This is how I medicate. Fuck off.

One of the greatest things ever would be if we discovered that Paint from Les Friction was actually Freddie Mercury, having been in hiding for almost thirty years. Listen to Torture. I don't know about you but my brain replaces the role with Freddy Mercury's voice, even though he would be in his early seventies now and the voice I hear is definitely late thirties.

I can age you using only your voice. I'm good at it. It's one of my many odd talents, along with tightrope walking, putting out streetlights with only my brain, and collecting lost souls to keep until the universe takes them away.

You want to know why Rocketman didn't do as well as Bohemian Rhapsody? It's because Elton John is still alive. One can only be built into mythic status when one is no longer here. Larger than life, brighter than the stars, it's a level one only achieves in absentia, in death. It's the reason why Jacob is not a memory but a force to be reckoned with, something I haven't actually been able to do because as I said, my talents are weird and small. Just like me. How am I supposed to conquer Jacob's memory when he's a legend, never ever relegated to just a man.

The boys say that Paint is Paint, whoever he is, and Freddie's long dead.

Just like Jake, right?

Right.

Holding close to the flames.

So don't tell me why he's never been good to you
Don't tell me why he's never been there for you
Don't you know that why is simply not good enough
So just let me try and I will be good to you
Just let me try and I will be there for you
I'll show you why you're so much more than good enough

The fluttering and stuttering began some time shortly after dinner, a quiet affair in which remorse rang loudly throughout the halls of this stupid house, echoing off the walls, settling on our heads like plaster dust when someone dances hard one floor above.

Bridget-

It's fine. I'm fine. (I'm so not fine right now. One of the beautiful side effects of condemning the boys for the past is falling the fuck apart. I do so good keeping my shit together most of the time. You wouldn't even believe it. I've been written about in psychiatric journals. They make me sound fucking insane. I'm high-functioning insane though, and that's the important part here. What you see is what you get. I have my coping mechanisms. Someone should charge admission to read here. Jesus Christ.)

You're not fine. Put that down. 

Three glasses of wine didn't even put a dent in the movements, they didn't help the words flow. Lochlan comes over to me, kisses the tip of my nose while taking my glass, marvelling at how I haven't spilled it yet, brushes the plaster from my hair and then leads me down the hall, where I am zipped into my fleece jacket before he takes me all the way down to the beach.

I screwed up, Bridget. I took a moment and ran with it. And then I dug a deeper hole and you fell in it and I don't know how to find that balance for you. Ben could but Ben's gone half the time and I hate myself for this but I'm trying to make you happy. 

We'll figure it out. 

I wonder how long it will take. 

The rest of our-

Lives. I know. I'm so sorry, Bridget. Happily ever after wasn't supposed to come at such a price.

Legacies and ligatures (a perfect counterpart for shipwrecks and soliloquies).

Just hear me out
If it's not perfect, I'll perfect it till my heart explodes
I highly doubt
That I can make it through another one of your episodes
Lashing out
One of the petty moves you pull before you lose control
You wear me out
But it's all right now

Well. That didn't work.

Prone on the hardwood floor. Face up, however. Looking upside above me where Caleb frowns.

Why did you do that, Doll? 

At this point I'm fairly certain he's about to take something heavy and bring it crashing down on my little skull, putting the lights out, ending everything all at once. It'll just be a flash of black and I'll be their memory and they will scatter to the four winds and never speak to each other again.

I'm torn between wanting that outcome and wanting to see how it all turns out anyway, even if it hurts.

And that's the problem. These kinds of fights are the worst.

I took myself over to August's last evening. It was that or I would have gone straight to New Jake, or worse, old Jake. I professed a deep-seated attraction to him as a whole, not just as a ghost, and for my honesty I was beautifully rewarded. Halfway back across the driveway I was intercepted by the Devil, who proceeded to make an unholy noise that I was later told was shouting so angrily even the cats ran and hid from the sound.

At least it wasn't Lochlan. Lochlan doesn't even know what do with me at this point. Lochlan's hands are tied and his heart is falling behind, running to catch up and then giving up, tucking itself in right where I left it, for me to find later when I'm done pissing off the Gods.

I sit up quickly just to see the stars. No one else can see them. I love that feeling. My eyes focus, one at a time on the Devil's handsome blue eyes, not so kind right now.

What have you done?

You did all this. Are you happy? I told you this wouldn't turn out well and you thought it meant they would come after you. Wow. Bet you wish now that that's what happened instead of this. You broke her! Congrats! 

Are you drunk?

Not nearly enough. 

