No longer a point, but instead a principality.

(Because it's a Brave Day, I can do anything.)

A surprise breakfast invitation late last night was a welcome start to what's going to be a long day. Poet (Duncan) asked out of the blue over guitars and tea and everyone kind of froze for a few seconds before recovering and I said sure. It isn't often we can connect without distractions and I haven't actually seen him much since he came back from Nevada.

He took me to a greasy little place with all-day breakfast and we ate maybe five thousand calories each. I could feel my cholesteral levels straining against my dress and boots as we walked back to the truck afterward. Whatever courage he couldn't find in his coffee cup came pouring down the windshield of Ben's truck, mixed with the heavy rain because he looked at me, without starting the engine and said if I needed to blow off steam or deal with my new/old (formally acknowledged, I mean) sex addiction issues he's still offering himself, no strings attached, no drama. I have no secrets any more. They left, along with my dignity and my privacy. We used to be subtle. Suddenly we're not and I find it difficult.

No violence, Poem. His voice breaks slightly. Oh, God, what a sweetheart. Someone please save me from this sort of blindside. I need to be able to see.

I love you, Dunk. Please know it isn't about just needing more. Caleb and I go way back. 

Yes, I'm aware. 

So you understand. 

He isn't good for you, Bridge. 

I don't say anything else on the ride up the highway and once we're parked in the driveway he kisses my forehead really hard and then gets out and I stay there for a few minutes. My phone buzzes and it's Caleb wanting me up at the new house. He's been pretending not to read my words, not to listen to my cries, not to understand that he's the root of all evil and I'm sure that's going to come crashing to a halt the minute I walk through the door. I text Loch that I'm going to the yellow house and I head up the driveway on foot. I don't have an umbrella but it's not far once you pass the top of our driveway.

The door is open and I go inside. The foyer is white marble. Everything. Floors, walls, built-in benches with a half-shelf that circles around. The closet door is redwood with a huge gemmed doorknob.

Oh dear. I say and I laugh. Caleb turns and smiles.

Indeed. It needs not only a woman's touch but a decorator's touch. Our shared hobby is trying to figure out how the very wealthy decorate with no pause to see how things actually look or feel. I'm a tactile decorater. The colors have to be restful or energizing but the room has to be touchable, too. This is sterile, standoffish, clashing and just weird.

How was Claus this morning? 

Very Santa-like. Kind and generous but he's well aware which list I'm on, between naughty and nice. 

And? 

Wait and see. 

What about Duncan? He behave? 

The food was good and the company better. 

That means no, doesn't it?

How bad is the kitchen? I haven't seen the house yet. Caleb bought it outright off the former owners. It wasn't for sale. He offered them their retirement and they took it, probably tired of wondering what's going on down the hill in the circus of the stars. The State of Bridget is now enacted. We're live.

I'm going to gut the house and rebuild. 

That seems expensive. I walk down the steps and across the great room. When I come around the corner I see his point and nod enthusiastically. Yeah. Let's burn it with fire. 

A fun project for you and I for the next year? Something constructive instead of damning? 

Sure. 

Bridget, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. 

No, you're not. You like me this way. 

I want you to be happy. He tries to smile gently but it comes out as a lie.

You're still chasing things you'll never have, Diabhal. 

I can bear the weight to still be a part of your life, Neamhchiontach. 

You think that cross is heavy now, you just wait until we get going. 

Tomorrow's already different, you fuckwads.

I'd rather talk about normal than this so let's just say I got wasted during the course of the interviews and Joel and August collectively called a stop to the whole thing five counselors in. By then I was worn out and sweetly sarcastic and Caleb was getting angrier by the minute. Mostly I would laugh at inopportune times because my phone was vibrating non-stop thanks to Lochlan who was off working for Batman because September is well in hand and that was the deal and I think Loch was really hoping everyone would forget he was employed. Such a dreamer. He's just like me.

Well, except he is way more perspicuous.

