So different than the show (Part 2) (101).

(AKA the part where I realize I don't know who the bad guy is anymore. Therefore it must be me.)

He reached out for my hand and I crossed to take it with my left, for my right is still clutched around this big anesthetizing glass of red wine.

He then proceeds to squeeze my fingers gently as he starts a story for Lochlan (and Ben by default, so far the silent witness who prefers not to wade into our history wars) about how over the years he has noticed that the peripatetic nature of my upbringing under Lochlan's charge has led to a a desire to attach unreasonable meanings and importance to select possessions, in addition to an over-attachment to people, coupled with that debilitating fear of abandonment that carries a whole other name for it straight out of the DSM-VI but we don't like labels, oh no, we do not. So that a beautiful custom made wardrobe of underclothes wasn't just a few little pieces of velvet, they were my moment of elevation, a fantasy-come-true moment in which for the first time the most luxurious and fine fabrics became my everyday. That it hasn't been so long since Lochlan won a hundred wars with the simple gesture of giving back my music box snowglobe with my initials on it that I had to abandon once before. That Lochlan has absolutely no right whatsoever at any point to take things that belong to me and destroy them, that he would be wise to understand that it's his easy dismissal of things that are important to me that make me unsure, untrusting, almost uncaring because all of this is fleeting and can be taken away in a heartbeat.

Loch is almost speechless at what he's being blamed for.

This is my fault? Death is the only permanent? I didn't teach her that! Cole taught her that. Jake taught her that.

No, But death just drove it home and now look at the mess she is and why do you want to perpetuate this? Let her have nice things. Allow nice things to be provided for her. Respect her and her things and those who care for her and remember you are one of her things and you are only here because I have very great respect for Bridget. 

And Lochlan snorts. You respect her every time you tie her down, is that it? 

Our arrangements are none of your business and you've missed the point. Want to stay here with your friends and your daughter? Don't fuck up again. 

If I go, Bridget goes with me. Lochlan looks at me. I see the fear. Top left. Just a glint of it.

I nod and raise my chin up.

Caleb pulls me right down into his lap, grinding my wrist bones, wrapping his arm around me tightly. No, see. You can't go. Sorry, Doll. Your son stays here and so you stay here with him. This isn't negotiable and I would love to know what sort of brain damage keeps it coming up as an option in his little burning mind. Caleb is talking about Loch but he hasn't taken his eyes off me. He starts talking to him again before I can process any of this. Oh, I don't need to. It doesn't change. Do we have an understanding, then? You don't touch her things, I don't touch you. You've got such a good life here. Don't fuck it up, Pyro.

And then he let go and pushed me up off his lap. He said he'll have a raincheck, that she's already drunk and defensive and that's never a good combination, that when the new things are delivered we will reschedule so he can see how they fit. How they look. He didn't say how they feel but that is what he meant. The pretty fabrics aren't for me, they're for them.

***

This morning the new box arrived and was delivered to the main house. Inside, not two new sets but three, including one in butterscotch velvet with pearl buttons that I wasn't expecting. The new dark rose is beautiful, the mint green striking and when I tried one of them on I thought they had goofed so I tried on all three. They're too big and sag off me. I didn't eat much this week. Too sick. I wonder if he'll blame Lochlan for that too.

104.5

Might be rethinking the ease with which I get passed around for hugs and kisses as I have now managed to infect the entire point, save for the Boathouse which is now a Designated Safety Zone. Sam and Matt's bed has become ground zero because Sam and I have the worst of this and we have spent the past three days in bed bemoaning our shitty immune systems while we unapologetically drink all of the orange juice for miles and watch amazing movies like Rent and Point Break and extoll the virtues of wondering who mourned for Patrick Swazye's beard?

I did, in my feverish germy way. I did.

And then I slept some more.

Their bed used to smell like sandalwood and high-end designer and cool. Now it smells like sweaty little princess. I think I'm down to hours left and I'll be kicked out and the whole thing will be burned. That's fine. There are other beds for me to languish in.

104.

Part 2 will have to wait until tomorrow, or the next day. I managed to get the flu and just now got my head up off the pillow since yesterday. Holy dizzy. Coughed so hard I almost barfed. Ben made tea and toast for me before disappearing. Lochlan's been home playing Warcraft next to me and keeping me motivated. Sam let me cry into his shirt before he had to leave and Caleb brought over a Lush Legends box a half hour ago but I am too sick to be excited yet. I can't wait to look through it. He's starting to listen though. I don't need any more Cartier bracelets, but I love glitter in my bathtub and all over everyone besides.

And PJ's wearing a surgical mask because as he likes to say, he loves me, he just doesn't love my rabid, debilitating germs.

Yeah me neither.

Not so different than the show (Part 1).