Jesus.While he laments my lack of compliance I go off down the dark hallway in search of my boy, one middle finger raised defiantly behind my back at the Devil, who doesn't even have a stake in this night the way the rest of us do and doesn't he hate this. If I get this wrong August leaves and I don't think I can take that. If I get it right we both get everything we need. We promised Jake we'd look after each other. We don't intend to fail.

Or me, I mean. Because I don't want him to go and he's got one foot out the door.

BRIDGET. Caleb roars again, into the dark. He can't see me anymore and that's good.

I find what I'm looking for and pull it out, wrapping my arms around it. Lochlan's heart is heavy and weak. It's squishy and solid though. It's a perfect fit and a rare prize. I haul it back down the hallway and drop it at the feet of the Devil.

What? I smile at him, mirroring his rage in the best way I know how. Belligerently and with confidence. It may be an act but I'm good at that too. This is different from not being able to keep a poker face. This is pure showmanship and I've got it nailed.

Put that away. 

You don't get to order me around anymore. You created all of this and now you have to live with it.

We created this. Don't forget who started it all. There's no difference between he and I. 

Sure there is. 

Tell me what that is. 

(Tell you what again? You all passed around a TEN YEAR OLD and I have to explain why it didn't all end in roses and lemonade?)

Love. Lochlan held my hand. He held me. He talked to me. He took me out for food, and planted flowers and taught me things about the night sky. He taught me how to fall in love. You never took five minutes to do any of that before touching me. All of you. 

All of us-

All you did was further perpetuate it by putting us all together again. Bet it feels weird now, hey? You wonder why I seek out anyone but the lot of you when I can't help myself? Because they don't use me for their own needs. 

You think August isn't using you? 

August loves me. Sam too. Duncan and Dalton definitely do. Jake may, if given the chance and really if I get enough of them I won't need any of you, now, will I? Lochlan will still be there but the rest of you will wonder what the fuck happened when you're suddenly somewhere else.

I wished for weird.

And I got it, I think.

I'd take another chance, take a fall, take a shot for you
And I need you like a heart needs a beat, but it's nothing new
I loved you with a fire red, now it's turning blue
And you say sorry like the angel heaven let me think was you
But I'm afraid

It's too late to apologize (it's too late)
I said It's too late to apologize (it's too late)

The magic spell always seems to be broken with the soft gaze of the morning sunrise, and the shame rushes in to fill that new void. Or maybe it only does that for me, as the minute I let go just a little all the deepest darkest parts of me rush up to bask in the light.

I stand inside the patio door wrapped in one of the woven blankets we keep for chilly shoulders on the patio at night (the heaters are neither easy to operate, for me anyway, cheap to run or good for the planet, frankly. Wear a fucking blanket.) sipping my coffee while I watch Lochlan walk back down the path behind Schuyler and Dan's, taking a right around the pool, closer to the house before deviating left at the gazebo straight to the telescope by the edge of the cliff. As if he was always just right there and not at Batman's trying to circumvent my words published here for all to see. What is he planning? What did he say?

I finish my coffee but remain by the glass, zoning out hard. Missing Ben as he comes to stand behind me, then jumping out of my skin when he speaks.

What are you doing, Bee?

Waiting for Loch.

Ben kisses the top of my head as I turn. I lean against him, a wall of cool warmth in the morning cold. A stranger I miss.

Jake, huh?

Jesus, here we go. Like you don't fantasize on command.

I do. I wish you were taller. Every damn day.

I rest my chin on his chest and look up at him. I name three names of famous people he wanted and then slept with and he laughs suddenly.

Been there, done that. One you get it out of your system you stop daydreaming about it, you know? That's the difference. It's like you're a sugar fiend and the candy is right next door and we're all like what the fuck? Eat your vegetables but you only see the candy. Even though you TRIED the candy and it make you sick.

Jesus, Ben, it was a moment.

He watches Lochlan through the glass. Then you should probably lie next time.

Why do you think he went over?

Either to fight him or invite him. Guess you'll have to ask him which one. Just watch out for Caleb. He's the only person who would have been more offended in the light of day by this. And with that glaringly obvious comment Ben is gone again. My favorite stranger, always.

***

Late last night came the knock on the door. An invite, then. He never did say. He told me to mind my own business. He told me not to worry so much. He told me to answer the door.

I opened it, looking up into the face of New Jake. Of course. It was an invitation. I'm not going to be sent to the workbench. No. He would like to keep control. He wants to have his presence known. He wants to be in charge. He's afraid but he's trying to be everything and give me everything right now while he has the chance. He wants to make sure I don't fall in love, only like I've said a thousand times: there's something about New Jake but it isn't love.

