Blackened fingerprints and Valentine's Day.

A little peptalk from Lochlan and Benjamin and Caleb already made his apologies and joined us for the service this morning so Sam could paint ashes on our foreheads, a reminder that we need to live our lives the best way we know how. We get one chance, use it well and wisely. I rolled my eyes a little in the line as Sam drew a filthy cross on my face, sticking my tongue out at him. He wiped his fingers on it as payback, leaving me coughing and sputtering and licking the arm of Lochlan's peacoat to get the taste out of my mouth for the remainder of the service.

Can't take me anywhere except right to the brink of death and then and only then am I more alive than I've ever been.

Caleb accepted his ashes with a stern look from Sam and was appropriately serious, this time actually repentant, heavy. Jealousy cancels out every ounce of common sense he has. It's always been this way for the two brothers only Caleb is the only one left to carry out this legacy of misery as Cole checked out so spectacularly already.

Sam attempts not to let his amusement distract the congregation from this very major Wednesday service. The room isn't even half-full but he's in his season here and we need to let him bloom. And bloom he has, weirdly pleased, surprised and curious to see Caleb sitting on the other side of Ben. The story they told is that Ben saved Caleb from going over the railing in a fit of desperation but what that means is that as usual, Lochlan did all the talking while Ben held Caleb over that rail threatening to let go.

Because he (Caleb) won't let go.

And I'm fine with that because the brain damage was actually in place a long time ago and I wasn't worried. Love through violence, decades of conditioning, threats and promises and he's done more hurt than any lack of oxygen would ever create. He's done all of this and instead of figuring out how to help me live with it he barges in with his own issues. He wanted to run the world. Lochlan isn't about to let him. In his listening moments he understands the arrangement we made to keep the peace; on days such as yesterday he can't remember shit and runs on fear and feelings.

We're more alike than most people realize, I guess.

But I don't want to live with those threats. I can live with him physically getting out of hand when he's riled up but if he comes to me wearing the vestiges of his former self I can't deal with it. I'm afraid I might blink and when I open my eyes Cole will be behind him. Or be there instead of him. As if Caleb can't be frightening enough on his own.

Instead today I'm surrounded by love. It's Valentine's Day and Lochlan is determined to celebrate love and I'll be right there with him. Ben celebrates love every day, somehow aware of how fleeting life is in a way only I can understand, and I love him for that too. I just can't seem to get any kisses now, as they all saw Sam wipe his fingers on my tongue.

Pancakes and death.

Bury me in this cold light

That line reminds me of Cole. So does this man, shifting from a fury in which he pushed my head underwater yesterday to this repentant, grief-filled and rueful man, average in every way except for any of them, thanks to his good looks and greater fortune which give him a pass far too often, honestly.

When your killer becomes your savior before your very eyes there isn't much left that you're going to trust throughout the run of that day, is there?

Give me up for Lent and I'll make sure I finish the job, Neamhchiontach.

I look at his medium blues. I know you won't.

I can ensure enough brain damage that they wouldn't want you anymore and then you'd wish I had.

Oh. You're back. I was wondering where you went. 

Ruefulness is not Caleb's strong suit, nor does he ever play the sympathy card long enough for me to feel it at all.

Don't deny me, he sang (It's getting better, baby).

The Devil's greatest trick actually wasn't convincing the world he didn't exist.

I remember the smell of your skin
I remember everything
I remember all your moves
I remember you
I remember the nights, you know I still do

So if you're feeling lonely—don't
You're the only one I ever want
I only want to make it good
So if I love you a little more than I should

It's in the way he uses Lochlan's habits (she can be soothed with music) and tries to pass them off as his. Tries to blur the edges. Tries to bend my brain into shapes that hurt now, shapes it no longer bends into.

I put my arms up around my head to protect it, sinking to my knees into the wet sand. It's cold. So cold. My skin pulls in his direction and my heart throws itself into the sea. Blackness, death is better than this feeling but this feeling is exactly what he wants.

I'm not giving it to him.

Not today.

Bridget-

His voice draws me closer still. His hand outstretched, waiting to bring me to him. Waiting to lift me up. Waiting to take credit for saving me or maybe for destroying me. His mouth is turned up, a beautiful, devastating line setting the tone for his face.

Come, now. 

I shake my head and keel forward until I taste grit and salt. I turn my head so my cheek rests against the sand. I make myself into a ball. Maybe I can roll underneath the tide, never to be seen again. Dramatic sure but escape is escape and you don't know this man like I do.

