Peter wasn’t sure if it was because of him or because of the muffins

Two summers have passed since the last time peter was in her presence. He’s stomach twisted. Nerves and hunger.

When he arrived at an expensive cabin  a stillness touched his pulse.  He found her in the kitchen.

Sitting on the counter swinging her feet.

Sun-bleached hair,

in a sun-bleached dress,

she confessed,

‘drugs make me feel like I have super powers,’
peter leaned in the door way, he spoke slowly, ‘remember that…you’re not jesus christ,’

Her eyes smiled.

His gut moaned. Hunger. Nerves. He reached for a muffin but stopped. Her hand was warm on top of his.
‘don’t eat that,’ she said hopping down, ‘there’s all sorts of lsd’

He examined the muffin with debating eyes and went to fridge. No water bottles or beer, but there were six bottles of orange juice.

He picked one up suspiciously.
‘Don’t eat or drink anything in this house,’ she warned walking by him, ‘there are drugs in everything,’

A flower was tangling in her hair. he gently rescued it asking, ‘how many people live here penny?’

‘I’m not really sure. But we should go to town. So we can get clean food,’

Her pupils were dilated. Peter wasn’t sure if it was because of him or because of the muffins.

She skipped out the door and towards his truck slowly twirling a white daisy between her fingers.



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