Never mean but never satisfied, either.

On my back, three in the morning. Lochlan has one hand around my neck and the other behind my back, holding my hands. He gets all fierce and in my face and then collapses his weight onto me.

I can't do this. This is fucked up. 

He sits me up and lets go. Then he pulls me in by the neck again, but this time to cuddle. Whatever lingering want I have will have to be taken out on Ben later. That's okay too.

I could have told you that.

How do I make it so you never need Caleb again? 

I told you! A lobotomy. It's the only surefire way. 

Or I could kill him. Call it a crime of passion. I'd probably be out in time to retire, at worst. If they even put me jail knowing the history here. 

Do you want to take that chance? 

Of course not. Except for most days when I do. 

Lochlan-

I'm kidding. Okay, sort of kidding. Okay, not kidding. 

I can't even do this with you right now. 

Then don't. Let's run away. 

And join the circus? I think I've heard this one before. 

He tucks my hair behind my ear. And we were so happy. Happier than we've ever been. 

You'll have to go without me and I'll catch up to you when the kids are grown. 

I wouldn't leave you again. 

Then take this horrible, terrible life and live with it! I motion around the room at the eight-hundred thread count weightless Egyptian duvet. The ocean view. The fireplace. The everything. The difference between our shitty little broken-down burned out camper and the endless fear and relentless hunger and this. 

We sold out, Peanut. 

We had no choice. This is the only way we could have survived. And I wouldn't do anything different if I could go back. 

I sure would. 

Off the cliff and on to a mental trampoline.

Lochlan's patience is sometimes so thin I can hold it up to the light, seeing right through it. Other times it's an impenetrable force, a tank, a wall. An endless test. Today it's half and half, see-through in spots and thick in others. 

I mention I need to fetch my sweater. I left it at Caleb's. 

We'll get it later (which is code for 'You're not going back over there alone any time soon'). 

It's my favorite. 

He frowns at me. Fine. I'll get it. Be right back. 

He's disappeared out the door, across the driveway and up the steps before I realize what a stupid idea it is to let him go over alone and I chase after him only to be caught by Duncan, who is coming up the steps and feels like jumping right into whatever's going on. 

Bridget! Are you tied up with anything right now? I'm looking for a captive audience to try that new Mexican place. 

Is that a pun? 

Should it be? I don't know what you're taco 'nabout. 

Oh my God. Not that part. The tied-up and captive part.

Do tell. 

Tell what? Here comes Sam. Fresh off two whole days and nights of sleep. I'm so jealous of him I don't even like him anymore. He looks rested and reborn and there's not a line on his face. 

Nothing. 

Duncan bursts out laughing. Caleb's tying her up again-

HUSH, you. 

Bridget- Sam's frowning so big I wonder if I've ruined his face with his disappointment in me. They'll say 'He used to be so cute but then she let him down and his face just...well it's stuck like that now.' 

It's not a big deal and it's no one's business. 

Then why did you need to write it out? Duncan's still amused. Oh my God.

So I could deal with it. 

Which part of it? Rested Baby Preacher is sharp as a knife and ready to dive right in to my twisted brain.

The part where he isn't supposed to hurt me and we're supposed to be healthy but frankly I don't like him any way but the way I'm used to and that's wrong.

Wow. Good job. Usually it would take me a week to get you to say that out loud. 

Huh. Guess I'm cured. 

You? Never. You're just varying degrees of fucked-up. Duncan swats my ass as I resume my attempts to follow Lochlan to the boathouse to prevent the inevitable physical fight. 

But when I look up, Lochlan's coming back across the driveway, with my sweater in one hand. He looks content. Is that even a thing? He comes in to the kitchen and hands me the sweater. Sam and Duncan disappear. Wow. Just like that.

Just got a little blood on it. That will come out with some cold water. Just two spots I think. Here and here. He points and I see his hand is also slightly bloodied. Not much, just a little. 

Damage report. Fuck. I hate this. 

His nose just started bleeding. I helped him have a seat and told him if he'd stop fucking around and keep his promises he wouldn't be cursed like that. 

That's a new one. 

Have to keep it creative, since we're going through the same shit week after week here. If he can't keep his shit together, Bridget, I swear-

It's not his fault, it's mine. 