The amazing label from last night's wine, in glorious compressed Blogger/panoramic form for your perusement. The wine was good. The label better. I found my own depiction in the middle of the crowd and my soul floating at the bottom on the inside.

The money I gave Caleb was my own from my emergency stash, my attitude I brought myself, hauling it along with me, a monkey on my back. Drunk but disorderly, belligerent and still sweet somehow. Hesitant but smart-assed. I was sent back to get Lochlan in my deplorable state and there was no way on earth he wasn't going to come with me, because I was going back to the boathouse no matter what.

I was making snacks while they talked and then I brought out a tray and had to go back for my wine. Then I lost my nerve and I stood in the hall, one eye visible. The rest of me hiding against the doorframe.

Come here, Bridget. Caleb's voice is soft and kind. I shake my head and stay right where I am. Ben has smoothed everything over. He wants to counter last week with some soothing of frazzled nerves and quieting of all the miscommunications. Things should get back to normal. Lochlan is ours, our business, we cover his expenditures here. He should try to look the other way when the bigger deals go down and I am reduced to sanctioned payment because Ben really likes to see it. Likes to see me crawl away on my hands and knees, likes the tears, likes the harshness and the binding, likes the shadow and the sound. And I'm going to do it anyway, may as well do it for the greater good. Or maybe that's for the lesser evil. 

But Loch refuses to leave me here. If she stays I stay. But if I stay by the door maybe the sun will come up soon and the light will kill off whatever depravity grows in the darkness. The filth of this. The needlessness of it. Ben pushes as hard as the Devil sometimes and I wish they would just fuck each other and leave me out of it. I want to make Ben happy but sometimes I hate how easy it is for him to lead us down this road. A road I was already on before he came along with a map and an ironclad itinerary.

And tonight my luck ran out with the rest of the Freakshow wine. I take one step onto the wire and Loch shakes his head. Doesn't feel right, not a good time to go, he tells me with his eyes but I take another step.

He closes his eyes and he's quiet. I wonder who he prays to, because he doesn't believe in God.

HA.

Took some eight hundred dollars and went down to the boathouse with Ben and I made it rain all over Caleb's lap so it was covered in twenty dollar bills and then Ben looked at me and said Go home, drunk, you're Bridget or something like that. He says he might work on fixing some things. Hopes o.

The velvet underground.

(I swear to God sometimes I get these visions in my head of the movie they'll make of my life. The Sound of Silence will play loudly in the background while Caleb and Lochlan dive to the floor in slow-motion, locked together in a struggle to the death. Dishes will shatter, curtains will be yanked off their rods and the looks of horror will cycle through the expressions on everyone else. I'll close my eyes in a shower of feathers and plaster in the center of it all but otherwise, you'll get no reaction from me.)

Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

Caleb is having a second (and third) set made (or remade, I suppose) for me. The third one will be that beautiful pale mint green. He said he was touched that I loved it so much I wanted to wear it always (which isn't quite right but makes life easier for me if that's what he thinks), but disappointed that Lochlan chose to destroy something that clearly meant so much to me, that if he is frustrated with his financial health, Caleb could help him but Lochlan refuses to help himself and so Caleb's hands are tied and he has no choice but to stand and watch Lochlan destroy himself over a matter of pride and petty jealousy and for such a freewheeling fucking homeless gypsy, his standards seem pretty rigid, don't they, Princess?

Shots fired.

Man down.

We're in this together. I stood ground on our behalf. Me and Loch. My chest hurts so bad when he does this.

Then you can pay your credit card bill for those tires. If he can't even afford to keep you two safe then...his eyes fill up. Incredible. God damn it. I'm going to call this The Week Everyone Cried.

He keeps us safe.

Caleb nods because he's going to drop it in favor of something else. What about the job with Batman? 

I don't know about that yet. 

He'd be a fool not to take it. Which for Loch is par for the course now, isn't it?

Demands a sacrifice

Only then I am human
Only then I am clean
Amen
Amen
Amen

I brought my treasures home and planned to wear all of it, just not with the Devil. And it backfired spectacularly when Lochlan came upstairs, stripped me out of my clothes, took one look at the most beautiful rose velvet and walked away to the stereo, where he turned up the music as loud as he possibly could without disturbing anyone. Our wing isn't near any of the others. It's the other side of the house with its own staircase. So loud and he locks the door and then comes back and puts me up against the wall, asking me where I got the outfit and I tell him like I'm so proud that I can stick it to Caleb and wear it with Loch instead and he turns me around and rips it all off me, stinging my skin, tearing my pride with the sound of buttons popping and stitches exploding in his hands.