And now he's put Bryan Adams in my head and I can't get him out. So the whole mess is set to a host of beautiful ballads from my formative years in which they raised me only to tear me down, putting the pieces into their pockets, only to spend the rest of their lives fighting over an equal share.

Help me, I ask Jake but his reflection breaks in the surf.

Bryan will help me, if only he'd put down his microphone.

Shouts from beyond my hearing tell me if I wait, if I stay put, everything will be fine.

But in the meantime.

Here it comes.

A wave of cold threats, a promise of death crashes over my head, pulling my knees out from my chest, rolling me into the Pacific only to find she doesn't like the taste and so she spits me back out.

Jesus. Help me, I order Cole, who never helped me a day in his life and isn't about to start. His reflection fades into Caleb's and I scream.

Are you finished? His face is an inch from my own. He isn't an apparition. Too bad.

I wish, I tell him and close my eyes as another wave crashes over us both.

North.

I was about to write but SCORE! Women's hockey just opened up the game against the Russians with their first goal and I can't focus on words because I am glued to the Olympics.

I mean, who wouldn't be? Canada is eating everyone for breakfast and stealing their hearts besides. I always forget the sort of reverence the world seems to have for us out in the wild as I rarely leave the country these days save for quick trips down the coast to Malibu or Tahoe or to New York.

Wow, that sounded precious, didn't it?

Sorry.

I'm actually home sick today so Ben volunteered to shepherd me through the morning instead of God. Sam feels bad because he made me sick with his kisses, clearly. He doesn't kiss anyone else. They're all fine so I can blame him with confidence.

So hockey is on the big screen and Lochlan is making breakfast. He'll insist that I finish my juice even though I hate apple juice and love orange juice but I think we're out because there wasn't any yesterday, unless someone ran out to pick some things up but groceries are my job so probably not.

AHHHHH. We just scored AGAIN! 2-0!

Maybe I will dispatch a list or pop out later during my high point. Or maybe not. The figure skating starts again after lunch and we've had it streaming nonstop. Everyone has dropped what they're doing to watch and we've been blown away. I'm looking forward to the Bobsleigh too and will catch up on snowboarding and freestyle skiing in between. I've got my Olympic mittens on and everything. This is amazing.

Update: HA. Ben knows me well. Canada won in a shutout. 5-0! Which he already knew, as it was the replay of the game played earlier (overnight here, technically) and not live, as he said it was when he turned it on but he also knew I wouldn't stay home even though I was too sick to go to church unless I had a really good distraction. Hockey's always going to be a first pick for me, and I'm glad he didn't spoil the game. He counters that it's as much entertainment for him watching me yell hoarsely at the screen as playing so he got something out of it too.

Also there is Orange Juice. Sam said Jesus loves me. Yes he does.

Asking for so little.

When I woke up this morning Lochlan was tracing flames across his fingertips, his pyrokinetic soul awake just before his physical form. Flat on his back, arms up, he plays with fire the way the most of us will unconsciously trace patterns onto any frosted window we encounter. With flair.

He turns his head. You're awake.

I nod. So sleepy. Yeah. What time is it?

Nine. Sorry if I woke you.

You didn't. 

Last night he called me heaven in his hands, a rare openness that he doesn't show in case I think he's not going to be parental and judgemental and hard on me. He's not worried about spoiling me to cause favoritism, he's just the way he always is until he drops his guard and simply can't pick it up fast enough to keep himself from saying those things that he usually doesn't say. He's affectionate to beyond usual human levels but he's never generous with his words unless he's drunk or caught thoroughly by surprise, and he wasn't drunk last night.

Good, he says. He rubs his hands together and then rolls to his side to pull me in close. Morning breath and wild hair is all the rage these days, and we never have worried much about either. What do you want to do today?

Watch the skating on TV. Maybe get a pizza.

Sounds like heaven. 

That's the second time you've used that word in a single day, Loch.

Because that's what life is these days and I wouldn't trade it for anything. There's only one thing I want still that I haven't really gotten. 

For me to stay put?

Yeah. For you to stay put. He grins and licks my nose. 

I would post but I died of exposure.

Time to go, Bridge, has become the battle cry. Said softly at first and then later on with gusto and even glee as they threw their energy behind it, a healthy way to teach me to temper my reactions to separations with lots of them, announced at regular intervals to the point where instead of crying I either cling with all my might or worse, I simply won't believe you.

