Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Chapter 1
Bridget found herself being lulled into reveries by the warm afternoon sun for the umpteenth time that day. She had never been one to sit peacefully, entertaining herself with her own daydreams. Bridget had always been the dynamic one in her small group of "sisters". She was the one poised for adventure, ready to face the world, ready to tackle anything and everything that life threw her way. When did things change? Bridget wondered to herself. It troubled her that she couldn't remember. Had it been that long? Bridget didn't know. She felt like she was trying to distinguish where in the rainbow red stopped and orange began. She knew there had to be a point where the one had become the other but she just couldn't pinpoint it down.
"Bee, it's me! I'm worried about you! Please call me back! I'll be home all day so feel free to call me…" Bridget listened to the message with cool indifference. She briefly wondered why she hadn't heard the phone ring but brushed the thought away, attributing it to her daydreaming. It was no secret her friends were worried about her. Even her father had started to notice something off about Bridget. He had been calling more, paying short but deliberate visits. Everyone's worried, Bridget thought to herself, rolling over in bed and glancing at her alarm clock. It was 10:30. What normally would have constituted abnormal behavior for Bridget had recently become common to the girl. Sometimes she got up at ten, sometimes it was three and sometimes she never got up at all. It all just seemed so…tiring. Sighing heavily, Bridget closed her eyes, pulling her pillow up over her head.
The baby was crying. It was Bridget's first thought upon waking. Why does she have to be so loud? Bridget asked herself, annoyed. The baby was always crying, always needing something. I need something too! Bridget thought in exasperation, I need some attention too! It was silly, she knew. She had tons of people fawning over her, trying to fix all of her problems. They just couldn't fix the right ones.
"Bridget, please get the baby!" Her husband's voice echoed from the bathroom. Bridget knew that he was in the shower or else he would have gone to get their daughter himself. He was always the one taking care of things. Bridget willed herself to get up and took her time padding down the hallway towards the nursery. She walked in slowly, peeking carefully around the door and stepping quietly up to the crib.
"Mommy's here," Bridget said dully, feeling about as motherly as a hamster. The child, seeing who had come to retrieve her, only howled louder. For a minute Bridget let herself feel bad, even her baby didn't want to be with her, after a minute though Bridget forced herself to shrug it off. I haven't been much of a mother anyway, Bridget told herself, I'm just the substitute, then, after a minute, the benchwarmer. That thought alone hurt more than the realization that her daughter was afraid to see her. Bridget reached down and scooped up the shrieking child, holding her awkwardly against her chest.
"Shhh," Bridget cooed, gracelessly bouncing the baby on her hip. Bridget continued this for another minute or so before placing the screeching child back into her crib. "Don't worry," Bridget said dully, moving to leave the room. She shut the door, trying to muffle the wails, "Your Daddy will be in here soon." Without another word Bridget returned to her bed.
When Bridget woke again it was late. The clock read 1:06 but Bridget felt that it was much later. Her husband was sleeping next to her, his breath whistling in and out in tiny snores. Without waking him up Bridget slid out from underneath the sheets and walked into the kitchen. She reached up into the medicine cabinet and extracted her migraine medicine. Without bothering to reach for a glass she swallowed down the few that were left and lazily tossed the bottle towards the trashcan, missing it by a mile. The empty bottle hit the wall and rolled under the oven. Bridget didn't bother retrieving it; she just stared at the spot where it had fallen. Ignoring the sudden sadness that swept through her, Bridget shuffled out, feeling empty inside. When she got back to the bedroom she sat on the floor, reaching under her bed for the tattered shoe box. Pulling the top off the box she reached for the tattered photograph. The edges had been worn down and the color had nearly rubbed off. Bridget gripped it tightly, looking at the family pictured. It was a candid shot of one Christmas day, taken by her father. Perry and Bridget were stooped next to the tree, picking out their next presents, and off to one side was Marly. She was sitting in a chair, clutching her robe around her body. She wasn't looking at the kids, but rather out the window, a vacant expression on her face. Her body was there but she clearly wasn't. Like mother, like daughter, Bridget though with a cryptic laugh before crawling back into bed.