Back around and he tells me not to do that, not to play them off each other, not to go there, not to let him touch me, not to take his gifts, not to leave, not to do anything but just be who I was back before I knew I could be someone. In the dark I can see the tears streaming down his face, dripping off his nose, hands clenched, not gentle, just fed up beyond belief. He can't buy the tires, he can't afford to dress me in velvet, he can't change our circumstances any more now than he could back on the road when we wound up in rough towns behind by a payday or three working for people who didn't deserve to see what we showed them and we didn't deserve to show them what they wanted to see. It's a vicious cycle and I'm going to be eaten alive as the music swells so loud it blocks out the light and mercifully I don't have to see what I've done here anymore.

Take me to church
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life

Nerves that feel like velvet when touched.

So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down
I'll never wear your broken crown
I took the road and I fucked it all away
Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace

There were boxes and boxes of the most beautiful lingerie. Cashmere underpants in gentle hues of warm brown, pale blue and sage green. Periwinkle velvet camisoles and stockings. The absolute cutest selection of forest green ribbed woolen underpants I have ever seen. I've never seen material like that for underwear before. It's a little stretchy on these tiny boyshorts. Very soft, fine fabrics. Silk and woolen stockings in sweet pastels. Some greys, lilacs, pinks, cream, skyblues and ocean teals, along with olive, burnt orange even, but absolutely no black. More velvet. The most delicate covered buttons and boning on a dark rose velvet corset that I've ever seen. With matching pink underwear with ruffles and satin ribbon edging and clips. Heirloom-quality. This is a dream.

My first two initials embroidered delicately on the top edge of everything: BR.

These are bespoke and unreturnable. I had everything made to measure.

Amazing. I push him away so hard. I ignore his requests, threats and even the pleas and I am rewarded. I don't understand him. Most people would get the hint and give up. He goes shopping because surely he can buy whatever it is that I'm made of. Five weeks without touching me and he loses his goddamned mind.

I expected to show up today and be flung off the cliff by my head.

What do you think? His hands slide around my waist. He's right behind me, pulling me back against him until I can press my head against his chest and feel his chin on my head. He sighs.

Why do you do these things, Diabhal?

Because I can, and because you get endless hives from lesser fabrics, and if I recall the last time I watched you dress, the elastic of the pair you had on was ruined and they sagged off your cute little ass. I'd rather you had good pieces to wear.  

Why these colors? 

They look best on you.

To whom do they do that?

Me. 

I thought you liked black and grey. 

My brother's been gone for almost nine years now, Neamhchiontach. I want to see colors again.

Junkyard Bridge.

She's in a long black coat tonight
Waiting for me in the downpour outside
She's singing "Baby come home" in a melody of tears
While the rhythm of the rain keeps time

Stress always manifests in me so violently, obviously, wracking my body from head to toe with uncontrollable tears and endless debilitating headaches and stony silence as I fight my way through another day of remembering to breathe and not cry when I catch a melody of a song that I like. Remembering the the little things building up are not the worst and maybe I don't have to fall apart over a flat tire or a broken nail.

But I do and it's like those little things, when you stack enough of them up are just as tall now as the big things and it doesn't seem to matter if the issue at hand is important enough, it's all painted with the same brush. It's all the same catastrophe and I keep trying to arrange things just perfectly in my deranged OCD way. Everything straight in a row, checked seven times because my memory shuts down first and leaves the rest of me to sort it out like throwing someone with no limbs into the sea and yelling at them to swim already.

That's what it's like.

It isn't pretty, it isn't film-worthy or book-worthy or fit for public consumption. It's like being in a coma and feeling everything when they've already decided you feel nothing and to just go ahead with no anesthetic. Rip out her heart. Rip out her mind. Rip out her soul.

The rest?

Keep it for spare parts.

Pseudoscifi.

Joel is aghast that I am turning down free, local, voluntary, familiar help as I forge ahead with his banishment.

Jasper is outraged that I nailed his boss again when that's all he ever wants in life, please and thank you.

Caleb is incensed that I still don't seem to need him.

Ben is busy.

Duncan is white-knuckling life and I want to help him so I stay away.

Lochlan is keeping his cards close and won't tell me what he's thinking about the whole job-offer thing in case someone gets ahold of me and I squawk before he's ready. It's happened. I'm a pushover and I'm gullible. I'm also horribly ticklish. It's a favor, leaving me out in the cold, trust me. I never could keep very many secrets. Once I'm full, I'm full.

PJ is tired, so I'm making dinner by myself though Dalton is about to jump right in here because again, I slipped and admitted I still have a very bad headache. If he can chop up some heads of broccoli we'll be in the clear I think.

Blue Monday? You're freaking right it's Blue Monday.

The good news is it's almost over.

The even better news? New winter tyres on Lochlan's truck because the ones he brought from the prairies were falling apart and unsafe. Not an expense that he needed right now so I put it on the black card. That will buy him some time, at least. He was so mad that I paid for them but also kind of glad for a little more time to cover the cost, I think.

It's like the whole point is half in rich dark shades of black and the other half is always in the red.