Zero to one hundred and back again.

Licking every drop of poison off a pocket of keys
While some daddy's little angel's getting dirt on her knees
When the Sun goes down, the filth run free
You'll never find a finer specimen of filth than me

I don't want this, I just need this to carry on

I got the white line fever and an appetite for sin
If there's a black hole headed for Hell
Then, baby, count me in
I sold my soul so long ago
A bullet in the chamber with nowhere to go
If there's a black hole headed for Hell
Then, baby, count me in

I'm pushing Sam's buttons this morning, playing as much provocative music in the sanctuary as I can get away with. Sometimes he's not paying attention to the lyrics, other times he is keenly aware and this pained expression will cross his face but it's errant, distracted. He shakes his head to get his hair out of his eyes and then he'll say my name sharply. He's actually pretty cranky for a Sam. He's getting this viral flu/cold thing I think.

No, I'm just a bit out of sorts. 

How do we get you into sorts again? What do you need, Sam? 

He sits back, drops his binders on the floor and stares at me for a moment and then he gets up and leaves the office. I watch him go down the hall through the window and then the music is gone and he comes back.

I couldn't hear myself think.

That's usually the goal of putting it on that loud. 

He stares at me again. Seriously? I didn't think you were literal. 

Oh, I'm always literal. That's why I play music so loud. 

I thought it was your hearing, that you needed it loud. 

I do need it loud, like I said, but not for that.

Fuck it, Bridge, if you're just going to talk me into circles maybe I should run you back down to the house. 

That stung and I pointed out carefully that it's lunchtime so that's a good idea. I'll call ahead and PJ can have something ready so we can eat something. I'm thinking Sam is just peakish from being on the go.

But when we got home, he pulled up in front (his usual parking spot is up higher by the barn) by the door and waited as I got out. Then he drove away, leaving me standing there in surprise.

Geez.

I went in and PJ said that Sam messaged him and said he didn't mean to be harsh but that there was no reason to subject me to his mood today and maybe Lochlan should check with him before just dropping me off without warning. PJ said it was fine, that tonight things will be better and that he would take control of the package for the afternoon.

Except..well, just...no. I don't work like that. I grabbed my keys and went right back out the door, got in my car and went back to the church.

The fuck, Sam. If you have an issue you share it. That's the deal. 

I already did. He's got the heels of his hands over his eyes like he has a headache. He's holding together by a thread here.

Call your backup. We're both actually going home this time. I'll call the boys to come and get your car. 

I have work to do, Bridget. I can't just work when I feel like it. 

Oh, yes you can. 

I have bills. 

I'll have them paid. 

Bridget-

When you have a problem YOU ASK FOR HELP. Remember? 

He stares at me tearily. I can't have help with this. Sometimes it just flares up like a bad rash and then it goes away again. 

Loneliness. 

Yes. 

I shake my head to the right, once like I didn't hear his answer but he's still nodding when I meet his eyes.

I'll talk to Loch. I say it softly.

Don't. He doesn't like me much as it is. 

He loves you, Sam. 

Not when it comes to you. 

You saved my life. He owes a huge debt to you. Let me worry about him. 

Bridget, I'm going to tell you this once and if you can't obey my wishes things will drastically change. Don't ask him for anything. Just don't. 

Stung again. Sam's a veritable bee's nest today and I'm...I don't even know what I am. I want Sam to be happy and content. That's all.

Fine. I choke it out and match his eyes for tears.

But thank you. He smiles for a brief second and it's enough. I throw myself at him for a full-body hug and I get it and he doesn't let go fast like he normally does. He just holds on forever. This is what he needs and I dropped the ball. This is all anyone seems to need and I'll give it willingly.

Finally he lets go and I realize I can breathe again.

Already better. Thank you. He smiles. Look. I need an hour to get some calls made and then let's find some lunch and head home early. Maybe we can watch a movie. 

Only if we can have a fire too. It's cold. Maybe hot chocolate.

We can do that.  And he looks hopeful for the first time all day.

Please stop emailing me about the Sponsored Divas thing. I'm not interested. Besides. I think to qualify you can only have one Sugar Daddy, not three. I'm not selling anybody out here except myself, okay?

Situational unfairness.

It didn't make it worse, it made it go away a little. Maybe the ache of always missing Cole can be soothed with a little tiny bit of time, a little less time, a moment or two. I wouldn't have spiralled into ruin had I not taken that moment when it came, but I also had absolutely zero plans to take it further. I can't do that any more, I'm working so hard to be accountable for every action I make, not having it passed off as grief, revenge or just 'Bridget being Bridget'.

You do you, everyone says all the time anymore.

What an excuse. How about You try harder, or You be better? What ever happened to that? I'm just trying to be different. To not approach the hard parts of life with the same methods as always. Trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results is the definition of foolishness or idiocy or something. So that. I'm trying and sometimes I feel like it could work.

