How Do You Know?

Phoebe hides upstairs like a wounded animal until she can't stand the buzzing of her phone anymore. She pads down in bare feet and stops cold. Some girl is sitting at her kitchen island, all sunshine and expensive perfume, like she owns the place. "Piper. Your team sent me," the stranger says, chipper as a goddamn morning show host. "I'm supposed to help you look human again. Thought we'd start with your memoirs." Phoebe's voice comes out like broken glass. "No one wants the real me." Piper just grins wider, teeth sharp. She pokes and pushes all day—every question another splinter under Phoebe's skin. Phoebe finally snaps when Piper mentions Trevor. The name lands like a slap. Piper buys the tabloid lie like everyone else, that Trevor cheated with Luna. Phoebe spits the truth instead. She never loved him. Luna was the secret. The real thing. The reason she locked herself so far in the closet her career didn't choke. And Luna wrecked it anyway—fucked off with the pretty boy on her arm. Piper's face changes. Something soft breaks through. She steps close, brushes Phoebe's dark hair off her cheek, and their eyes catch. The silence stretches tight enough to snap. Piper kisses her like she means to burn the loneliness out of both of them.