I think that slopes are meant to be slippery. I donât know why. I donât even know who invented the stupid notion of them. I donât even know why it matters. Who cares? Who cares about a scarred girl who canât seem to be by herselfâ? Who cares about a scarred girl who mops floors and ferries drugs for her boyfriend? The scarred girl should care. But she doesnât know how and once you let the Makerâs Mark in, once you let anything like that in, like kissing, or sex, alcohol, drugs, anything that fills up time and makes you feel better, even if itâs just for a little while, well, youâre going to be a goner. And sometimes, once, maybe twice, she starts to say that sheâs thinking of taking a class with this lady artist, and she stops, because a little mouse taps her brain and heart and whispers, But then you wonât get to spend so much time with Riley, and the words, they turn to stone again, fat in her throat, and she can feel little bits of herself disappearing in the large thing of Riley and me and and andâ¦
The slippery slope, it will never, ever end.