I shook my head and closed the door. There may be a new map here but I already have my route mapped out and I'm not changing it now. If it's not on my terms it's not at all, thank you.

I could just snap my fingers and lick my lips and he wouldn't even need his imagination anymore.

He leaned me back just enough for my hair to brush the bed. I am still suspended in his arms a foot away from the safety of my quilts, from earth. From the cool night air that surrounds us even as he radiates heat like the sun.

Say when. 

Never!

And he laughs with the most joyful sound. We've been devouring each other since sundown. My bangs are plastered to my forehead. His hair is half out of the bun he hastily put it into, and he looks like a wild man. Feral. Dangerous.

Also stupidly handsome and content and amazing and mine. All mine though he said again this morning I was free to do whatever I needed to do.

He plays an awful game and I like it.

If you could go to anyone right now, who and where. 

I think about it for a minute. I think about lying. I think about telling the truth. I think about angrily reminding him that this is why we fight. This is why I make and break more boundaries than I can keep. That this is the thing that keeps me recidivist, fucked up and ruined.

Answer without thinking. 

New Jake. 

Where?

Jesus, Lochlan. 

Tell me. He is hot and bothered. Gee. Me, too.

His garage. Up against the workbench. 

He's holding you up. 

Yes. Lochlan, I don-

He never even puts you down. He's got you in his hands-

Lochlan-

But he doesn't hear me. He's gone so far ahead, and I'm never going to catch up. I'm not even sure I want to right now. He's gone to a place I don't think I want to be.

Half Lizard King, half fairy godmother.

There's a rule in this house that if you break something you get to fix it and the fix better be as good if not better than the original so be careful or you may find yourself foundering for experts if you destroy something beyond your skill set.

I sat on the floor handing tools to Lochlan this morning, who at the crack of nine came home with a new door for Caleb's bedroom. The door to his wing was fine, it was the inner door that got taken off the hinges. He politely knocked on the first door, which was opened without hesitation. He told Caleb he had a new door and would put it on, Caleb said thank you very politely and left and we set to work.

I handed a level, two different screwdrivers and one single tiny shim and then he was finished. Luckily a door is an easy fix for Lochlan, who can fix anything anyway, save for my attitude and my interpretation of his allowance for my issues.

See how different perspectives make for different opinions of the same situations?

Yeah, me neither.

I got it. You're free. He starts packing up his tools and Duncan materializes out of nowhere (babysitting duty, don't think we couldn't sense him lurking in the front hall below, just in case) to carry down the old door. I rush off down the hall to get ready. We have a brunch to get to. Another dressed-up Saturday, another long table. Another sunny day spent with people we don't see nearly enough, and we're off and running. I wore the wrong shoes, something I paid for dearly over the course of the day, which involved too much walking, and also eyeliner that didn't like me at all, smudging in the heat. Lochlan eventually held out his elbow for me and said I looked hot. I said I was, and he said that wasn't what he meant.

I burst out laughing and we were good again suddenly. He pressed a kiss hard against my cheek and stroked it too. He squeezed my hand in his arm and said he loves me. He gave in first, while I held my ground as I still don't understand how his allegiance to the Devil trumps my need for the Devil but somehow it does and our histories are combined, complicated and chaotic. But our presents seems less so, even with the occasional missteps, hurt feelings or ignored boundaries.

When pressed Caleb breathed his usual crushing beauty of an explanation. He always has one, and they are always solid gold. You don't think he's the Devil? You weren't there when he said, voice breaking, My God, Brother, I couldn't let her go. Not yet. And Lochlan nodded and I am That Object again but also so weirdly thrilled I should be shot for how that feels all the time, just when I'm sure I've had enough of Caleb. That's how he works. Charm and cash. Affection and longing and power and the past.

It's disgusting.

It's the best.

***

My words about PJ hit home like a freight train without brakes and PJ went straight to Ben. Ben who sponsors a couple of people now, has a good solid handle on what has always been a tenuous balance for him and won't bullshit you one way or another if you want to talk addictions.

Ben threw it right back at PJ and asked PJ if he thought he had a problem. PJ didn't even hesitate and has already gone to a meeting. He and Ben spent most of the morning together and it turns out it isn't my fault. I knew that, I've been through the family program, and understand self-preservation on all fronts, but I still worry about PJ and I worry about his mindset, blaming me for this monk's life he leads. It's wonderful to constantly be with friends, and have financial security and privacy and a purpose. It's another thing for a true romantic to be without a love of his own. It's also been a huge blow to see the children he has raised from birth as a caretaker (and the most favorite hunkle of all) suddenly turn eighteen and twenty and not really need him anymore. They have assured him they do need him but gone are the days of homework and packing lunches and gym clothes and early bedtimes and pep talks and projects.

