Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
But it’s more than that now. She has embraced her monster side. Which is, probably, her true self.
And that makes me blissfully happy. Because it has always been my dream to fall in love with a woman who is like me. And I really never thought that would actually happen until Pie walked through my prison-cell door.
Being in love with her, and her in love with me—well, if that’s all we get out of this, then we win.
I stand up and slide my hands over her hips, gripping her ass and tugging her close so that her breasts are pressing into my chest. I lean down and kiss her. We spent an eternity doing this, our tongues dancing, our imaginations going wild with possibilities, our bodies heating up like maybe—
Pie pushes me back, giggling. “Sex, sex, sex. That’s all you ever think about. Are we in agreement, or not?”
She’s impatient. She wants an answer. But I just want to look at her.
“Pell!”
“Fine. Fine. I’m on board. Let’s go to the Bottoms and—”
But just as these words are leaving my mouth something comes whizzing through the trees and slams right into Pie’s heart.
She gasps. Clutching at the arrow. Her eyes wide and shocked.
I’m in shock too. Just… staring at the blood seeping out of her chest.
And then the song is playing in the trees. Floating along boughs and whispering through leaves. Take away this ball and chain…
Pie falls backwards and I’m reaching for her. Ready to pick her up and carry to safety.
But my hands don’t get there in time and in the end, all I grasp onto is a bit of empty air.
Because Pie has disappeared.
PART TWO
PART TWO
A little girl in a foreign land
Is worth more than her bird in hand
She has no self, it’s all a lie
The proof is always in the pie.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – PIE
When I hold Pia in my hands, she takes me to other worlds. She takes me to a place where it is endless summer. Where the sun shines and there is no such thing as piles of black snow on the side of the road. Where the peaks of mountains rise up from the horizon and the sky is the color of silver unicorns.
It’s not a real place. It’s just a fantasy. I know this because she takes me to a good place—I think. I have good feelings about it. And that’s just not how the world works. You’re not allowed to be happy. You’re not allowed to be good. You’re not allowed to earn things, or save things, or get more.
Ever.
You’re not allowed.
You must be poor, and sad, and lacking. Because if you’re not, someone will come along and take it all away from you. If they’re just regular mean—like Mother—they take one little thing at a time. They take this, and then that, and more, and more. But only little bits. So it takes you a while to realize you have nothing left.
But if they’re really mean, they just take it all at once. They rip you away from everything you know, and turn you into someone else, and then they hate you. And they make everyone else want to hate you too. And they feel good when you’re hated, and poor, and sad.
That’s what I’ve learned about life since I came here.
But Pia isn’t trying to hurt me the way everyone else is. She’s trying to make me feel better.
“I’m trying to make you remember.” Sometimes she says that. But it’s kind of dumb. There’s no point to living in a fantasy.
“That’s not true. You used to love the pretty pretends.” She says that too.
But I don’t understand what she’s talking about and anyway, she’s the only thing I love. Only her. But she doesn’t belong here. I can feel her slipping. Every time Mother asks me about Pia and I deny she exists, Pia gets… fuzzy. Smudgy. Like glass, but not that clear.
But I’m sure, if I keep doing this, one day she will be like glass and she will just disappear. I don’t know where Pia comes from. I don’t know where I come from. Every day that I get further away from that night sitting on the edge of the bathtub I become fuzzy too. I am a smudge. And one day I will be glass.
The only time I feel better is when Pia is strong. And Pia is only strong when I make Mother mad. When I talk about Pia, Mother gets furious and this makes Pia strong and strong Pia makes me feel—not good, but better.
“Today is your birthday.”
I look down at Pia in my cupped hands and try to force a smile. I don’t feel better and Pia knows this. When I’m unhappy, she’s unhappy too. And the last thing I ever want to do is make my Pia sad. So I play along. “It is?”