The tone of his voice (something I can never hear but forever feel).

And though I know all about those men
Still I don't remember
'Cause it was us, baby, way before them
And we're still together

 

And I meant every word I said
When I said that I love you
I meant that I love you forever

 

I didn't stay at Dalton's. We watched There's Someone Inside Your House which was a pure rip of I Know What You Did Last Summer and ate our breakfast leisurely and then I was returned topside without preamble. God, Dalton has so much self-control. Had he not I would still be there, if only for the escape. Duncan wasn't home so I couldn't wreak any havoc at all and Lochlan was readily at the door when we came up, expression checked, pointing out I could come out with him while he fixes the patio heater, if I like. 

So cool he drips content, relief and punctuality all at the same time. I love him so much and I hate his guts too.

The stereo is on outside piped through the awning speakers stationed all around the house and he has his tool roll already out. REO Speedwagon. He is nothing if not the biggest romantic alive.

All of the patio things are packed away save for what's under the glass-topped pergola and he has rolled the heater over to the very edge of the dry square underneath. I step fifteen feet away as instructed a million years ago. Away from the danger.

In case it explodes? Or? 

No, I just need room to disassemble.

(Same.) Ah. 

That's funny though. 

His mollification is all over, coating us in a fine mist, or maybe that's the sudden heavier rain to keep our conversation private and our time out here alone together. 

If it does explode, I love you, Peanut. 

If it explodes and takes you, I'm going with you, Locket. 

He drops his screwdriver and gets up, crossing to me, taking me in his arms and kissing my forehead hard. I make a half-hearted twist with my hips, pretending to slow dance when I hear the music again and he pulls me out from under the cover into the rain, taking one hand in his, sliding his other arm around my waist. I rest my head against his chest, letting out a grateful sigh, one he matches as he puts his head against the top of mine. 

And as if by design the heavens open and it starts not raining hard, but freaking pouring. I feel his face turn up into a smile but he says nothing, making no moves to stop even as I can no longer hear the music for the deluge. He can, and so he can keep time for us, though we last far longer than the song could have.Every time I think I'm fucking up my life worse it turns out better than I could have ever hoped, honestly. I smile at the ghost behind the gazebo and he disappears, there all along.

Go away, I say out loud. 

But you just got here, Lochlan says, and he holds me even tighter.

Out (HALA HALA).

I should be getting ready for church but instead I got high with Dalton and we're watching Ateez videos and discussing Korean boy band fashion and fandoms. He had the good cinnamon rolls in his kitchen and the warm blankets on his bed. I'll be here for the rest of my life if anyone needs me. He has the patience of a saint and a mind more open than the rest of the boys combined sometimes.

Terror management theory (Neuroticism or Eroticism. You can pick).

Schuyler and I are trading lines from To The Moon & Back as it blasts through the house. The only people still sleeping are Henry and PJ and both have sound-proof wings, or so we discovered over the years as we make attempts to wake up various people with various songs they don't enjoy. 

Only it didn't work for either of them. Lucky.

Daniel is laughing, watching Schuyler be goofy. It's rare but so wonderful. They came over to make us a breakfast casserole recipe they found that they said was too good not to share, and we are spending time waiting for things to cook. Gage is all but howling at his brother and Ben is too or maybe that's my stomach growling. I can't really tell the difference with my ears. Daniel and Schuy are wearing matching tiger-eye stones on black cords around their necks. Protection. Courage. Interesting. 

I point to it. Why? 

Worth a shot. 

Worried about someone specific?

Schuyler stops dancing and singing. No? It could be from landslides. Or peat fires. He looks pointedly at me. Maybe you should get one. 

Do they work? 

Landslide didn't bring me down yet. 

Ooh. Put on Fleetwood Mac. 

Oh. Yes!

(This is why I always start with Truly, Madly, Deeply. They play it every year, as they also danced to it at their wedding ten years ago this month. Otherwise we won't get to it at all and it's the one that's most fun to sing with him.)

'Music therapy can improve functioning and reduce symptoms in patients with trauma exposure and PTSD'. Well, DUH.