Right. Anyway. No more. He can have a break and when he remembers how to be nice we'll talk. 

I'm the one who's not nice. 

I'll look after your needs. 

What if I-

I told you. I'll look after it. 

You can't. 

Our eyes meet. He looks tired.

Try me. 

(Everything I lack in style's made up in how I feel.)

I need us undivided, I want this thing to stop
I've had the training to be overwhelmed but I'm not
Empty soul of hate but this isn't my war
Couldn't tell you how it started or where it is fought

This song was running through my head as I woke up, tried to move and couldn't. He didn't loosen the velvet ties before falling asleep and so I spent the night facedown and sideways against his chest, knees pulled up, hands behind my back. Fuck. I say his name and he startles awake.

You need to undo this.

Oh, Jesus Christ. I'm sorry. He scrambles to sit up and turns me away, pulling the bow, setting me free into a world of muscle pain. I cough and bring my hands up to my face, and my arms burn and ache from such a long time. I sit up and he rubs my arms gently but that hurts too. My eyes water and he presses his lips against my forehead.

I'm so sorry, he whispers. Let's get you into a hot shower.

I nod and he finally lets go, standing up. He bends back down and lifts me up to standing. I pull my arms in close and cringe, biting my tongue. My eyes threaten to spill over. Jesus, indeed. Even in our darkest moments he's never forgotten to let me go and I wonder fleetingly if he left me like that on purpose.

He gets right down in my face, reading my mind. I didn't do it deliberately. I knew you would stay.

I nod and he uses his thumbs to wipe the tears from my cheeks. We good? He asks and I nod again but say nothing. The pain is keeping me mute.

Once under the shower he cranks the heat and we stand there while he rubs my arms and shoulders with shower oil. It feels really good but now they just feel bruised and worn.

How are you feeling besides that? He's still right down in my face, eyes focused. It never takes Caleb an hour to construct a logical thought or get his eyes open all the way in the mornings. He's a machine. A machine who's in his mid-fifties now and managed to leave me tied up when he unexpectedly fell asleep.

But I did too, and I didn't think it was possible to fall asleep while in a precarious pose but apparently it is, because I did. We did.

I feel a little better today. 

I watch as he takes the credit and files it away somewhere under the guise doing this for me. Then I blink and he's washing my hair for me.

He's slow and gentle and even uses conditioner after. Then he rinses me down, proclaims me ready for prime time and leads me into the bedroom for my clothes. He dresses me and then I'm steered into the kitchen to sit on a chair at the island while he makes coffee and cheese toast. I lift my arms and they weigh a hundred pounds each. I lean forward and rest my head on the counter.

He turns. Bridget. I think you need to go back to bed. 

I will when I get home.

It'd be easier to stay here. If you go home now Lochlan's going to pressure-wash you, give you a conversational third degree burn, blame it all on you and then assure you it's not your fault. Then he'll give in and offer to take you for breakfast to make it up to you. It will be two this afternoon before you can escape for a nap. Eat a piece of toast and go back to bed. I'll see that you're awake by noon. You need this. Badly. 

(Who needs what again?)

We stare at each other. He's right but I also know what happens if I stay. If I stay he gets more. He gets me under his skin. He gets attached and territorial and he gets to be in control. Give the Devil an inch and he takes everything as far as the eye can see. Give him a moment and he spins it into decades. Give him any hint of encouragement and all of the hard work of being independent of him vanish in one beat of my heart.

Okay.

Jesus Easter surprise.

Sunrise and I haven't seen a bunny, a bicycle or a hint that spring is here.

Huh. 

Have to deal with that later. We're late for church.

***

The Unitarian faith is like the unicorn of modern religions to me. It is made up of a perfect blend of scripture and deep reverence which is then wound around a parable of myths, legends, ideas and basic common sense. It's sometimes insane and sometimes so fucking normal and boring you forget what you're listening to and fall asleep while listening to the sermon. Especially if it's crowded, warm and long on words in church on this, the most formal and important of church days, holidays and commercial excess. The twice a year crowd, now doubled in size.