Other times I just give in. Rushed back to the house, pulled almost off my feet, I faced Lochlan's ire once we were behind locked doors. He checked my neck, wrists, hands, face. He fired questions at me, loudly and fast. I didn't know if it was fear or anger or maybe a mix of the two. And then he was satisfied that I was fine, that I didn't overstep past letting the Devil hold me and he said again that it was enough and he let himself relax but only slightly.

Every moment since he has had a hand around my wrist, or my leg, or my neck. Tangled around my fingertips, arm looped around my ribcage. I haven't been more than a foot away from him, either in waking or in sleep. He prefers to eat, breathe and pass the time close beside one another in order to either reassure himself or keep me from going back.

And as I told him, I have no intentions of going back. I spent the time I was going to spend. I got my Cole-fix or maybe my Caleb-fix or whatever it is. I reassured myself that he's still here and it's enough. It's more than enough. Maybe it's not right or okay or sanctioned but it could have been worse.

It's no different, Lochlan tells me. I know where he comes from. I understand the difference.

It will be, I promise him. I'm sorry, I say out loud but I don't know if I'm apologizing to him or to myself. Or maybe to the monster on the inside who constantly wants to fuck everything up.

Two sharp raps on the door and he's there looking in as I cross the kitchen at the same time. The instant relief washes over his face and changes my own relief to guilt.

I open the door. Just coming back. 

You've been drinking? 

She had a taste of my drink. Care for one? Caleb is right behind me.

I'm good. 

I bet you are, since our girl is intact. Not for lack of trying. Now I know how Jacob must have felt trying to find a way in. 

My heart breaks and blooms painfully, suddenly and Loch grabs my hand, pulling me out the door. That's enough, Diabhal, he says under his breath and we're gone. Caleb doesn't say anything else. There are no fists thrown. No brawls down the stairs. Just quiet. Quiet and black.

First Desponders.

I took a sip of his hot toddy and put it back on the table beside the couch, where we sat facing each other, me on his lap, in his arms, his lips kissing my face all over but mostly just underneath my nose. The hair on the back of my neck is standing up straight. I'm trying and failing to avoid falling into the hole as I lean forward to gauge the depth of the medium-blue of his eyes, pools I drown in, every single time, in spite of the otherworldly efforts to keep me safe, to teach me to swim, to teach me the word no. To teach me to somehow stay away from him.

Some things you can't be taught.

The rum burns the whole way down and I feel sweat break out around my hairline and between my shoulder blades. His arms are so tight. Now that I'm here he's not going to let go.

I let my head fall back to watch the rain on the skylights. It blurs the trees and the darkness, making a river of pine green, silver and navy blue, insulating the night from judgment and history alike.

He kisses down my throat, breathing in the hollow. My skin trembles involuntarily. I'm the queen of excitable reactions. The flush comes more slowly, the fever burn, the wave of warmth and unsteadiness.

Stay, Neamhchiontach. 

He's keeping the nickname for his own use, I note. I shake my head and wobble slightly. His arms tighten. It feels nice to be held like this. He leans his head against mine, holding me close.

How do I get you to stay like this forever?  

I have to go. I've given him what he wanted. A chance to invoke his brother's memory just for a fleeting moment. I can play with fire. That's something you can be taught and I'm good at it, never noticing until my limbs are blackened, my hair singed and my throat tight from the smoke, burned beyond recognition.

I can be excused for talking politics when it's this entertaining.

I don't know about you but I'm really enjoying the footage and photographs from the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge's trip here to BC and the NWTs. George and Charlotte are adorable and growing fast, and Kate Middleton's clothing choices are perfect for every occasion. Prince William is really starting to lose his hair but he still looks more like his mother than his father (thank God). But the best part is they look like they're having so much fun, which is nice. Diana always looked so sad. The Queen always looks fierce and Pfft. Camilla. Not even going to say a word about her.

But I do like the news lately and I'll go to my grave a card-carrying monarchist. It's helping give me something to do while I get better, too, which I am, slowly. By degree. Only coughing every second time I breathe today.

Because naked pizza fixes everything.

Better today. I've graduated to bed with Ben who fulfilled my wishes for naked pizza and So You Think You Can Dance, Hindi Edition. 

So much better than yesterday.

(No offence, PJ.)

I want to have the kind of energy these dancers do. 

When you're better, you will, Ben says. 

I could be a hundred and ten percent and I'd still only have a fraction of it, I tell him. 

Practice, then. 

Will you do it with me? 

Sure, but only outside. I don't want to break anything. 

Oh, on the grass? To protect our limbs from the jumping on hard surfaces? 

No, in case I throw my arms up and hit the chandeliers or something. 

Oh, good point. 

See, if you felt better you would have thought of it too. 

Bedside manners.

Today PJ came up after the kids and the boys all left for their days and brought toast, orange juice, hot chocolate and tangerines and he got in bed with me and we watched a thousand or more (at least) episodes of Doctor Who.