It hit me hard but it seems to have hit him harder. That touches me ridiculously deeply and I bled out and flew into his arms when he got home from that meeting, having been brought up to date by Duncan (everywhere suddenly to pick up PJ's slack), who was there for his initial meeting with Ben about whether he should go into the program or not. I don't think PJ will wind up needing to be sent away like Ben did, he just needs to get back in control and he wasn't too far gone so I'm optimistic.

Sorry, Babe. This isn't you. I don't know why I said that. 

You're just a mean drunk, that's all.

That cuts deep, Bridge. I'm bleeding here. 

Join the club.

Pretty little commune.

In the gloaming oh my darling
When the lights are dim and low
The quiet shadows fall around us
And softly come and swiftly go

When the winds are sobbing silent
With a gentleness we'll know
Will you think of me and wonder
As you did once long ago

I tried to leave him. I tried to get up, he'd pull me back down. I put my things on and headed for the door and he blocked it. I tried to play along and thought he would smarten up eventually. I remained there for a while. Finally I levelled the usual explanation that if he didn't make this easy I wouldn't make it often, and that freezing him out for his behaviour would be squarely on him. He ignored it. So I went for the door again and he grabbed me and took it way too far and I yelled at him and Lochlan kicked the whole door in.

Not sure how long he was out there but I never forget how fast he can move. We meet eyes and we both wished he could have kicked in the metal door of the camper many years ago for just a single second and then Caleb's on the floor and everyone is yelling and I just walk out through the carnage and meet Sam in the hall. Sam's face is questioning and he's there to make sure nobody dies. Or maybe he's there so if they do he can see them to their reward. Or their punishment, as it were.

He had decided I would stay when I was ready to go. And Sam nodded and moved to one side to let me pass.

Lochlan came back a couple minutes later without a scratch. Caleb has none either. He got thrumped on his ass to prove a point, they don't need to take it further. They still put each other in each others shoes more often than not, but it will be at their own expense, not mine. I can't afford it anymore.

PJ found it hilarious. But then again, these days PJ drinks far too much and is becoming less help than hindrance. Not to say he's in the way but he's usually half into himself by lunchtime lately and I'm soon to go fetch that bottle out of the recycling bin and break it over his head. If I could find it for the pile of new ones that has buried it.

Fuck off, Peej.

Notice when you overstayed your time with me, no one broke down the door.

You didn't try to keep me from leaving.

Oh, he pulled that shit again? Fuck him.

Fuck everyone.

See, that's the problem, Bridge. And the only thing Lochlan can do is bust in a few doors and pretend he's fine otherwise.

He sent me there.

What the fuck, Bridget.

He told me to go.

Then he's more fucked than I thought.

I told you this. We all are. Also you're going to a meeting today.

Like hell I am.

Well it's your lucky day, because this is just like hell.

Sometimes it is, you know. And that's your fault.

My eyes sting with tears and I look away. Of course it's my fault. Even though Lochlan is tired and he sends me down the hall to keep the peace, to be a pal, to seem generous and above everything and then he hates me and hates himself and hates everyone and he tries to pretend it's fine. He spins it like I have all the power but I actually have so little. That, like everything else, it will just be unconventional. He did the same thing when we were on the road. He normalized the weird. It's fine that we're on the run. It's the life, climbing out windows in the middle of the night and picking pockets so we don't starve. It's par for the course, selling our souls to get jobs so we can survive even though the jobs were no different than prostituting ourselves on the corner. He packaged it up pretty though. We were together. It was an act. There would be rules.

Just like now.

The redhead would have played America's Rainy Day and it would have worked but of course and that isn't what this is, now, is it?

Well I know that you're gonna cry
Tears are running from your eyes
The piece of my life you take
Is one that so often breaks

It's the kind of cold miserable morning that sees Caleb put on California Dreamin', stereo filling my ears when I'd rather be sleeping.

Stopped into a church
I passed along the way
Well, I got down on my knees (got down on my knees)
And I pretend to pray (I pretend to pray)
You know the preacher like the cold (preacher like the cold)
He knows I'm gonna stay (knows I'm gonna stay)

You don't like it? He's missed the mark. I prefer the Mamas & the Papas version with the flute over the Beach Boys (or even America's cover and I don't often put anything above that band) with it's cheesy eighties saxophone solos any day.

I frown and he turns it off, returning to the blended-family music of The Blue Stones and Missio. I already made the choice for today. I rarely can be persuaded to switch. This is one of my flaws, to be sure. God help you if you're near me and you want to listen to something different and I'm not in the mood. I can't help it. I'm sorry.

