will turn out. Faerie magic is fickle magic: there are no guarantees.
He knew what he did, Pepper-Man, on that late and lazy summer’s day, he bound me with powerful shackles. He was always good at that, my friend, finding new ways to please me. New gifts to dazzle me with, new chains to bind me. Was in me, always, tooth and claw.
There is no escape from Faerie.
* * *
Those faerie gifts did save me; they made my miserable life feel worthwhile. Though I loathed my mother’s house and the walls of the white room, at least I had an escape. Between the enchanted stories and my Pepper-Man, I felt like I could breathe. For years, it was all I had: Pepper-Man, those jars—and Dr. Martin.
* * *
That idea of escape—that desperation—is why I threw all my caution overboard, I think, when Tommy Tipp came along. Golden of hair, blue of eyes. I so desperately wanted to be saved then, for someone to show me the way out.
I wasn’t so much enticed by the idea of love as such; even back then it never rang true to me.
“True love.” “Meant to be.”
None of that meant anything to me. Smelled like a lie—it still does. It’s just another one of those things you ought to have in order to build your life right. It’s a screen to hide behind.
If you have a husband, you cannot truly be that bad.
If your husband is handsome and capable too, more glitter falls on you. If you don’t have it, you are deemed unworthy, different and possibly wrong. Without the love of a good man—any man—you are spoiled fruit, lacking an essential stamp of approval. Never mind if you are ill suited for it and would’ve been much better off alone. Never mind if your inclinations are such that living with another human being is difficult and even harmful. Live with another you must, or face eternal shame and disgrace. Forever be second-class. No stamp of approval for you.
I didn’t think much about such things when I met Tommy Tipp though, and started sleeping with him in the woods. I figured we would move in together when autumn arrived and the forest floor became cold and wet. It was best suited for summer nights; soft moss and scented air.
The faeries gathered all around us; laughing, pointing, and whispering.
I didn’t care if they saw. My heart was a mess. I was unaccustomed to that as well; that flutter and that ache, the honey that poured forth whenever he was near, sticky and golden, coating everything in sweetness.
Pepper-Man said that I even tasted like honey, spicy and warm, in those early Tommy-days.
XI
And now, my young friends, it’s finally time to talk about Tommy Tipp and what happened to him in those woods.
* * *
That summer we met, Tommy, though twenty-four, was still living with his parents. Things had been a bit hard for him after the release from prison, and he had problems moving on. His mother was a gray and bitter woman who sold buttons and ribbons and threads for a living. His father repaired cars.
I was eighteen when I met him, working part-time at the library, trying to find my footing in a world that hadn’t treated me kindly. I was contemplating college; sipped tea from mason jars and wrote every night, with Pepper-Man reading over my shoulder. Mother and Dr. Martin were feeding me pills: an array of blue, white, and purple dots. I always spit them out; flushed them down the toilet. Pepper-Man said they weren’t good for me; incompatible with faerie food. I, of course, was living at home too, my white room filled with dead greenery feeling smaller and more oppressive by the day.
* * *
Tommy thought I was peculiar, different. That was what drew him to me. I wasn’t like the other women swooning at his feet. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of men much at all at that point. I had Pepper-Man, Mara, and my friends in the woods, how could there be room for more? I also knew that I was broken. I knew that the life I led set me apart, and that there would never, ever, be a bridging of that gap—but Tommy was different too. He was living on the fringe of things, just as I did, only on another fringe. He would never wholly be part of the establishment in S—, his past would always be with him, his reputation would always condemn him—he