Sam and Tara pull up to her motel room. All around them is life, unbounded, joyous, silly. An obese couple waves to her over their fried chicken as the children bitch and squabble. It's life. Tara lets Sam in as a woman nearby threatens somebody with death, breaking a bottle. She laughs: "Don't worry. She says that all the time." The discuss how sad it is as Tara offers him a warm beer from the shopping bag near the door, and sits on the bed. Sam's amazed at the relative squalor, making her uncomfortable: "I thought you were staying with Lafayette?" Yeah, until she discovered the webcam in his bathroom, she laughs. "No way I'll let a bunch of pervs watch me pee." It never occurred to me to wonder where my line is. I'm going to have to think about that some more.
Sam joins her on the bed, laughing, and says she should have told him. "Why? So you could ride up on your white horse and save me?" He rolls his eyes, frustrated, and bitches about how she turns everything into a fight. "Why is it so hard to let someone be just nice to you?" Tara pulls it together and suggests that it's her bad self-esteem and can't express her real feelings except through sarcasm. As usual, she's telling the truth so big it sounds like a lie. She tries to do right, but it's hard. It breaks her down and poisons everything. He tries to leave and complains of always being teased: Tara, Sookie. Give a dog a bone! She beats him to the door, slamming it closed with her giant muscley arms. "I don't want to play games," he protests. "I don't want no strings. I just ... I want something real in my life." Tara feels the same way; she glimpses a spark in him and takes his face in her hands, studying him. She puts her arms around him as he swears it's real. "If we do this, we really did this." She nods and puts her forehead to his, kissing him softly, and then harder.
The whole pie is gone. Sookie wanders out of the kitchen, turns back to look at the empty plate one more time. The last pieces of home, gone. She stares at herself in the mirror, taking down her hair. Off comes the jacket, and then the dress. Who's that in there? An orphan. A girl without a home. Retard, psycho, Stackhouse trash. A fangbanger. A whore. A girl without a home, like any outcast, can be anything she likes. What would that be? What would solve this problem? How can she feel less alone, without feeling invaded? What makes her feel good? What replaces this fear and loneliness and desperate sadness?