confessions |of| a {ghost} [fenn;bridgit]

She was acting pretty, thought she owned the city
someone should have told her that pretty ain't a job

It was hard to function without sleep, and especially hard for someone prone to losing consciousness, but she'd managed. Bridgit had managed her insomnia so well that she'd stepped outside of time. Days and nights no longer had any meaning; they just blurred one to the next. In the endless march since Riley had revealed his indiscretion, Brigit had lived in that moment and no other. It did not matter that they had spoken in the afternoon; she could repeat the conversation in the still of midnight and it would be just as fresh, just as cutting.

Sometimes she fancied that she fell asleep, but it might also be the syncopy claiming her. Stress did that, made it hard to differentiate between fainting spells and that sudden jerking awake after an accidental nap. So she slept, or she fainted, and it did not matter because Riley was going to be a father, and she was not going to be a mother. This thought more than the others - the what ifs, and the curiosity about the girl, and all of Bridgit's shortcomings - this was the poison that filled her heart.

I am not a mother. I am empty.

And how can emptiness fill? But it did. She felt it everywhere - in her sore joints, in her drooping heart, in the recesses of her mind as she walked through the pastel twilight, oblivious to the beauty all around her. She tried not to think of the void within, but that meant all of her thoughts circled back to Riley, even when it occurred to her that she was hungry and craving pasta - just like their first date. That seemed like so long ago, and so recent, when it lay somewhere in between. Bridge wanted to go back there, to be in the restaurant eternally with that flush of a new crush, that hope for the bright, burning feeling in her stomach to last forever.

It hadn't quite gone out. Riley was too much for it to be extinguished so quickly, even by something so terrible. She had wondered, at first, if betrayal would squash the yearning, but it had the opposite effect. If anything, she wanted Riley more now, wanted to prove that she was worth his time, his attention. But would he want someone to empty, now that he had someone carrying a physical manifestation of his future. What would he need her for?

The question was on her lips as she turned and stopped on the porch of a house. She was pretty sure this was the right address, but then not sleeping had seriously fucked with her memory. Why would Riley have wanted to meet her at a house, and not his house? Maybe he'd told her the wrong address. Having Avon in the Games had made things even worse for him. She knew that, even though they hadn't talked much since his confession. She hadn't wanted to talk, because her head was already so full of words.

She pressed the doorbell, ran another check of her hair style, and lifted her wide eyes to Riley's round face. When he said her name, it made her knees buckle. All of the sleeplessness pooled there, made it easy for gravity. And she felt the familiar wooziness at the edges of her vision as he began to ramble. He was still the boy she'd met in the park, still rambling, but it was what he had to say which had changed so dramatically. By the time Riley put his hand to her shoulder, Bridge's ears were numb. She blinked at Fenn, wholly surprised to see, meet, be in the presence of her, even though somewhere in the pit of her stomach she'd known this was where Riley had sent her. As he guided her into the living room, Bridge glanced over her shoulder at Fenn. Her hair was long - gorgeous - and Bridge knew just how to style it to better suit her jawline. She had sharper features, more pronounced, and she was hot in a way Bridgit would never be.

Bonham courtesy ran deep, and by muscle memory she extended her hand just as Fenn took the reigns from Riley and introduced herself. If Bridgit had felt dizzy before, the acid in her tone sharpened her focus, brought life back to her elfin ears. "You can call me Bridge," she said finally, when it was clear that she ought to say something. "I don't blame you." For seducing Riley? For not caring? Bridgit looked up into Riley's twisted face (his lovely face, his face full of love that she loved) as she finally dropped her hand. She wanted to raise it to his cheek, to press some warmth and comfort into it. But it still hurt, that slow long burn of jealousy. And it was much too much, all of it. She looked around the room at the nice, straight backed furniture and felt the tide receding once again.

"I need to sit down somewhere soft. I'm -

S P E A K I N G // T H I N K I N G

No, no, no.

She wasn't supposed to be nice, it wasn't in the rules. It was supposed to be catty. Didn't anyone bother watching films anymore? Or not even films. It would be more accurate to film what happened behind the scenes. To see the way fingernails could rake across the soul, leaving nothing physical, but simply another empty battle. It left her stunned, Fenn didn't know how t deal with kindness normally. She was so used to bringing up another nasty reply. If Bridge had called her a slut or something, then she could return with virgin Mary. But how could she react to only kindness? It may have even made Fenn more annoyed than she was before. The only thing that Fenn could try and find fault with, would be the way the other gi- Bridge, asked for a seat.

That would be lying to herself however. Bridge looked so exhausted, and small that Fenn would have offered her lap if her house was unfurnished. Yet she couldn't help bringing up a protective hand when the blonde haired sprite talked of the parasite growing in her belly. Riley had people to tell about the baby. He had told his family, and had told Bridget. The only one Fenn had the ability to tell was Suspenders, which was really sad. She was still afraid that someone was going to pop out behind a plant or something and yell at her about it. Sometimes she almost wished for it, for someone to play that disgruntled parent character, but all that she had was a house that was too big and dark. There were echoes off the walls when she asked about them, where the walls had began, and if they had sprung from the ground like tree trunks, entombing her.