I hate Doctor Who. Back in the early eighties when I babysat on the weekends half my families didn't have cable either and I was stuck with that show and little else. I learned to bring a book after a while. It was so dry and boring I can't even entertain it now. I hate the series. HATE it.

PJ fucking LOVES it.

I slept. I read. I cuddled and tried to get into the plot but mostly I coughed, hacking up things I could probably name if I wasn't so quick to swallow them in horror. PJ said I should go spit into the sink and I reminded him I was a lady.

Right, he laughed. And then he helpfully pointed out that it would be good to know what colors my phlegm-creatures are for the followup with the doctor, in case I need antibiotics after all.

I have whiskey, I show him proudly. This'll fix me!

Damn. The Devil's been busy getting you wasted and in bed without even having to be in the room. Loch won't like that. 

I know, right? I uncap the bottle and take a huge slug, grimacing so wide my chapped lips crack and bleed. PJ shakes his head and takes the bottle away. You can't have this shit anyway with all the other meds. 

I know. You're right, I tell him. I wish I had a white flag. Life is always smoother here if you walk up to PJ every now and then and just tell him he's right.

But he doesn't take the bottle downstairs, he opens it and has a drink. And we spend the rest of the morning drunk watching at least one thousand and eight hundred percent of season eight. Sigh.

Nurses with hairy legs.

It's a brilliant roman candle
That separates the day from the night
It's that clean, clear truth
That sorts our the wrong from the right
You and your face of light

Caleb came upstairs to say hello after finding out how sick I was from the bill he was probably emailed by the doctor this morning. House calls aren't cheap. Out of pocket healthcare is his responsibility, by his own request. It's been this way through thick and thin.

He brought me beautiful pink roses, some ice cream and a big ol' bottle of Lagavulin, to burn the germs out of me from the inside, he said with a laugh.

Indeed. If that doesn't work I don't think anything would. 

We shared a drink. Seriously. You could use this stuff to santize open wounds, nothing's going to survive in a glass.

I invited him to stay and watch a movie with me but he declined in case I really do have something deadly and promises me a rainy weekend movie if I feel up to it, that he'll check in tonight again, and that I should sleep, at least a little, if I can. I had another coughing fit and he put his arms around me so I could cough over his shoulder while he rubbed my back. When it was over he gave me another swig, this time straight from the bottle.

When I come back I hope that's empty and you're sleeping. 

That's how I get in the half the trouble I find myself in. 

He laughs, kissing my forehead. I'll be back late this evening. Share the bottle with your idiot husband and maybe he'll let me in to say a quick goodnight. 

That's very generous of you. 

I would be even more generous if he's interested. The ball is in his court, Neamhchiontach. It has been for months. He takes the risk and kisses me again, this time on the lips and then he is gone, taking the ice cream with him to put in the freezer for later.

Not three minutes after my door closes, it opens again. Dalton pokes his head in. You okay?

Yes. Want a drink?

No. I don't like Plague-avulin.

Oh my God, you just won the Portmanteau olympics. I'll buy you a fresh bottle tomorrow as your prize.

A week from tomorrow when you're allowed outside, you mean.

A week? Seriously?

Well, maybe if the weather is good Thursday someone will carry you out onto the lanai for some air. Yes, a week. Jesus, Fidget. Now get some sleep. He smiles kindly and closes the door again. I open the bottle and fill my mouth with whiskey, swishing it around my yucky teeth. God this stuff is good.

Smallest= weakest (I dug out my RUNT t-shirt and I'll wear it with pride.)

Cutting Order of Voices with Karnivool today. PJ is a proud papa of his little metal protege. Ben is more proud because he says I'll spend fifteen fucking years swaying over the same songs and then I have a binge where I can't get enough new music. This seems like a fall renewal thing for sure. Like being baptized in pumpkin spice. 

I'm quarantined anyway. The young Russian doctor was here this morning on call and he thinks I have the mumps. I would confirm with my other doctor but the only cure is rest and fluids anyway so Lochlan made me go put on pajamas, Dalton put the kettle on and Ben hung up my new skeleton string lights to cheer me up. 

Yes, I was vaccinated. Yes, I've already had the mumps. But if it's viral it's no big deal, right? (Yes, well, it's worse as an adult. You could go deaf. WELL LUCKY ME I'M 7/8THS THERE ALREADY) It's just contagious as hell and we need to be rid of it before Hallowe'en. Sometimes around this Collective by the time you recover from an illness you catch it all over again. 

But no one's going to avoid me. Instead they're all spoiling me because they all had two days of stuffy nose and sore throat and I got lambasted with something that seems one hundred times worse after a week already of what I thought was a bad cold, now with one whole side of my face/jaw/ear puffed right up painfully to the point where I had to give away an ice cream cone last night because I couldn't eat it. Couldn't manage at all. Cried and then Ben ate it and said it was awful to make me feel better. I got Tylenol and water instead, much like today. 

He's promised me a raincheck on the ice cream and a night of scary movies tonight to help distract. I'm game for at least one. After that I know I'll fall asleep. I feel like I've been up for a year.