Ben sat beside me and ate an entire bunny, quite slowly, while Sam went about trying to tie the resurrection (which is a story to teach us about living a good life and not an actual thing) to the chocolate (which lets us live a good life and is an actual thing and that's bad but not in moderation). Ben didn't unwrap the foil from the bunny first and Sam gave up early on and stopped looking at Ben for fear he might crack up. Caleb gave Ben the sternest look around and Ben held out the bunny, eyebrows up, as in Want some? 

Because moderation, right?

Then he took it back and resumed eating it while everyone watched him. It didn't take Sam's thunder, though, for it was only our row and the row behind us that were interested. 

I didn't cough at all. Lochlan gave me a huge swig of whiskey in the truck right before we went in and that worked really well. I just sat there and burned and enjoyed the unicorns and filled the collection plates with tiny wrapped chocolate eggs until people started getting annoyed that their envelopes were sliding off the top and Sam finally sent out a basket to empty the plates which he should know better to do anyway. Then he started to send the basket back around with just foil-wrapped chocolate eggs to give out and I think I'm known as the Candy Lady to everyone under sixteen at church now. Fine by me except for the terrible looks from some of the women who seem as if they are concerned that our communal lifestyle for all of its raging sinfulness might rub out their piousness via proximity. 

In any event, Jesus is back, the chocolate is flowing freely, I can almost breathe again, I'm drunk before lunch, everyone's getting along great and I'm getting really excited for Sam's mini-vacation, which always comes after a long church season and he needs it because he's been pulling double-duty, stealing memories all the while steering his flock around living in this golden age of balance and renewal. He's earned a break.

I turned around to pass the basket of eggs to the next row (I had to sit on the end due to our lateness and space constraints today. Fuck all you twice a year churchgoers) and sitting directly behind me was Batman, wearing the giant bunny head, in his tux, waving his head and hands slowly at me. I screamed, dropping the basket, and eggs rolled all over the floor.

Still sick, OMFG.

Oof. I tried once again to have a normal, everyday-day with Ben. We dropped Ruth off at her job, went for brunch, hit the hardware store and then the record store and I faded like a moonlight flower probably before I had finished my coffee, to be honest. I daresay I don't know how much I'll be able to participate in the Easter festivities tomorrow but hopefully there will be enough chocolate and Jesus thrown about that no one will notice.

Edit: They summoned the doctor back. Steroid inhalers! Bronchial pneumonia! FUCK. Not feeling better. AT ALL.

It's Good Friday and I had my cookie.

It was overly sweet. Kind of ridiculously sweet but still good in a way. I tried to pawn off the second half of it but got no takers due to my germs and then finished it with no plans to have another any time soon.

We went to church this morning, dutifully freezing in our spring finest. On Sunday this year the bunny head will be worn by Batman except he has opted for a bicycle over the rollerblades because as he said, he feels old, and so I tied the basket to the front of my bike for him and it's ready to roll.

(I don't actually ride the bike, if you're wondering. Some of the boys have road bikes but bicycles don't make me happy. I'll ride the unicycle any day any time but that tends to look bizarre on long trips and is only actually fun if you're juggling at the same time. Yes, I can juggle four or five objects and ride a unicycle at the same time but put me on a regular bicycle with both hands on the handlebars and I'll be ass over teakettle on the pavement inside of three minutes flat.

Not if you had a paying audience, I'd bet. 

That's a bet I won't take Lochlan up on. Not now, not ever. Give me a motorcycle any day. Or I mean, riding bitch, since no one will let me drive a motorcycle either.

Sam's sermon was all about the inherent victory of life over death. I half-listened, half horrified and half tired. I tried not to cough. I blew my nose once and ended up excusing myself to finish draining what seemed to be my entire head and all of my brains, and Ben kissed my forehead when I came back and said quietly that we should have stayed home. Sam clued in and actually cut the service slightly short and I love him for it and we were home and ordering pizzas within the hour.

Then we went out and did yardwork after lunch and now I get the life after death part, raking away dead leaves and dried branches to find shoots and tiny signs of life everywhere. I came in and organized my seeds for planting in a few weeks and I feel excited by the garden, excited to grow our own food, as we just ran out of pickles and are down to a handful of jars. I think one pickled green beans and some spaghetti sauce. And one bag of cherries that I plan to turn into tarts just as soon as I'm not contagious. I took it slow, in any case, as I have no energy yet but it was nice to be out in the sun and the wind getting dirty, finding hope with every turn of the soil, seeing God in all of the signs of spring around me and marvelling at the fact that I cured a massive chocolate-chip cookie habit with one successful round of lent.