And he didn't like not being here for my impetuous inevitable meltdown.

August had a better plan anyway, and it involves bringing Claus out of retirement and setting him up for some facetime calls with me on an almost daily basis for the foreseeable future. Claus says I'm a treat and that he doesn't mind at all, that he'll be happy if he can help in the interim. He said we would see if we couldn't get back to a place where everything isn't quite so raw all the time anymore and then from there we'll deal with my issues with sex and abandonment and OCD and the Devil and the ghosts.

Do I want to talk about sex with Claus? He says it's an addiction so I can but...oh, dear. 

Here we are on the absolute precipice of eight years since Jacob died (Died? Flew, I prefer but I'm no longer permitted to sugarcoat facts just limbs). EIGHT and I still can't get out of my own way and they're holding me up forcing me to live life that I didn't choose, didn't want and don't care for. It wasn't supposed to be this way and I have such brave moments where I can get better, I can move on, I can make more drama between Loch and Caleb and I can feel anything but this but then in the quiet moments it ambushes me. It never goes away, it just waits.

People jump to end this feeling. People jump to make this feeling go away because it's anguish. It's agony and no amount of expertise is going to change how I feel.

So let's just talk about normal please because I can't talk about this all the time. You want to know how I feel but there aren't sufficient words to make you understand and there never will be.

Ben gets it. He's the only one that will ever get it close enough to make sense. I had to hand him my heart and my brain today and he lofted them up and asked which one was which and I had to remind him that it doesn't matter, they're interchangeable. They're so broken he wouldn't argue if he could.

So from here on out let's talk about concerts and clothes and boys. Let's talk about living before I lose my nerve.

I'm okay, really. Thanks for asking.

This is going to go well.

I didn't hear what you were saying
I live on raw emotion baby
I answer questions never maybe
And I'm not kind if you betray me
So who the hell are you to say we
Never would have made it babe

If you needed love
Well then ask for love
Could have given love
Now I’m taking love
And it’s not my fault
Cause you both deserve
What is coming now
So don’t say a word

Wake up call
Caught you in the morning with another one in my bed
Don't you care about me anymore?
Don’t you care about me? I don't think so
Six foot tall
Came without a warning so I had to shoot him dead
He won't come around here anymore
Come around here? I don't think so

Today we're interviewing (psycho)therapists! Ones who do all their sessions in-home, coming to us. They cost a fucking fortune. Glad the Devil is footing the bill, though he says if it turns into a blame game against him he's pulling the plug. We want Bridget functional, after all. Not useless. 

(Shhhh. You think August and Sam actually told Caleb which parts of me we're going to try and fix?)

He was worried. I knew it.

He lifted me right up into his face and kept me there, eyeing me suspiciously. We good? 

I missed you like fuck, Benny. 

That much? I should feel special. 

Yeah, you should. You should have come with us. 

I don't fit in your sardine can, Bee. 

We would've cut a hole in the end for your feet to stick out at night. 

Ah, but I was warm and had so much space here. 

Well, don't like it too much, Ben. 

I woke up constantly looking for you. 

Why didn't you call me then? 

It was four a.m. Plus you two had some things to work out. Did you?

I don't know if we did. But we're happy and we came home missing you like crazy. 

So we're cool? 

Yes? Did you expect that to change? 

Maybe. Hell, I don't know, Bridge. He has his shit together for someone with no actual roots. I wondered if you were going to up and pick a side already and leave me in the dust because I've been so closed off for so long. I was protecting myself from you and it'll probably be the reason you leave me. 

I don't want to leave you. 

Then stay. 

That's the plan. If you don't mind Lochlan staying too. We're the three musketeers, aren't we? 

Yeah. We are.

But you have to stop being so distant, okay? It's gotten really hard. 

You know what else is really hard, Bridget?

 Oh god..

Missing you and feeling bad that I've been checked out for so long. 

I didn't expect you to say that. 

You thought I was going to say my dick?

