Cherry Pies, You and I (P.S the Devil Lies)

Bliss

The first thing Sabrina noticed about the house was that it was small. It was more of a cottage than a house. It was tucked away amongst overgrown trees and foliage. The green paint was chipping, and the roof hadn't been cared for in a few years. It made her heart ache to see it because it was more than a house; it was a home.

The porch steps creaked under Caliban's feet, and the screen door looked like it could fall off its hinges any day now. The inside was warm and inviting. Lights gave off a yellow glow, and books were scattered over every available surface. She recognized some of the author's names. Socrates, Plato, Ayn Rand, and Nietzche.

"They were my mothers," Caliban informed her, "We shared a love of philosophy."

She smiled, "My cousin was reading Sartre when I left."

"A man of fine taste."

"He is."

Something else caught her attention. It was a stack of photos. Most of them appeared to be in black and white, but a few colored ones were tucked at the very bottom of the pile. The one on the top of the pile was of the ocean. It was grainy, but it was unmistakable. There was something abstract about them, something experimental.

"Did you take all of these?"

"Do you like them?"

"They're amazing."

He smiled, "That's high praise coming from you, Princess."

"Will you tell me about them?" she asked sweetly.

He laughed softly, "As you wish."'

She spent the rest of the evening tucked up into his side on the couch, listening to what he had to say as she ate the soup he had brought her. It warmed her from the inside out just like his stories. Most of the pictures, he said, were just of things he found beautiful. Groves of trees, the ocean, the city skyline. All of the ones taken in Australia were in black and white, but the ones taken in Louisiana exploded into color.

It was like looking at New Orleans for the first time again. He wanted to capture a feeling, and he had succeeded. She couldn't praise him enough for that, but she also couldn't let it go to his head, so she settled for kissing him on the cheek and continuing to enjoy her soup.

When they were finished, all of the pictures had been seen and her spoon was scraping against the bottom of the paper take-out container, he kissed her temple, picked up her bag, and led her to the guest bedroom.

It was small. Actually, tiny was probably a better word for its size, but at that moment it looked too big and too... lonely.

"Can I sleep with you?" Sabrina asked.

Caliban was stunned. His eyes widened, and his lips parted. He seemed to be rendered mute for a moment. He eventually snapped out of it and handed over her backpack. "Of course."

"Thank you."

"I'll leave you to get changed then."

He shut the door on his way out, and, not for the first time since arriving here, she was grateful that she had the sense to pack something nice to sleep in. The loose-fitting, button-up, cream-colored satin pajama top and matching shorts weren't seductive by any means, but they were a far cry from the embarrassing rubber duckie pajamas the Weird Sisters used to tease her about. The fabric was cool against her skin and provided relief from the blistering Louisiana heat.

It took her a matter of steps to get to the other bedroom. The door was open, and he was already in bed, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. All sources of artificial light were absent. There was no need for it. The room was bathed in moonlight. Full moonlight.