Surprise, Motherfucker, I thought to myself, and in response, I laughed.

Glow in the dark Preachers.

You never said a damn thing
You never shot a warning across the bow
No, you just chose to let me run the ship aground

Three-forty-five and I wake up coughing quietly. It only hurts a little when I cough now, that or I'm so medicated I don't notice or care how much it hurts now. The Devil is gone from his watch and Lochlan sleeps with one arm thrown back across me like a conscientious afterthought. He's out hard. The light is hurting my eyes and I open them to squint at Jacob sitting on the edge of the bed. He has one hand on my forehead and the other is in a tight fist against his chest, as if it hurts his heart to touch me. He should watch as I die every time he touches me. Talk about pain.

You need to see a doctor, he says, smoothing my bangs back.

I did. It's probably pneumonia but not bacterial.

Why?

I'm coughing up clear.

I see. There has to be something else they can do for you though.

This is life, Jake. Things hurt. You live anyway. You become tough. You get through it.

You're too fragile. This is hard on you.

I laugh out loud. I sound like a strangling horse. Then I start coughing harder and Lochlan turns over and throws his right arm around around me, patting me in his sleep. His lips touch the back of my neck and then he relaxes again. If I could sleep like he does I'd never have any complaints about anything ever again.

This is not hard on me. I have a fucking cold. You want to know what's hard on me? You gaslighting me half to death and then just checking out in the end. That's hard on me. I hope guilt is the one emotion that remains in heaven for you to savour, frankly. 

I can't get to heaven because of it. That's why I'm still here. I'm glad you're angry. 

I'm frustrated because you woke me up when I need sleep now more than ever to harp on whether or not they're doing enough to keep me well. It smacks so hard, Jakey. It just smacks. 

I miss you, Princess. 

Don't you fucking do this now. 

I wish I had stayed. 

Just fucking GO! 

I yelled it and Lochlan flies out of bed, buck naked, red hair wild, half-awake. WHAT IS IT? THE FUCK! He turns and lunges at the door, which is closed and locked and puts his hand toward the bed as if he is protecting me. It's the most beautiful thing.

I had a nightmare. Jake was here and he said I was too sick to be cared for by you so I told him to leave. 

Lochlan turns, his whole face softening and he crawls back into bed, pulling the quilts up around us, pulling me in tight against his chest, kissing my forehead, now burning again and he sighs. He's not dangerous. I don't think you need to yell at him. That's how your brain deals with things while you sleep. It pulls stuff out, holds it up to the light and then decides where to file it. Looks like you need a new visit from the memory thief. 

I need a visit from the lobotomy-giver. Also you protecting me was very sweet. 

I didn't know what the fuck was going on, Bridget. I figured Caleb had come back to try and drag you off like the fucken caveman that he is. 

I laughed and coughed some more.

No. He wouldn't dare criticize your care of me at this point in his life. He's got it good. 

We all do, Bridget. 

Yup. 

Except Jacob. He doesn't have it so-

Please don't. 

Sorry. It's tough not to be a little smug sometimes when I know I set you free and you came back to me. I feel like I won the lottery. 

Ha. You won a very faulty little sputtery human. Congrats? 

Thank you. I'm blessed. Jake on the other hand, well-

No. Don't. Just go back to sleep with me. 

I love you, Peanut. 

I love you, Locket.

Barely alive and stricken with extreme melodrama.

Didn't even wash my hair today, the earrings have been abandoned on the bedside table where Lochlan left them after he took them off me. I've got the white hand of Saruman on my face today, a tiny deaf Uruk-hai and I growl at everyone who comes near (says Ben, who makes me laugh and then his face falls when I start coughing again).

Blame Jake as he came to me in my dreams, last night, taking my temperature, his huge hand on my forehead for a rest and then asked me why I hadn't read the letters yet, that he's glad Sam rescued them from the fire, that he's happy the words he meant for me to see will be seen after all.