The rain has softened the edges and I stepped too far, straining to catch a glimpse of my favourite ghost when I began to slide. I thought I would stop but I didn't, picking up speed, taking on passengers as I went until Lochlan came charging out of the dark, pulling me up to a safe ledge, putting headphones on me so I couldn't hear all the horrible screams coming from somewhere where she hides, away from the pain that reaches out to catch a glimpse of her whenever it can, and the music swelled and the screams were gone.

I guess they were coming from me but I didn't know until I had turned myself inside out just to hold on to the edge. Now I'm tethered by a fifty-foot coiled cord that connects me to the only thing that ever actually worked. From lying in the cold packed-up camper on an unmade cot as the leaves turned colour outside the tiny gravel-pocked window at sixteen years old listening to Blue Rodeo on Lochlan's (who's now twenty-one) black edition Sony Walkman, churning through batteries like oxygen to walking around the whole house with this stupid cord keeping me in proximity of the big stereo because I can hear every breath with a headset that costs the same as a small car and my little airpods pale to the point of translucency against.

Like a ghost. 

Almost see-through but you know he's there. You can feel it like your own heartbeat. A little out of rhythm but part of the landscape. A little cold and then warm. A little good and then so, so bad. 

How is he? 

Pretty good actually. Just one more white-knuckle round and then we are done. 

The hard part? 

Supposedly not but the labs have to come back and that's the part that's scaring me. Another month of waiting.

He's fine, Princess. I can see it from here. 

Now you're a fortune teller? 

No,there's an arrival board and he isn't on it. 

Am I? 

And that makes him angry and he's gone as quickly as he materialized and maybe he wasn't there and I hit my head when I fell in the hole. Like Ben. Who's time isn't up yet either and he didn't die last year but almost and almost is too much and I can't do this for anyone else. I can't. I can't.

If I reach up and slide a name that I don't know out the other end of the letter-track I can use those pieces and a few more, rearranging them to spell my own name. Like an airport but instead of digital it's all analog. Like me. Tactile. Present. Visible. Obvious.

It doesn't work that way! Christ, Piglet.

He's back. The warmth comes in but with it, betrayal. Anger. Hopelessness and a distinct, painful awareness that I would trade everything for him to take a breath and be whole. 

But would I? Only in those first moments when he makes himself known. The rest of the time the Bridget-rage marches on. It's 'complicated grief'. I laugh but they keep saying that. Oh, boy, is it ever. 

I tuck my hands under my arms and rock forward. The pain is real, unlike the man. Just remember, idiot, you never had a chance at a normal life. What made you think you did? I laugh to myself, a pell sound, a beautiful laugh that used to be charming before now, before I was older and afraid. Two things messed me up and I can never fix either of them and yet the two men who caused them won't even leave because now I won't. let. them. 

What are you doing?

Trying to make it hurt less. 

Does it work?

Music works. 

Then go listen to music. 

I WAS WHEN YOU GOT HERE. I rip off the headphones and I throw them at him and the screaming starts up again and briefly I wonder if he's the one screaming but then Lochlan comes rushing back in, picks up the headphones and crosses the room to me, pulling me in under his chin, kissing the top of my head, rocking me gently in place. 

Find a song we should have scrubbed? 

Yeah, I lie, pushing my face into his shirt until I can't breathe anymore.

Fragile Miss Bitch.

Your hair is so long. I didn't realize. Forgive me, let me take this off.

My hair is just past my chin and his Breitling got caught in it. It's been a long time since that's happened. He put his hand around the back of my head to pull me up for a kiss and I squealed when he went to let go and he took a good sized wisp of my hair with him. 

It'll grow back. Fuck it. That's not the important part here. 

The important part is that he behaved, and I didn't leave and I slept with my hands curled in to my heart, my arms between us, head tucked down, his arms around me holding me close and so I didn't hear him when he actually told me to leave and so today, well, today the villain is Bridget, not Caleb. 

It's fine. I earned it. It'll blow over. Between the hearing impairment and broken wing Lochlan doesn't stand up to me. He hates it but it will never be my fault until they hold him down and make him understand that it is, and even then he'll doubt them all the while giving me that benefit and is it fair? No. Is it inevitable? Of course. He said I could have a boyfriend and I picked the worst one I could find, as a test. Well, Lochlan's still here and it's been forever. 

(Maybe I can trust him now?

No. Too soon.)

He laughs, incredulous. Do I need to look for bitemarks? 

