
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.
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