Because Rome wasn't built in a day and we all know by now it takes decades (or longer) to fix a Bridget once you break her, and she'll never work quite as well as before, just so it's very clear.

Ben tried to go to a meeting and I climbed all over him to get him to stay. Sam announced our talk was finished and I wanted to lock the library door, and keep him my prisoner. Lochlan had to go chat with Batman for a minute but I wouldn't let go of him. My feet were off the ground and he finally handed me off to PJ bodily with a plea to find August because this isn't working. 

Boy, it sure isn't. If they know anything about me they know that repeated prolonged manifestations of something I can't manage only serves to pound me deeper into the ground and then I'm buried and then I'm basically dead anyway so I tend to retreat to the ghosts altogether. Then it's an even bigger mess than before.

What would have worked? What I requested. Tell me when we'll be back together again. All Schuyler had to say is See you at dinner. All Lochlan has to say is Be home at three or so. All Caleb has to say is Of course you can go home.

(Wait, that last one is a different thing altogether and no, he's not working on it.)

I want promises that you're not gone. That you'll be back. That you won't leave me here alone. That you're still alive.

It's not a healthy way to cope with fear, Bridget. I'm staring in the mirror clinging to myself here. I don't want to hear that from August.

Maybe it is. Depends on who you ask. 

People who are trained to manage and support getting you better. Like me.

Then they and you don't know me at all. 

Maybe we know you better than you think. 

But as I look at the deep black pockets under my eyes that hold the ocean of tears I've cried before they breach and spill into my world, drowning me and everyone around me, I feel like I'm fairly certain they don't.

Paper princess.

No one is even remotely concerned that Schuyler was naked during our exchange (as he was in his own room, his own bed, his own life and he doesn't have to apologize for it but it was technically a PG sleepover, just with tons of cuddles and magnificent scenery).

Instead they are concerned that I cried when he told me it was time to go back to my own life.

It wasn't even the going back to my life part that made me so profoundly sad. It was the fact that he told me it was time to go. I was dismissed, though lovingly. The same way August does it except he's far less loving when I've outstayed my welcome. Fear of abandonment is the biggest obstacle in my head. Bigger than heights or monsters or anything else and it stings so brutally when it pushes its way to the front.

And they know this but they don't ever think they have anything to do with it, that it's between me and my ghosts or me and my Lochlan or me and my oversized, ridiculous imagination.

So they show me the door oh so casually and then get confused when I fall the fuck apart all over them, though I tried to keep it classy (it's Schuyler, after all) and managed to not ugly-cry all over him.

Still, now he feels as if he needs to do damage control, the others are looking for some place to lay their blame down because it gets heavy and someone has to hold it and I feel as if I am transparent, tissue-thin, prone to tear, prone to dissolve.

Sam, Joel, August and Lochlan are wearing their Very Serious faces today.  I don't know how all this gets so big when I am so small but it's so far down and profound and difficult and it makes me even sadder still that such a fun event like a sleepover with my beautiful, accommodating and deliciously unchecked fairy boys can become marred by the sudden certain proclamations that I must be getting worse instead of better. Damage/control are the same things in my life so I don't know how they plan to fix it. Take away a few more rules, love her just a little harder but not too hard because she's so fragile and then those fears will recede back into the dark part of her brain and she won't be able to hear them anymore?

Instead they could just offer to walk me home or give me a kiss on the cheek and suggest the next time. It's just the 'Time to leave' part that I have trouble with, I swear.

Sand witch.

There's something about the strength of the male form, admiring the ways muscles slide over bone as they move, the way skin stretches over hardened limbs, the way expressions match effort, the way colors blend to make each one different, each one special in its own right. The way the light hits them softly, without ever leaving a mark.

Like Schuyler's pale sleepy grin this morning as I poked my head up out of the covers, lost somewhere between the two of them, the unfamiliar temperature of their skin waking me early, abruptly.

Daniel, like Ben, didn't move when I woke.

It's time to send you back. Schuyler laughs softly. I think I'm too old for this. 

He isn't. I touch Daniel's face, watching him sleep. If someone touches me while I'm asleep that's it. I'm alert and I'm finished sleeping until the earth makes it all of the way around the sun again. His beard is so soft, the brown caramelized into lighter honey, his fine chiseled features giving him an aristocratic profile in his dreams. It's as if someone took Ben and said make him a little bit less fierce.