Yeah. 

That's my girl.

Tiny update, as I still haven't finished making my rounds to say hi to everyone!

Okay, I can feel my fingers now. The only time I could do that all weekend was while we slept (Lochlan's a warm body. Always has been) and when we ran back up to the camper after attempting a swim. Because that little event ended with a bikini on the ground outside and Loch pinned together at the knees when he failed to be able to get his swim trunks off fast enough to take me.

His body was ready but his clothes weren't willing.

(That was very warm indeed.)

The other interesting thing is the first night I had two whiskeys while we were making dinner and then proceeded to fall asleep sitting up wrapped in a blanket holding a hamburger in my hand with one bite out of it that I managed to eat before I checked out. I woke up when he tried to take my burger and deemed him silly for thinking I fell asleep when I totally did. I get really pissed off when people try to wake me and then I'll insist I was fine or I just closed my eyes or something.

We got a lot of talking in too. We walked on the beach and we sat in the camp chairs and we brought all our baggage out and unpacked all of it so we could see what we had. We fought. We put a few entire topics to rest once and for all and we were forced to leave some on hold lest we ruin the trip trying to be right instead of listening.

Okay, that was on me. I tried to be right a lot. I tried to take control because so much of the time I have none but things work better when he's in charge anyway so we agreed to let some things just wait. Just not today.

Sometimes we just slept. That was the best part of all. I could hear the water, it was ten feet away. I could feel the salt in the air. I could taste it. I think I need to move my bed down to the beach, except that when high tide comes in everything pretty much disappears.

Home!

I didn't forget about you, we just didn't have wi-fi.

Or cell service.

Or heat!

Glad to be back. Excuse me while I go jump into the fireplace.

Weight-rated for the elephant.

One of these days while Lochlan is standing there trying desperately to not be smug all the while being perfectly smug, Caleb is just going to take his gun out and shoot him point blank in the side of the head without even looking. Then all of Caleb's problems will be over.

But they won't in reality because we're a package deal. He's stuck with the Joker and the Joker is maybe stuck with the Devil but maybe not.

After all, who won the weekend toss of taking Bridget somewhere new?

That would be the joker, thank you. He tips his imaginary top hat, imaginary because it's upstairs safe in a box.

Caleb is off to San Francisco for a little business trip. I think the whole time he was hoping I'd go with him as his EA. He was so confident he forgot to ask and as it turns out I had other plans which is good because for appearance's sake I should be traveling with Loch or Ben and never with Caleb.

But appearances can be deceiving and frankly I'm not sure I've ever cared what people think.

Alright maybe I do. A little.

In any case the little RV is fully packed (the big one is still being detailed -it actually went back- and is more than a little much for two people used to living in a shoebox)and we're headed out after supper. PJ is dad/mom/everything for the next three nights and if I start to lose my shit Lochlan is to bring me home early, though right this second we're good, we're getting along and we're kind of excited to be heading out on an adventure for two. It's got a little tinge of deja vu and I love that part even though it's in reverse as we were usually on our way home by now, not just starting out.

Of course.

Caleb said absolutely not to our trip this weekend but no matter, we're already packed and he doesn't get a say.

The way it should be, no?

Microdetermination.

If they made me crawl
Would you love me then
If I was small
Would it be okay
Well I can see
The need in everyone
A change of season
A change of season

The presale code for Matthew Good is EXCLUSIVE. Just putting that out there if you're buying tickets like I am.

Against all good advice, mind you but the Devil offered to take me and how could I refuse that? He was the one who found me sitting in my car in the garage with the car running while listening to Matthew Good many years ago when they left me alone in the prairies for a winter. They keep trying to teach me self-reliance and I keep demonstrating that I'm just not ready. There's something about coddling a person their entire life and then suddenly thrusting them out over the flames and telling them not to get burned that smacks of hypocrisy and ineptitude. I told them they weren't parents. They didn't know what they were doing and now decades later they're discovering that their human experiment is failing. She's in agony. She should probably be put down but then who would be the entertainment? Who would make you feel alive?