There aren't any. He was kind. 

It sucks that I'm reduced to being grateful for that. Why the fuck didn't you stay put? 

But curiosity kills Bridget and I wanted to see for myself what kind of mood Caleb was in, and so I followed him down the hall, brandy in hand and learned the truth about him for the day. Today might be different because he was up and gone early, driving to the area of town where he parks and goes for a long run before getting coffee and returning to the point. He says if he doesn't get out of the house at least four times a week he gets the crazies. 

Which explains everything about me. Except I also left the house this morning, after a long hot shower to soothe the razor burn all over my skin and the remove the aftershave smell. Then Ben scowled at me, having slept alone with Lochlan, and we went grocery shopping. I bought a thousand mini Halloween chocolate chocolate bars for a hundred and sixty bucks. They'll be gone by Friday in this house. 

Sweetness is my absolution, courage my ever-elusive muse.

 Oh, great. George aches when it's cold and rainy.

Ruby Woo wasn't blue enough, even for me.

I should have gotten the Russian Red instead when I bought my last (Mac, we like em dry) lipstick and I walked past a Sephora on the weekend but we were going to get Lochlan a new ipad and so we kept walking and then today I remembered. 

Lochlan put the Ruby Woo on my lips for me- 

 (A small aside here: This gave me a bizarre jolt of PTSD from when he put makeup on me to make me look older so we wouldn't be questioned on the road, when I was eleven years old. He has already passed the lipstick task off to Ben saying that he figures Ben can do a better job and we didn't speak of it but I know he felt it too and that was weird and it's one of the reasons I don't wear makeup now. Well, I love lipstick and mascara but I won't wear the rest of it and a seventeen-year-old boy was doing a full face on me as best he could because that's how to blend in.  

That's what we do to stay out of trouble. You have a disguise. Okay, Bridgie? 

Yes, Locket.)

-since my left handedness is not all that capable and then I shrugged into a warm knit dress and we went and had a wonderful dinner next door. Came home late, drunk and full and fell into bed and had I known the Aurora Borealis would be visible here last night I might have struggled to stay awake but we didn't know and didn't stay awake and I'm just happy I've seen them before and I also found an app that will send forecasts to my phone from now on. 

We are also, thanks to the weekend, halfway through Squid Game. 

It's very good. It doesn't have the slick strangeness of Alice in Borderland but I liked this one from the first frame, whereas it took me forever to get into AIB.

 But now the long weekend is over and Halloween is coming on its freight train and I have my days cleared completely in order to not-actually-lipstick-shop and to actually sew a hole I can crawl into and then pull up over my head. It was fun while it lasted. We have so many leftovers that the boys next door gave us we'll be having hot turkey sandwiches tonight. We have plans for the future that don't include slowing to a miserable crawl every time the weather turns so cold but oh look, here we are.

On with it, already.

 

If only (getting those lyrics NAILED, guys. Poor Lochlan).

But you were history with the slamming of the door
And I made myself so strong again somehow
And I never wasted any of my time on you since then

I got the out from Christian this morning. Loch got up early and left to go hang out with August. Caleb was sent away by PJ early last evening and Ben just stared at me most of the rest of the night while Lochlan got much-needed sleep. 

Christian came over, sat on the edge of the bed, and told me they were hosting Thanksgiving today. That turkey and stuffing and gravy and mashed potatoes and maybe even a pumpkin pie or five will be at their house at four this afternoon and that if I would like to make an appearance there will be a chair with my name on it, and that if I'm not there by ten after, my chair will be removed and Schuyler will most likely eat everything. 

Or Ben. I laugh but it comes out weird. 

You gotta live, B. Don't let him continue to take this from you. 

I nod. It's a pointless conversation and I've had it a hundred thousand times. It doesn't matter. I don't know what's wrong with me but he said I was enough and then suddenly I wasn't. Suddenly I was so lacking that it was better to fly to Heaven then to struggle, like this. I forgave him. I understand and then when it's cold or I'm tired or I think too hard I don't understand at all. 

Christian leans down until he is holding me in his arms, head pressed against mine. But PUMPKIN PIE, he implores and I finally laugh for real, shaking both of us gently. He pulls back and smiles. 