But only a little.

I turn and lie back down on my back beside him. He sleeps cool, and though he's far more cuddly in his sleep, I don't feel as if I'm lying on stone. Schuyler frowns and gets up, waking naked across the room to the ensuite. God help me. Bridget-

I know. I'll be gone when you come out. But the disappoint in my voice is audible.  I don't know where it came from. I hate leaving them. I hate not being constantly surrounded by positive free love, by unapologetic touch. My house is tense. My house is where the fight for every single touch rages unchecked. More. Most. We keep score.

But I had an extra day here and it will count too.

He comes back and tilts his head to look at me as tears squeeze out the sides of my eyes and down my temples into my ears. Tell me it's not me making you cry.

I shake my head and wipe the sides of my face, dragging my hands down until he takes them and kisses my fingers, crouching next to the bed. Talk, Bridget. 

You can't hear my confessions when you're naked. This is too amazing. 

Then stay put and when I come out and get dressed we'll make some coffee and have a talk. 

I nod and Schuyler kisses my forehead and then my mouth before rising to head back to the bathroom.

While he was showering I left.

Space oddity.

Anyone else impacted by the Space X delay today?

Go for lunch, they said.

Okay. So I went. They actually said Go for launch so I missed the whole thing anyway.

***

Update: Yes, I know. Booooooo. Bridget, you're not punny.

Sorry, I'm back now. I was on the go because Daniel took me out for a meal and we wound up digging through vintage shops and eating ice cream in the rain and he's the perfect husband sometimes. Very tall, handsome and silly, kind of like Ben but also not possessive or scary. Daniel couldn't be scary even if he tried very hard.

He does try, however, to keep me for days and days and I never mind. No one seems to. We have these half-week sleepovers where I get to stay up all night drinking wine and watching Spanish soap operas in bed and sleep all day or shop or hang out and I can just admire these two very beautiful men. Schuyler gives us equal attention so I don't even feel like a third wheel, more like a lover, though one they can easily let go of, sending me back across the lawn in the rain as they will most likely do tomorrow because by then I will miss Lochlan.

Unless they just invite him over too. Then the visits are definitively shorter, indeed but infinitely more exciting.

If you get my..oh, nevermind.

Mogwai.

I was waiting impatiently
But finally this moment has come
To see you, to feel you,
This magic from far beyond

Can you see it?
Can you feel it?
Finally you are in my arms
Oh real love
Most real love
I've died to be yours

This morning I found out one of my favorite composers (Dobber Beverly of Oceans of Slumber) works as a mover by day.

This is the biggest travesty I've ever heard of but weirdly normal. My favorite singer sold insurance by day; My favorite fire eater still works as an IT specialist because once you're too old to live a circus life you still need to pay the bills.

(Thankfully Ben retired from the family insurance business and now does what he loves all the time. Wait. Too much of the time. Dammit.)

And though I thought I fixed the financial part of Lochlan's life he persists and Schuyler takes advantage and really some days I'd like to take Schuyler by the ear, force him to his knees and get him to promise that he'll stop monopolizing Lochlan's days with shit anybody could do.

He points out he likes to keep Lochlan busy and then Lochlan is too tired to fight.

Come to think of it, be right back. I need to send Schuyler flowers or something for keeping this whole place together the way he does, so quietly as if he's not engaged at all but really he knows where everyone is at any given moment and what they're up to. Maybe he should have been a psychologist instead. Or a private investigator.

Lochlan and Caleb have been at each other for days now. Not because of me, but because of each other, as always. I don't even think I have a hundred percent of the facts to tell you why today. I'm sure Schuyler does. I'll ask him when he calls to thank me for the flowers, and for the loan of Daniel who is babysitting me today with very few rules save for the important ones:

1. Don't feed her candy.

2. Don't let her out of your sight.

3. Don't touch her.

Ha. Who needs RULES?

*Tosses back handfuls of gummy bears, runs out the door, comes back to get caught in arms that aren't all that familiar as of late but will do just fine, thanks*

I'm a gremlin, already turned and you never had a chance. I don't love much but I love what I love harder than most and damn, I really really love the last five minutes of The Banished Heart as it builds from a single note into a symphony.

(Edit: Jesus, people. The title doesn't refer to the band Mogwai, though Take Me Somewhere Nice is also a really great song and gets little due, it seems.)