living_history (living_history) wrote in the_colony, @ 2010-08-11 21:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | ^ week 19, bridget mackenzie, meghan callahan, | bridget and meg |
Week Nineteen - Monday
Characters: Bridget and Meg
Location: The farmhouse
Summary: Meg encounters Bridget in the living room in the early morning hours and the two insomniacs talk.
Rating: PG
Bridget padded down the stairs to the first floor, taking her time and keeping one hand holding onto the handrail since her stomach obscured her view of both her feet and the steps directly below her. The house was dark and quiet, with the other members of the community sound asleep aside from whoever was on guard duty, and she was glad that nobody seemed to have heard her earlier when she’d woke up from the depths of a nightmare.
She made her way through the hall into the living room, tightening the flannel robe she had on over her sleep clothes a little closer around her to guard against the chill. Maybe she’d toss a few logs on the fire and start it up a little early.
The Light Sleeper’s Curse: Meghan had it. Ever since she could remember, and only more severe in the last year for obvious reasons, just about every noise in a reasonable distance from her bed could drag the woman out of her dreams, if she had any. Thankfully, there was just a void in the conscious memory when footfalls passed her and Holly’s door. Actually, as they came down the stairwell from one of the upstairs bedrooms.
Her eyes opened, more on wired instinct than anything else. Sarge was still snoring against her back, and didn’t even shift when she sat up and stilled, listening to the gait as it wandered toward the living room.
Light footed, slightly pigeon toed--carrying an awkward weight. Obviously, it was Bridget. It didn’t seem to be hurried, but a natural concern pricked her senses a bit more than usual--the mom-to-be might just have to get a drink, or a snack (God knows the woman was eating constantly), but the shuffling of wood and the hollow thud of logs on the hearth signaled Bridget was probably up for a while. Meg swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, memorizing steps to the door and down the hallway. One hand on the hallway wall, since she left Sarge asleep in the bed.
“Hey Preggo.” She smiled amid her mass of sleep-wild curls. “Everything alright?”
Bridget turned her head from her position on the couch. She’d just gotten halfway comfortable and wasn’t about to get back up if she didn’t have to. “Hey there, I didn’t mean to wake anybody.” She felt bad about Meg waking up to check on her, maybe she should have just stayed put in her bedroom. “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, thought I’d come downstairs for a bit.” The thought had been that maybe some reading by firelight would get her drowsy and she could go back upstairs then.
Her hand left it’s vantage point from the hallway wall as she crossed onto the rug that lined the living room floor, stepping carefully to the thick armchair across from Bridget. “Don’t worry about it. I hardly sleep anyway.” Fingertips traced the overstuffed arm, guiding the blind woman to plop down, and curl her feet up Indian style.
Her sleepy smile faded a little when a thought crossed her mind, though. “Unless...you’d rather read without me staring at you.” The first half-assed blind joke of the day.
Bridget shrugged out of habit. “If you’re sure you don’t want to go back and try to get some sleep, I don’t mind the company.”
The sleepy smile was back, and Meg settled deep into the sinking cushion with her brow propped up by a bent elbow and the butt of her hand. “The Monsters keeping you up?” Of course, the ‘Monsters’ were the feisty soccer players Bridget was harboring in her womb.
“Something like that,” Bridget hedged, letting one hand rest on her stomach while the other propped her head up on the couch, looking over at Meg. “They’re not being too bad tonight, but it’s hard to find a comfortable position sometimes.”
“Have you tried leaning on a pillow? I mean, under the belly.” That’s how one of her girlfriends slept back when she was pregnant (and could never sleep without the support of a pillow after that).
“I’ve got a whole nest of pillows.” Bridget responded, shifting awkwardly as she thought about how hard it could be sometimes to fall asleep in the last several weeks. It was easier now than it had been on the road, even though she was significantly larger than she had been just a month earlier, but that didn’t mean it was easy. “Actually it was more of a bad dream that got me up.” She finally admitted.
The older woman’s brows pinched downward over her nose, and her smile had melted away. “Another one?” She didn’t sound surprised, just heartfelt for the woman. “What was it?”
Bridget looked away, she really didn’t feel much like talking about it. “Just a bad dream.” If she kept repeating it maybe she could make herself believe it.
The way Meg’s lips pressed together tighter than usual showed she wasn’t convinced, but she wouldn’t pry. That much, anyway. “You can vent about it if you want. But we can talk about something else, too.”
The other woman was quiet for long enough that she imagined Meg might think she’d dozed off on the couch, it wouldn’t be the first time that happened. But eventually she spoke up, voice low. “It was a doozy. I dreamed I was in labor, but wherever I was it wasn’t friendly. I remember I’d been in labor what felt like forever, and I was so tired. There were voices behind where I was lying, debating what to do with me.” It was a dream she had often enough, one where all her friends were dead and she was a prisoner of some group or another that clearly didn’t have her best interests at heart.
“Ugh...” Meghan’s first reaction was a very clear wince. That was a doozy. “Geeze, Bridge...” She didn’t really realize that last part came out. She was basically thinking aloud. “I think you need some chocolate.”
