Ex-pensive.

You were indifferent
I was young
We were both drinking fiction with greedy tongues
You were waiting for someone
Something to happen
Something irrational
Climbing the walls and falling in love

He holds out a glass in front of my face. I'm sitting on the bench at the kitchen table trying to mend a hole in Sam's shirt sleeve. It's flannel so it's not a total loss but he doesn't want a patch so I'm limited as to what I can do. My repair will outlive the shirt itself, that much I know. It always does.

Here. For your broken heart. His voice cracks just enough and I look up into his face. It's not a happy face.

Lochlan, I-

I don't know what my defense was going to be but he cuts me off anyway.

Every day, Peanut. Every day I wake up and I put it all away and start fresh.

He wags the drink again and I take it. I take a huge gulp and let it burn me to the ground.

How do I teach you this? Teaching you to tie your shoes and drive a car seem so easy now in comparison.

If this was equal to tying my shoes, I'd be gold, Locket.

You already are gold, Bridgie. He runs his hand down my cheek. Like he's so proud and yet so disappointed all at the same time. I can't imagine how that must feel, to have the person you molded to be exactly what you want turn out to be a resounding failure.

I have to ban Preacher from the point. How do I do that, sweetheart?

Give me a lobotomy and he's gone. Then you get your golden girl back, fresh and new.

She wouldn't be who I love.

Then maybe it's you who has to learn to live with Preacher and not me, after all.

He takes my drink from me and finishes the whole thing in one go. Flames begin to lick out from his skin, pulled tightly over his soul. I can still see right through him. Always could, always will.

I can do that. He can watch. He puts the drink on the floor, lifting me up into his arms abruptly. No more talk, just kisses that smolder and spark. He takes us upstairs, kicking the door shut behind us. He undresses us both at once and then he pulls me back in tight without pretense. I cry out and he covers my mouth with kisses.

Shhh, Bridgie. It's okay. Hold on to me. He threads my arms up around his neck and drives against me, for he truly believes if we lose our love or run out of it, we can just make more. It's been this way forever. He is mine and I am his and that's just the way it's going to be, no matter what or who happens.

And I'm right, he says as he lets go finally. It's morning now and we've spent the night with abandon, with no way to pay it back.

You bottomless abyss.

But You were faithful in devotion
You remembered me

Out on the telescope platform in the rain this morning. Wolves At The Gate's The Bird and the Snake (and also Hindsight) so loud I worry that when I take the headphones off there might be blood pouring from my ears. My whole head is ringing. It's a cleansing action, a way to shove something else into my mind, maybe someone else's pain, to eradicate my own, take the soft landing away from it, forcing it out where it can be soaked to the bone and then eroded by the fierce wind that undercurrents the rain, bringing it sideways. The sea loves this, she can show the pale teal depth that coats the back of each wave, a surprise hue that defies the grey of the skies today.

Jacob leans against the wall below me. You going to do this all day? He squints at the rain. His shirt is damp, his faded jeans are speckled with water now too. But he's smiling in that kind, concerned way he would reserve for the most broken. I want to crouch down and touch his hair, his face but I'm afraid if I do I'll never be able to come back from it again.

If I say no will you give me an Easter miracle? 

No, Princess. I can't and I wouldn't do that to any of them if I could. 

If you could they would understand. 

You think Lochlan would understand? 

Eventually. 

Bridget, just give him-

Shhh. This is my favorite part. Louder still. My blood pushes against my skull, my heart fights to keep its own beat, my fingers flutter so hard I think they might break and I abruptly rip off the headphones and almost fall, I'm so startled by the sudden stillness around me. 

I turn to tell Jake to fuck off with trying to engineer the hierarchy from heaven but he's gone again. 

And he keeps breaking my heart.

Just don't.

I don't know what kind of life you lead there but....begins many an email from you.

You're right. You don't.

I have no post today. Henry had surgery this morning for an old issue with his foot (third surgery! THIRD!) and is recovering very well but I'm a fucking mess, as usual.

