Chapters (55)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Cast of Characters
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Part Two
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- A note on the Author
What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong, dog dragging pajama’d owner to mailbox? What did I do wrong, trash overflowing? What did I do wrong, screenless television dumped on sidewalk? What did I do wrong, van delivering tomorrow’s newspapers? Dog turns his head to answer. Tomorrow’s newspaper bears the same news:
“He knows you’re crazy. He knows you’re sick. He felt it inside you. It’s written in Braille, raised white flesh on the inside of your vagina. Everything you’ve done wrong, everyone you’ve upset, your mother, Liev, Sebastian Chase. That’s why he ran away. Because you feel disgusting. Because he couldn’t pretend you are just a beautiful girl. He doesn’t care. The prairie animals warned him about a girl like you. They said there would be signs. He liked your eyes, your mouth, so he wanted to touch you, to smell you and lick your prettiness. But as soon as he got inside he knew you were the one they had warned him about. And he will never, ever touch you again.”
And he never did touch me again or allow me to touch him. He woke up to find me still gazing out the window. Usually I would pretend to be asleep. This time I did not, eyes Winona wide, gamine gameplan: help me, I am small with big eyes, baby small, baby cute. Babies are designed not to have their heads bashed in and people who do that go to jail forever. He knew my eyes were open, but he pretended I was asleep instead, and crept around the apartment gathering his belongings. I waited for him to slip me a morning kiss hello. But he scooped the kisses from the floor with his clothes and stuffed them in the pocket of his jeans to save for a girl who wasn’t crazy.
I scurried to the door as I heard it open, in pink bra and panties. I tried to kiss him but he turned his head. His earphones were already around his neck and his hand was in his pocket with the Walkman. “Good-bye,” said Aslan, smiling, and hit play.
I peered out the window, waiting, at least, to watch him disappear up Bleecker Street. But he never disappeared because he never reappeared, although I heard the front door slam. Frustrated at not even being able to admire him as he walked away, I went back to bed, crossing and uncrossing my legs, trying to get comfortable, pulling the whole duvet over my head, then pulling it back and kicking my legs around it. My eyelashes scratched me. My knees touching made me feel sicker than ever. I had a toothache. But there was something else. Something softer but more troublesome than the hair falling on my forehead. It was his fingerprints, deep inside me. I kicked and squirmed some more. But they would not fade.