“I don’t think we have any.” Bridget shrugged. “It’s just a dream. I’ll get over it.” Hopefully the more their situation seemed secure the less frequent the dream would interrupt her sleep.
Meg nodded quietly, though her lips pressed tight in an expression of concern. There wasn’t anything she could do for bad dreams--she had plenty herself. The best tactic she ever came across was just talking about more pleasant nightly encounters, or something else entirely.
“When I was little, I used to have this recurring dream that I could breathe underwater.” Most people had flying dreams. Not Meg. She grinned tiredly, running both hands through her hair, primping as she continued. “The clearest thing I remember about it was wondering why it took me so long to figure out I could do that.”
“Really? I don’t think I ever had that one.” Bridget had to smile at the image of a little Meg thinking she could breathe underwater. “Mermaid Meg.”
Meg laughed out loud and slumped in the chair, turning sideways in its grip. Her legs dangled from one arm while her hair draped the other. Oddly enough, this was quite comfortable. “Too bad I can’t swim.”
“You never learned how to swim? Really? Not in all these years?” Bridget stared in disbelief, mouth wide open. “That’s just not right.”
“Think about it...” Meg said softly, and in a gentle, informative voice lacking her usual sarcasm. “Why would I ever need to know?” She was born in Illinois (no beaches, really)--and much preferred to sit in the sun than go near a public pool. Talk about auditory chaos. No--Meg was never going swimming.
“But that’s a skill everybody should know, just in case.” Bridget could accept that swimming lessons like she’d had as a child might have been difficult with someone who had to rely on their other senses than sight, but still. She shook her head, it was hard to grasp the decision made first by Meg’s parents and then by Meg herself not to learn how to swim.
“You could say that with any skill. ‘Just in case’.” She retorted with a mild smile aimed up at the ceiling, though it carried a touch of memory with it. “My mom tried to take me to lessons when I was seven. Trust me, it’s an experience I never want again. Do you know what a sensory deprivation chamber is?”
“Of course.” Bridget responded, frowning slightly, trying to figure out where Meg was going with this train of thought.
Meg nodded, idly toying with a coil of her hair as she went on. “Keep that in mind. The instructor probably wasn’t prepared for teaching a blind student, and didn’t notice how close I got to the drop off. Before I knew it, the ground went out from under me... I couldn’t touch... I couldn’t keep my head above water. Every time I tried to scream, more would go down my throat.” Though her tone of voice stayed relatively steady, there was an anxiousness to it. Little known to anyone in their group--Meg was terrified of water deeper than her waist.
“Every sense I had was just ripped away except for the sound and feel of the water and my own choking--” That’s where the sensory chamber reference came in. “--and on top of it, I couldn’t breathe.”
“Oh wow.” Bridget winced at the mental image. It sounded terrible, and she could imagine how that might scar a person for life when it came to swimming. “I’m guessing you never went back after that, right?”
“Hell no.” She could still smile about it though. “As long as no one throws me off a boat.” Or anyone tries to get her on a boat in the first place. They better expect one hell of a fucking fight.
“I can give you some pointers one of these days, even if you don’t get in the water you can at least get an intellectual idea of what to do if something happens and you don’t have a choice.” She wasn’t sure the time would ever come, but it would be better than having no idea whatsoever.
“Heh. We’ll see how that goes.” Bridget did not want a flailing madwoman anywhere near her, Meg was pretty sure.
Bridget nodded and allowed the conversation to lapse, staring off into the fire without really seeing what was there.
The silence that followed was a cue for Meghan, who sat there for a moment, running her fingers through her hair, trying to rid herself of ‘imagery’ that’d come up in the conversation. That being, her thoughts, echoed in memories. And Bridget’s nightmare... that was there too.
She sighed mildly, and turned her face toward where she knew the other woman was--she hadn’t gotten up. “You know you’re safe here. As safe as this world can be, anyway.” The words didn’t sound comforting coming out, but it was all she had.
“As safe as anywhere I guess.” Bridget agreed, somewhat sourly. What a world to be pregnant in, hell, what a world to be anything in. Most of the time she tried to think positive, but she was tired, cranky, flustered by the nightmare and missing her husband. The young woman lifted the small chain she wore around her neck and looked at the pair of rings glittering in the firelight.
She’d probably never see Jake again.
“I try not to think about it, I really do. But sometimes it’s hard.”
The pain in Bridget’s voice was hard to miss by anyone, and it was all that Meg seemed to hear. It broke her heart, all over again--there was something deeply connected between them, unspoken of except during bouts of extreme emotional fatigue. Like now.
Meg’s smile had gone, and she sighed quietly, swinging her feet from the chair to the floor. Without much of a word, she rose and stepped carefully the three paces between chair and sofa, one hand extended when she got close enough: poised in wait for her friend’s guiding hand. She took it and settled behind the poor momma-to-be, and drew her into a light, comforting hug.
“Y’got me too.” She whispered with a little squeeze. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”