Bridge & Olufsen

Choose your words
Choose them wise
For they will lead to your demise
Take my life
Take my faith
To stop the tears that run down your face

I played Flicker on repeat in Caleb's R8and sang along all last night as I drove. I hope he plays the dashcam recording back later, as I sing and yell out Motherfucker! every time someone demonstrates shoddy Vancouver driving skills in my presence.

Especially the part at the end when Donald Carpenter yells YOUR FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE for three minutes straight. I love that part. A lot.

When I got in the car Caleb had Best of The Fray cued up. Be still my heart. I was loathe to change it. He also left fifty bucks on the dash so I could get a bubble tea while I was out. Which is interesting, oddly parental and certainly detached. A bubble tea is five dollars tops, six-fifty if you get extra pearls.  I only have two flavors of tea that I'll get. Chocolate or pineapple and I always get extra pearls. I'm guessing that was the smallest bill he had.

I put the fifty in my bag and didn't stop for anything extra after all because as I said, it was dark and raining and I don't like driving anyway, plus I can't take my car at night because the headlights are terrible and I'm too lazy to change them out. I will soon, but nights like that the boys have a point when they say they really want me to let them take over driving because I shouldn't be out alone. I only still drive, in spite of my hearing, because driving through the hemlocks and pines by the sea it feels like it did back home.

CHURCHMONSTER.

Lochlan calls Sam's brand of worship Unitard with a serious Catholic bent. Don't be offended. He asked for help once from God and was denied. I asked for help twice and the Devil stepped in to look after me. We've been running ever since because once the Devil smells your fear he won't ever let you go. Sam says once God knows of your love he won't either but we are suspicious and reluctant and trying all the same to be good Unitarians and also throw in whatever means are necessary (crossing, holy water, rosaries, and I'm considering Mormon magic undergarments) to overcome our wants and focus on our needs (only Him, says Sam). Only all of you, my brain whispers and then my whole body blushes in response.

(I guess at this this point if you're the type of person that would be offended by polyamory or patchwork religion you would't be reading here. So I won't apologize any more.)

Sam is trotting out the big guns today. I feel as if he's threatened by my offer to August to come join us sporadically or even regularly. Hell, everyone was threatened if you want me to be technical. Lyrically, I think they'll not put weight in worry until they see him stick around late into the evening. August has a long cold history of telling me when my time is up. He regulates himself like an army of one, a habit I admire all the while trying to break him of it.

Maybe I should have given up breaking them for Lent. That probably would have been better than giving up sugary snacks. It's been twelve days since I've had a cookie though, and Sam says that nothing logical has come out of my mouth (or my brain for that matter) during that entire time period.

Let's hope morale improves. Apparently God's going to fix that like he's supposed to fix everything else. I'm waiting.

Casseiopeia, chained to a throne.

That's what August called me as I swung where I lay when he got up to get juice and bagels for us. My head is almost hanging off the bed, hair wild, quilts up to my neck, feet sticking out the side. I grin and he laughs and asks if honey on my bagel is okay.

I nod. Please. 

We're not eating in bed, Bridge. I have to sleep here. I don't want to sleep in crumbs. 

So don't. 

Then grab my shirt and come sit at the table. 

No, I mean don't sleep here. Come sleep with me. 

He smiles ruefully and says he doesn't think Loch or Ben would like that, or Sam. How will Sam feel if he just shows up?

Sam isn't there every night. I frown.

Oh. I thought he was. 

Well, he isn't and I think three is always a perfect number. 

I think Lochlan is generous in a way I wouldn't be. 

(Pretty sure Jacob said the exact same thing about Cole once.)

Take advantage of him, then. I dare August but he catches on fast.

If you need me you know where I'll be. He comes back to the bed and gives me an upside-down kiss. No smile, just ferocity.

Would you change your mind?

Doubt it, Heartache. 

That's not a nickname. Please don't.

Offering your bed is not an option. If you need me you can come to me. The moment I come to you I've lost control. 

Oh. It's an ego thing. 