And somewhere far off, Riley whispers her name, sending a jolt of electric heat through her. She's angry at him. She's never been so angry at him before, not even when he got her pregnant, or dumped out all her alcohol. Because then he hadn't been causing her purposeful pain, unlike this. She had been so afraid for so long that as soon as he made up with bridge, he'd be gone again. And his face would light up in that way it did, the first night she met him, when he talked about the girl who was a sun. When Riley talked about her, she was certain that his face didn't do the same thing. Not when she was simply the darkness that tried to pull him down, no better was she than a sea serpent. Always waxing and waning when he needed her most, she was useless compared to his sunshine.

And then there is the way he looks at the sunshine still, like he's in awe of her. And there is such deep love in his eyes that Fenn looks down and away, anywhere but at the stars in front of her. They'd make a great constellation, the two of them. But Fenn would always be the mortal looking up from the ground, so far away, wishing for skinny love, and trying to hide the moon under her skin. Eyes calm, and tone dead, she gestured to the couches, so flat with short little backs, and leather. Furniture worn in some areas, but barely lived in because there was no one to live in it, all beside the grandest piano Fenn had ever played. "Please, feel free."

And it hurts, it burns and festers like she's been branded. She can't be upset about it, let it hurt her. It's not her place to want to break into a million pieces when he looks up in such surprise and hunger at the sunshine as if he could ever question that someone might love him. That doofy smile and curls, all with those chocolate eyes. The body that encircled, made her feel safe, but then was so broken and cut up like a ragdoll patched up far too many times. But Fenn was an actress. Her expression carefully blank as she sat still, hands in her lap, eyes directed anywhere but at the two of them. She felt like she should leave the room, leave them to a reunion. An alien in her own home, she could just leave and Riley wouldn't notice because he was so busy looking at her, Bridge with such love.

If only he knew that his smile was cutting into her flesh like a sea shell, only half seen under the sands of a beach. A rattling and more rattling and Riley was saying something and then the china cabinet, full of her mother's dishes that she used to lovingly dust, topples over, the waving sound of glass and china breaking. It sends stars across her vision as chips fly up and a sliver bites into Fenn's thigh, slinking in deep. And then Riley's yelling about getting into the basement, and things are crashing, and everyone's yelling. Her instincts after years of training almost send Fenn running up the wall instead of down into the basement. As it is, she almost forgets about suspenders, and perched on the rail, don't ask how she got there, turns to go back. But Riley snarls at her, almost pushing her back down as he runs to go get Suspenders.

It isn't until the scream for him leaves her throat that she realizes that she has called for him, and by then, the earth movements are so harsh, that Fenn almost tumbles down the stairs along with Bridget. Her head hits the opposite wall, and she's dizzy for a moment, until Riley appears once again at the top of the stairs. He moves fast, but not fast enough, because his face tears with agony, his arm taken by surprise by the quake. And the door is blocked off, and every where is dark. Fenn slid down the wall, an arm over her stomach because there is a baby in there, and she can feel blood on her, and she doesn't know if it is from the shards of china, or if it is from the baby, and she's fucking terrified.

No matter how much she would try to convince herself that she didn't want this baby, she's grown rather attached to having someone to talk to, even if the baby can't talk back, sometimes she lies there alone at night, imagining it's silent listening. She doesn't want that to go away, she needs it, she cannot be alone again. If it went away, Riley would go off to be with his sun in the sky and she'd be left with the bottle and no one again. Just herself, and back to the way life was before Riley, where she barely slept in the same bed twice. Eyes wide with panic, and throat ragged from calling and screaming, she let her eyes adjust, feeling some safety when Suspenders bounded over, complained loudly, and then climbed up her back to sit on top of her head.

Riley.

Fenn scrambled up, over to where Riley was, calming him, "The baby is fine, she's fine, she's fine, she's fine," never mind the fact that her voice was coming out in short panicked gasps. Her hands fluttered around his arm uncertainly. It looked like it wasn't even in it's socket anymore. She had dealt with this kind of thing before, once or twice some people hurt themselves on set, and she'd either have to set it because man, it looked good in a film, or she'd stand by and watch someone perform healing. It had always interested her. Once when she was younger she thought she might grow up to be a nurse. A panicked cough caught in her throat as she pulled up his sleeve, and tore it off, revealing skin so butchered it looked like millions of thin threads held together. She had seen them before, and made it her mission to kiss every single one.

She looked over at the other person in this mess. They were buried, Fenn knew that. But she didn't know what to do about it. Her mind didn't let her think about it. She knew that she had some canned goods down here, and a lot of nutella. There were DVD's, and a poofy couch. There was a bathroom, thank god. Bridget looked toppled, like she had sunk, and Fenn wondered if something had happened to her, and hoped not. Which was weird, no, she was only thinking that for Riley's sake. Only for Riley, not because she cared.

Biting her lip, she looked at the arm. It would be best to set it quickly. Looking into his eyes, she saw pain, and fear. A boy who needed taking care of. No matter how mature and weary he seemed he was simply a boy of eighteen. Vulnerable, and liable to make mistakes. Even if she had been mad at him only moments before, he needed her now. Or maybe the one he needed was Bridget, but Fenn figured she could do for now. She could always crawl into the bathroom later to give them space. They could have make-up sex or something and be all coupley in the corner. Fenn could have her cat, and a jar of nutella. She had survived on her own for so long, and she couldn't be mad at Riley for loving. Quickly, she brushed the hair back from his forehead, and whispered, "This is seriously going to hurt."

She couldn't be mad at him for loving, but she could be mad at him for loving Bridget, and not her.