The good part is nobody actually minds, as I have good taste in music and play an exceedingly wide variety while keeping a balance of perfect old familiars.

Old family liars. That's how my brain sees that. My eyes just see Caleb, in his Tom Ford boxer-briefs, cut perfectly from the same cloth as Cole, just more refined. He's sipping coffee. He looks energized. I finished my coffee and refused a second cup. I want to go back to sleep, want to go back down the hall but he won't let me and so instead he paired my phone with his speakers and told me to play something good, but softly so I can still hear him over the music.

He likes to try and prolong the mornings, calling for a slow-waking when the usual one will do. He's very easy to fall asleep with, and stay asleep with. I don't know why that is. Maybe the familiarity (liar). Maybe the fact that he's nicest and most generous right after he's ripped me to pieces with his teeth. Maybe he's no longer hungry and can be civilized. Maybe he's just content for the moment instead of perpetually wound and unsettled.

He and August are, strangely enough, a lot alike in that respect in a way that sees a visible relaxing of their shoulders, their minds and hearts and hands directly after touching me that works in a way that fascinates me. I would never tell Caleb that, however. He likes to pretend he's the only man in the world in perpetuity. Just enough to keep my heart together a little longer, he tells me and it makes my tears threaten, burning my eyes and I have to look away for a moment, thinking about something else while he assumes I'm angry about his words and don't want to hear it anymore.

The truth is that's the fuel that keeps me coming back, thriving on his need for me, living for it as a challenge to shut everything else the fuck up. The only control I have over him (something I always, always wanted) is that I get to decide when I see him. And when he can touch me. And I live for the gratitude and tenderness he shows as a result of that permission.

It's a fucking drug.

( You want new music? Go listen to America. Sister Golden Hair, Rainy Day, Moon Song, Lonely People, etc. It's all fucking spectacular.)

I can hear the windchimes on the other side of the doors.

It's going to be a beautiful storm. We battened down the hatches ever so slightly, closing awnings and the larger patio umbrellas and stowing the inflatables. Daniel was supposed to be sure any glassware and breakables were removed from the patio and around the pool but he didn't. I've banned breakables anyway but that doesn't stop anyone who drinks from taking out beer bottles and leaving them everywhere. By 'everywhere' and 'bottles' I mean that one stupid Kokanee bottle I can see out the patio door that is sitting on the table beside PJ's favorite covered chaise lounger. It's been there since Saturday.

Shame, PJ. Shame.

I've got my storm playlist cued up. Sorry, I can't exactly share it since we don't believe in Spotify (again, not renting my music), but it's mostly a solid blend of Pachebel and Oceans of Slumber. Heavy on the heavy, I always say.

Sorry, Dalt.

He hates it when I say that.

But I'm not sorry because it's PERFECT.

Going to work on myself today and heal a bit and snuggle with Lochlan and make a delicious rare favorite for dinner (can't tell you and ruin their surprise) and maybe run out between rain and get that bottle. It's going to drive me crazy.

Fair of face.

When Caleb tracks me down with a hat-trick breakfast offer I clearly fail to impress. I am in the garden barefoot, covered with dirt up to my knees and elbows, the soil freezing and damp. I have a fistful of rosemary and one of lemon mint too and I have bright nailpolish on and hair parted nonsensically, as it seemed fine when I washed it and now that it's dry I've got a bizarre zigzag across the top of my head that somehow delineates the silver from the gold.

With a frown he asks if I'm 'busy'.

Uh. Not really?

He extends his offer, the expression on his face deepening, perhaps unconsciously into one of sheer regret.

Tomorrow would be a better day for it. I'm sorry. I'd like to be home when Henry wakes up. 

It's Henry's eighteenth birthday. He is Monday's child, and an Indigo soul. He has an emotional map copied from my very own and yet he's also a wunderkind that I never could have hoped to be. He has my perfect ashes, pine and ivory-pink coloring and that alone is astonishing. He hates it so.

But seriously. I want to be here so I can give him a huge hug and yell Happy Birthday at his retreating back when he goes to the table with his breakfast muttering something about me knowing he isn't a morning person.

YEESH, Henny. You used to be. You will be again some day if you're anything like me. I get up at five-thirty every morning of my life with a smile that slowly fades over the course of the day and by seven at night I am all but finished, mimicking Caleb's handsome frown in my own completely non-handsome way.

Caleb is a good de facto Dad to Henry though. I will give him that.

I figured we'd be back long before Henry wakes.

True.