Everything is an ego thing here, Bridget. You think I'm so removed that I'm not impacted by this? I'm right in the middle of it. 

So what do you want me to do? 

Come and eat your bagel, he says, and smiles again.

Terrible boys.

Bridget, you've cultivated a lifetime of impressive romantic gestures from more than one admirer. Don't settle for an ice-cold peanut butter sandwich and some magic tricks as the best, because it isn't. It doesn't even register.

(I'm going to point out the fact that the Devil is jealous. And I'll point out that's all I'm going to say about it because if I actually open my mouth to reply to him directly, my face will come apart at the hinge and a million angry bees are going to fly out.)

***

It's sunny! I've been annoying everyone by singing Fireflies at the top of my lungs but in different voices all morning long.

So far I've been offered cash, a good hard beating and a...a....dick in the mouth to make me stop.

I'm still singing, for the record.

The dick offer didn't alarm me as much as the beating one. If you only knew what offer came from which boy, I think you'd be surprised.

I haven't had a cookie in ten days. I haven't had more than five hours of sleep across any of those nights either. I'm currently treading coffee and hoping to keep my head above the surface as long as I can.

But did I mention it's sunny?

Peanut butter kisses.

I'll show you fire, he said.

I didn't think it was a reference to anything other than his temper, his frustration with Caleb. It might be easier for me to live with Caleb if I can forgive him but it isn't easier for Lochlan, who struggles constantly with this and I try to make it as easy as I can for him, considering he's now the one shoving me out the door. Get it over with, he says. Have your time and hurry up. I can't breathe without you here. 

And I'll walk across the driveway, trying to keep my heart from cracking in half along the way. 

But I didn't go recently. Haven't gone for a week and won't be going for a bit. The deal is a handful of times a month, and I get to choose. That's the only thing keeping Lochlan from suffocating. The rest of the time I am his. 

Last night he said he had a dinner planned for us. PJ looked after feeding the few who were around. The kids were both at friends' houses and after everyone had scattered back to their comfort zones, Lochlan told me to close my eyes. 

I did with a grin, because I just love surprises. I actually hate them but he's not one to give orders without a good reason so I listened. He bends down and starts to remove my thigh-high socks. I needed them under my dress. It's cold. 

Lochlan! Not in the kitchen!

Not what you think, Peanut. He laughs. I almost lose my balance but he's there to hold. A kiss lands on my mouth and then he struggles with something (his own socks, I learned later) and he takes my hands. Ready? He starts to walk, leading me down the steps to the patio doors and then outside and down the steps into the rain. We're walking in the grass, cold and slippery. He holds tight. I get warmer and suddenly the rain stops. 

Open, he says and I look around. He's brought the small patio table with the umbrella and the outdoor heater all the way out to the camper on the edge of the cliff. The tiny coloured lights are strung all over the place, as always and the table is set for two. 

It's pouring. 

Be right back. Leaving me under the umbrella he dashes into the camper and comes out with a bottle of pop and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. 

The stove isn't hooked up, he shrugs. You always liked these. 

Still do. I tell him. We sit across from each other and eat, trying not to smile big peanut butter-teeth obnoxious smiles at each other. Then he goes back to the house, telling me to wait a minute. Stay put. 

The outdoor sound system comes on, flooding the backyard with an old ballad I love. He holds out his hand and I take it and he pulls me out from under the patio umbrella into the pouring rain. 

To dance.

He puts his arms around me and we sway to the music. No talking, just drowning in each other's arms in the rain. The music is loud. Everything is muted by the rain save for the music.

Except it's cold away from the heater and before the song is halfway through I'm shaking like a leaf, responding to his sparse comments with chattering teeth. Lochlan pauses the dance and heads quickly around the side to the garage. I stand in the rain holding my arms close around me with the music blaring in my ears, soaked to the bone and then he's back with the most spectacular sight I've ever seen. 

He's wearing his top hat and carrying a huge black umbrella. 

The top side of the umbrella is on fire. 