Promise me you'll come. We're going to light the good candles and everything. Everyone's going to be there. Table is set for eighteen. 

Wow, that's a feat. 

You do it. 

I'm used to it. 

We'll get used to it. 

Actually?

Both tables. And the island. 

Okay, there's a use for open concept. 

Exactly. Let us treat you. Come and sit and mix your pills with alcohol. And eat something, for once. You're just bones. 

It's Halloween. Just trying to blend in.  

Stop trying, Bridget. It will never happen. Not with you. 

I know myself.

Okay, I can still play piano. I finally spoke this morning (not sure I did yesterday) and it's ratchety-whiskey and guttural so of course that means I can sing Total Eclipse of the Heart and I figured I would have forgotten all the notes but I did not. 

Not like I'm going to forget lyrics, though that song was followed by It's All Coming Back to me Now, a song that I don't know all but half the lyrics to, and I was fighting my way through that one, because Lochlan will listen to me sing the Bonnie Tyler songs now like he's in a trance and then if I start something really painful he'll stop me and I have no idea what the words are to half the Celine songs, her very light french accent messes up what little hearing I have. Besides. Have you seen the video? Between the ghosts and the ghosts due to motorcycles that one's off limits. All of her stuff is off limits. That's why I started it. 

Who wants to go to church when you can stay home and fight over an eighties Youtube ballad playlist instead?

Besides, the heat would need to be on in the church to go and sit for that long and I know for a fact it isn't and so I made my excuses last night. At this point Sam would excuse me for murder. Lochlan certainly won't and wants everything to be easy. 

Just like the Merovingian does. Same exact thing, Locket. 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA oh, Jesus fuck this isn't funny but that's funny. 

During our rewatch of the Matrix several weeks ago we decided in secret that Caleb is the Merovingian. He's very smooth with a slight accent and tons of money and power for no reason and doesn't seem to have an actual purpose but here he is. 

Truth.

Who does that make you, then? Trinity?

Of course not. 

Niobe?

No, I wish. She kicked ass. I'm the ORACLE. 

Geez, I guess you are. 

Then can I keep playing please?

No. (The next song up was It Must have Been Love. Then She's like the Wind. Ouch. I hear dead people. But then REO SPEEDWAGON. Still alive, I think AND HE STILL SAID NO.)

And I can't fight this feeling anymore. I'm singing again.

Bridget, fuck off. 

Leave the room, Pyro.

Ah. There he is. Caleb's voice over my shoulder. He doesn't stand for that.Funny how verbal abuse ticks him off so bad but none of the other kinds do.

Through the gray.

I still fall for you like suns do for skies
Cerulean pouring in from your eyes
Just a hollow moon that you colourize
So powerful, I feel so small but so alive
Like watching the earth rise 

These drugs are so bad. I burst into tears listening to the new Starset song, when I ran out of red licorice, when I saw Christmas shit in the pile of flyers on the counter from the newspaper (WHY in 2021 are we still getting a newspaper, Cale?) and every time I come. 

Which, well, that part isn't bad and God do they ever love it. 

So I listened to Earthrise four thousand times, so loud my whole head still rings. They used the word Cerulean, a favourite. Dumb things that I appreciate since the world has been dulled to virtually everything else but I'm in that sweet spot right now between pills where it almost wears off and I have a half hour to organize everything and then I fall into the void again. I don't know if that's a complaint or a grateful turn, ask me in a month. 

Makes the coffee bitter but the love so much sweeter. I wonder when in my life my liver is going to call mutiny and take my kidneys with it. They can run away into the sunset and I will be left with no filter at all. I never had one on my mouth anyway and I told Lochlan yesterday that he gets off on disaster porn and he handed me off to Caleb and went for a long drive in the cold sun on New Jake's motorcycle and Ben went with him on PJ's and then I told Caleb he gets off on it too and he laughed and said of course. Otherwise no one would be here. 

Then I stood with my nose pressed to the upstairs staircase window until they came back and I finally could let out my breath. 

Did you capture the ghosts and take them so far away they won't be able to find their way back here?

Yeah, Lochlan shoots a look at Ben. Yeah, we did. Everything's fixed now, Peanut.

Good. I shove my headphones back up over my ears and go back to my favourite void. The musical one. Where I can listen to someone else's pain and I don't have to think about my own.