But will they? I don't know if they will and it will take more than a delirious fever dream to get me to read them. My curiosity has been stifled like everything else right now as I focus on getting better. I think it's pneumonia. So does the young Russian doctor but I waved him away when he suggested chest x-rays. Fool me twice, those don't resolve a thing. Eventually I'll get better. I discovered Dayquil is kind of like amphetamines in that you feel so awfully bad but you don't care and you go get everything done that needs to be done anyway.

I did it and then crashed and found out Dayquil has a stupid four-hour effective period and declined to take any more. The rebound headaches are crowding in on top of everything and I've resorted to hiding behind PJ for the duration. I've cried twice today just randomly. Wait, no, once was when PJ said I smelled bad. I don't. Well, maybe I do. I don't care.

Lochlan gave up on trying to get me to stay in bed and yet that's the only place I want to be. I'm just so sick of the four walls of every room and no amount of visiting sympathizers has changed that, be they ghosts or real live men.

Told you so.

Did I catch you in the middle of getting ready?

No, this is the outfit for the day. 

But..the earrings?

I've had them on for three days. Don't worry about it. I hold the door open and Joel comes in. We're celebrating the Leafs making the playoffs for the first time in four years. He brought flowers and hopefully a catered lunch. I am quarantined, confined to the house and not allowed to even venture into the driveway and that's how the Devil ended up here the other night and I've gone shack wacky since. I get bad cases of cabin fever along with everything else, I guess. Not fun but I'll get better faster if I listen instead of talking.

As always.

I showered, dried my hair and put on clean pajamas but the earrings have indeed persisted. They're smallish hoops though. White gold with diamonds set all the way around. They make me feel fancy so they stay. They match one of my rings. Works for me.

I take a sip of juice. I'm at the point where if I cough it's going to be all over. It hurts so badly to cough. I'm just trying to drink lots and not notice their version of choreage is not nearly done to the exacting standards and military precision as mine so let's go back to talking about diamond earrings and pajamas.

And Joel.

Why are you really here? I ask him. He smiles and tucks his chin down into his collar in amusement. God. Stupidly adorable and so. much. trouble. all the time. I swear Jake just packed his life with beautiful, fallible people for me to ruin. Himself and me included.

I'm not beautiful though. Not today. My nose is raw and red.

The letters, Bridget. From Jacob. I-

I haven't touched them yet. 

You're generally curious to a fault. You must really be sick. 

Waking up different.

The change in the weather heralded a change in Sam's mind as he handed me a short stack of envelopes this morning.

Since you're sick-

Are there drugs in here? I start rifling through them and one falls out. Instinctively I grab it before it can flutter far and see Jacob's handwriting. My eyes snap to Sam's face.

I didn't burn them, Bridget. I just wanted you to have a break from him. We all did. I've gone through them and this batch is a safe read for you. If you want to. 

(If I want to. Safe for me. Is the sky blue? Wait. It isn't. It's kind of grey- Shut up, Bridget. Just shut the fuck up and read them already.)

***

Before he left the room this morning Lochlan lit some white sage and some patchouli incense so that I would have a peaceful wakeup. The ceiling fan is on and all the windows are open. Tonight is the pink moon. One of my favorites of the year.

I step into a hot shower and he's left a bottle of baby vapor bath in the shower for me. My cold rages on. I can hardly breathe but it's a rite of spring. Or maybe of passage. Or maybe both.

I pile my rings back on as I dry my hair quickly, pinning my bangs to one side so they don't cover my eyes. He'd like to cut them but I might grow them out. The pin is sterling, an antique I found in a shop somewhere far from here. It doesn't flex like the cheaper ones, necessitating a purge every few months as my hair is so heavy and the pins are no match for it. This one always works. Also a favorite. A good luck charm.

I pull on my black tights and a long-sleeved black thermal t-shirt. Then a knee-length knit black pencil skirt and tall black button boots. A short-sleeved black shirt and a black velvet choker completes my mood. I sit at the edge of the couch, grabbing a button hook to get to work. These boots will stay on until after dinner and then I will be Bridget-sized again. Three inches makes me feel ten feet tall, though, and it's always the feeling that matters, so much more than the look.

From the bed I hear a change in breathing and the Devil opens his eyes.

You look beautiful, Neamhchiontach.

I smile and leave him there. Might be a first. Might not be a last. We'll see.