Safe underneath, he wraps one arm around my waist and holds the umbrella above us. It's warm, but the flames are on the other side. I don't know how long we have before it burns through but honestly I don't think I even care. We just keep dancing as sweet songs keep playing. I ever get a twirl or five, one hand high above my head holding his hand while he holds the umbrella out to one side. 

When we run out of time he dips me low, kissing me hard, tossing the umbrella to one side. There's nothing left of it. He says something, his lips pressed against my ear and I look at him in surprise before he pulls me back in close. We finish the dance as the sixth or seventh song ends before running inside. Rain has become snow, my heart has fused back together again and Lochlan has won the romance wars of my life.

He gets me (take it any way you want).

The Pacific doesn't want to hear my troubles today. She's busy keeping level, keeping the wind threading through her waves, keeping the tides moving on schedule, keeping small blonde people out of her many leagues.

Little does she know that sometimes, if the wind is blowing, I can't hear her anyway.

Little does she know PJ's holding the ties of my coat today. Even if I got a running start I wouldn't get a drop of saltwater on me. Not today. Not anymore.

Lochlan threatened to bring me a bouquet of french fries today for International Women's Day. I scowled a little, mostly because dinner is already planned and now I can't stop thinking about french fries, but also because I'm not exactly a feminist. I get a little attention for being the female leader of an all-male cult, a female general of an all-male army, a queen bee surrounded by worker bees but all of that is an illusion. I don't run their lives, I stand behind them, letting them fight my battles for me. Sometimes with each other. I promise them things and they turn to each other for comfort when I fail to follow through. I use sex as a reward and attention as a bribe. I fall back too easily on helplessness. I'm not the picture of a strong independent woman.

I need a man.

I need a few of them. More than a few, even.

So if we're celebrating that, have at 'er. Bring on the fries.

The Cap-Pelé radio special.

(Nine and fourteen respectively.)

Which way, Peanut? 

I turn and scrape my hair out of my eyes with my fist and with the other I hold up my sucker. My hair blows back, sticking to my sticky face. I have a root beer-flavoured sucker. The very best. Along with the radio playing loudly from the open doors of the camper this is a good day. 

I turn in the other direction and whatever hair isn't stuck flies straight back. I point out straight with my sticky-sucker hand. That way! 

What direction is that? 

Left! I yell. I'm so good at this. 

North or South? 

Um. How do I tell again? 

Use the compass. 

I take the compass but I can't open it. It's now sticky like everything. Lochlan comes over and takes it from me, opening it. He frowns at my sucker and asks why I haven't finished it yet, why I need to wave it around as if I'm a little Napoleon ordering my army over the hill into Moscow.

It takes me longer. I need to find out now who Napoleon is and how I can get my own army to order around. I would order it to answer all of Lochlan's questions. 

Look, here. See the needle? It points north. So we turn until we face north and now tell me which way the wind is blowing. 

Ummmm. I squint at the face of the compass. Then I look back toward the woods. South. 

Good! You need to know orienteering. 

Why? 

So you'll always know where you are. 

Where am I now? I don't get it. 

If you always carry a compass, you can find you way anywhere. 

That seems fake. 

You mean vague. 

Right. Vake. 

I'll teach you more with a map once we get set up. Why don't you go find a hose and clean your hands a bit. 

There's no soap. 

Use a tiny bit of the dirt here. Scrub your hands with it and then when you go rinse them the stickiness will be on the dirt and it will run right off. 

How come you know everything? 

I don't know. I guess I was meant to teach you. 

I want to teach you something! 

Okay. Can I pick?

Of course. Unless I don't know it. 

I wouldn't pick something you don't know. 

What if you suspeck I know something but I really don't and I've been fooling you all along. 

Suspect. With a t at the end. I don't think that's possible though. Why don't you tell me how you know the words to every single song on the radio. 

I listen very hard and I learn them. It's a hobby. 

Can you teach me? 

Sure. Do I have to learn more orange...orangineering?

Orienteering. Yes. These are life skills. 

So are song lyrics. 

Do you think song lyrics are going to save your life someday? 

Definitely.