It's cruel but here I am so I may as well make lemonade, right?

Right. So he's taking me to Matthew Good and probably dinner too but this is in November so I'm not going to get excited yet. I wonder if he's going to expect me to dress up. God, I hope not. Concerts should be fairly comfortable affairs.

Loch and I are packing up to head to Victoria for the weekend for part two of his birthday gift, in lieu of the Burning Man experience. Even though all four boys said they're done, there won't be a next year it's still on my radar for the future. But since it's done I instead booked a sweet two night trip to Victoria and thereabouts to so we can have some time. He forbade the concert with Caleb and Caleb forbade me to go on a trip with Loch so the rules cancel each other out and I'm going to do what I feel is right.

Which is mostly everything I want to do and nothing I don't.

I've always gone to a vote.

Stop the clocks and turn the world around, let your love lay me down
And when the night is over there’ll be no sound
Lock the box and leave it all behind on the backseat of my mind
And when the night is over where will I rise?

What if I’m already dead, how would I know?
What if I’m already dead, how would I know?

Blisteringly present, always right here in the moment ripping it to shreds only to gather it up and chew it to a pulp until my teeth meet, grinding into each other attempting to leave ruts in my brain. There's a fix for Stockholm Syndrome. It's very intensive therapy coupled with a definitive and glaring absence of the perpetrator.

Perpetrator. Every time I see that word I think Penetrator.

Oh well, what's the fucking difference?

What do you mean by intensive therapy? That sounds like a catch-all.

We would teach you right from wrong, Bridget. Boundaries. What's appropriate. What is okay and what isn't okay. From scratch. We'll start over.

Safe and not safe?

Exactly.

Ever since I was very small 'not safe' held so much more appeal. It was always further, faster, darker, stranger and off I went like a duckling imprinting on a...carny named Loch. But mostly that was because I didn't want anyone to go anywhere without me at all. Those are called abandonment issues. You can't talk people out of those, you can only medicate them into a fine light stupor and they don't make you feel bad about it anymore, they just sit there and scream on the inside.

Makes things easier for everyone.

At the same time I chased the dark I was deathly afraid of it. Afraid of going too far, stepping off the wrong ledge, hooking up with the wrong person, feeling a feeling that might be too strong and explode me into pieces (I guess I don't have to worry about that one anymore, I'm stronger than my emotions. They haven't killed me yet and oh, how they have tried.)

Then I won't be who I am anymore. I won't be Borderline-Bridget anymore and no one will want me.

Lochlan let out a sob and buried his face in his arms as if I am worth him being exploded by his own feelings or something.

Let's do it, Bridget. We'll take it slowly (they started talking to me like I'm eight again, I notice things.)

He's right here. This doesn't work and I may not like the Devil but I still love his little brother and you can't just come and take more people away from me. I'm getting loud and kind of panicky now. Pretty has given way to crazy. Didn't take long. Never does. Just leave it alone. Just don't change anything right now. This works. I try to keep everyone happy but you need to let me do it and stop fighting me all the time. I stand up and PJ's hand goes around my arm, like he's going to keep me there if I run but I'm not running, I'm just terrified that I'm going to have to deal with more absences. More empty chairs at the table. More time for my mind to savor the moment that I've destroyed so fast instead of being good. Normal. Whatever the fuck everyone else is. They want to take my ghosts, they want to take my master. They want everything. They're selfish. They're just like me. Just leave it all just like it is right now. What harm can that do?

You're getting worse. 

I don't see how. I really don't. I mean how can it get worse than it is? And if this is as bad as it gets I can handle it. He just gives empty threats. He wouldn't hurt me. He loves me too and you all can't stand that. You're traitors. You turned your back on him and it made him mean, that's all. It's not my fault. 

Who said it was your fault that he's like this? 

I did. But it's not. I didn't do this to him. You did.