They should have put DIFF ICULT somewhere.

When I came downstairs yesterday evening Duncan and Ruth were shaking off their coats in the back hallway. Ruth looked relieved and told me she went to apologize to Caleb for the email. She got Duncan to go with her for moral support or backup or protection or something, I don't stop to let my brain parse the possibilities.

What did he say? I ask.

Not to worry about it. That he tested the limits when he was my age too and he understands my position. What does he mean?

That he's smart enough to know you will always side with your dad.

Oh. Can I go to my room now?

Yes. Thank you for going to see him.

Tomorrow night he's going to do a sundae bar.

You're lucky, kiddo.

Ruth disappears up the stairs and Duncan waits until she is long out of earshot before opening his mouth.

Bridget, you're struggling with not projecting your feelings about being a teenager onto Ruth.

What do you know about being a teenage girl?

Sadly, not enough to have this conversation.

It's okay. It's...a long story.

You really okay Bridget? Maybe if you talked to me or someone, anyone, you wouldn't be strung as tight as drum all the time.

You want me to be loose?

That's a whole different conversation, ma'am.

***

I see you hiding in the palms of my hands
And I'd be afraid to let you go
But I don't see what my eyes are supposed to see
And I lost myself
Do you need to question everything?

 I woke up this morning covered in sharpie again. My knuckles say NOGH OSTS.  Loch's printing. Up and down my arms he scrawled validation in between my tattoos. Over my stomach he wrote promises he made to me that he's kept. He wrote backwards so I could read the parts I can't readily see in the mirror. He's thoughtful like that.

Written across my knees is a love letter, facing me so when I sit in a chair I can read the whole thing. It's in Ben's writing, since he makes things easier. It's beautiful and smudged and indelible and sweet. Lyrical. On my toes he wrote COUR AGEO.

I ask him where the US went and he said we're right here.

I am careful not to scrub too hard in the shower, only to rinse away the night with the washcloth and leave the words intact. On and under my skin. At one point I seriously considering having all of these words removed. Burned away leaving clean new flesh. Faded and barely remembered, words that once meant everything are now relics of a whole other life, stabs of pain, epic spells of insecurity. Regretful words. Do they make me who I am or was I trying to become someone else?

And then Lochlan said any time what's under my skin gets to be too much they would write new words on the surface but I could wash them off when I wanted. This gives me a little control when I feel like I don't belong in my own skin, when my self-esteem takes a dive and never resurfaces.

Because let's face it, I have none. No self and no outward. Which is why they patiently watch me set myself on fire from the inside out. The only thing I remember from last night is asking Lochlan if we could eat fire because I was drunk and it would be dangerous and impressive and then look, look how amazing I would be.

He shook his head and told me I already was but that it was sad I didn't believe him. I never believe him. I don't believe in much of anything these days except love and whatever other imaginary futures I can make up in my head.