Garbage Pail Kid

Garbage Pail Kid

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Silence of the Lambs Bed Set from West Elm

"Hahahahhaha...you are SO funny!!!" I look in his eyes, here we are after our 3rd date, 2 weeks of texts and anxious calls and we made it, we made it to his front door. Everything seems right-to his "just so" stubble and his impeccable J. Crew weekend look. "I have butterflies Jack, are you going to let me in or what?" I say without puking a little watermelon and feta salad in my mouth. His eyes widen and then his smile deflates and he says, " I have butterflies too Liz." Some part of me deep down inside knows that the way he said this was off, but what could possibly be wrong? We went to Rockefeller Plaza for hot cocoa for pete's sake! A few twists of the key and we are in...Jack C. Peterman's apartment on East 82nd Street, I've arrived.

I wake up. The last thing I remember is the bedroom door opening. I am tied with what feels like
rattan and frayed cotton strips, there is a pile of birch logs sitting on my chest and a tiny intricate twig pentagram dangling from the ceiling a half an inch from my toes. I try to scream, my heart is pounding, there is an antler shoved in my mouth!!!! What the hell is going on...where is Jack!!! Why is it so bright....the butterflies...Jack is sitting on the floor next to bare stripped bed wrapped in a butterfly duvet cover, rocking back and forth saying something over and over. I make it out that he is repeating a very, very large number...if that is his net worth I am still so interested.

Till next time,
Lizzy xoxo