#exaltcdone

Have A Seat And Fetch A Copy Of bell hooks Or ＶＡＣＡＴＥ　ＴＨＥ　ＰＲＥＭＩＳＥＳ

she may never have been this gleeful before. it’s been a decade at least since bertie had to whap! her hands over her mouth to stop herself sounding like a giddy lovestruck schoolgirl.

halloween is off the holiday shit-list this year.

         ‘ biddy, look at you. ’

this puzzle feels like it came pre-assembled. it takes him a minute — the height, the brogue, the warmth that swirls around her like dust caught in sunlight — but ernie arrives at the realization with a physical slump and a lopsided smile.

         ‘ you’re brighid, ’ he says. there’s an easiness to his tone that suggests he’s relieved; like he’s just remembered the name of an actor he hasn’t been able to place. ‘ i knew there was a reason you seemed familiar. ’

( Brighid sniffles, rubs teary eyes with the back of her hand. It’s so late. Or is it early-morning-territory yet– it’s got to be. Well, who’s to say. It doesn’t matter, Brighid’s bedroom is a fathomless wash of grainy indigo-black. In her head, the cushy ottoman at the foot of the bed is a hulking, dormant beast. The pile of blankets heaped on top are no longer cheerful knitted chenille but monster arms, reaching over the footboard to seize her ankles.

Brighid hates the dark. How is she supposed to feel better like this? Her room is full of unseen terrors, she’s sure of it. ) Yes. ( The gruff rasp of Bertie’s voice beside her is a comfort so welcome Brighid hardly has any speech to answer it. Instead, she tremulously reaches for Bertie’s hand and finds its heel and her wrist instead. ) Always. ( She echoes, brushing her palm with her index finger. ) –I- I love you.

         ‘ i love you, too, ’ she answers, the words bookended by roberta working her jaw and staring pinch-browed at the ceiling. it isn’t until something flashes across it — maybe something brighid can’t see, maybe exclusive to her own fiddly realm-not-realm — that it occurs to her just what must be wrong.

with a jump to action, as if physically walloped with the realization, bertie twists in bed (without letting go, of course), strikes a match behind her teeth, and lights the two well-used candles on her bedside table.

did you get to that myths and legends ep on him yet hsjfhgdhhfg

roberta knows better than to interrupt her leaving. she stands still, stricken with worry, and waits until she can bear the thought of brighid suffering alone no longer ( she isn’t overfond of the idea to begin with, therefore caves fast ). a guest of their gathering attempts to follow and she’s grabbing their arm, too firm, before she can stop herself. no no no. you will not go near her.

         ‘ hey, ’ bertie greets, having found her in the yard. folded in on herself, half hidden by flowers, sidney sat at her feet. good cat, she thinks. wouldn’t trust anyone else to look after her. ‘ i’m here. ’

and god, does she hope that’s as much a comfort as it would be turned around: brighid to bertie.

         ‘ we don’t have to talk, but i’m here. ’ where does she usually put her hands? ‘ this’ll pass, baby, they always do. i just need you to breathe for me, brighid  ---  you’re goin’ too shallow. ’

this may be the most delighted ( and mischievous ) bertie’s allowed herself to be seen since the pre-death simplicity she’d taken for granted escaped her grasp. she’s smiling, toothy, and holding a brighid-knit cardigan closed over her torso.

open for a surprise.

         ‘ guess what i found. ’

bertie can’t help the way her mind wanders in the quiet. she hugs one knee to her chest and rests her chin atop it, looking anywhere but at brighid, who is beginning to feel like a cosmic joke that’s yet to work up to its punchline. it’s too normal, too simple, too right to last.

         ‘ i’m usually the one doin’ the cooking, ’ she says. ‘ i owe you one. or two. ’