Dear Readers,

I am pissed! I am royally pissed!! I am so very pissed off right now!!!

Yes, I know! This is the opposite of what I should be feeling after seeing this week’s Sharp Objects! I should be rejoicing! I should be on cloud nine! I should be celebrating Sharp Objects as the greatest show of this year, nay, one of the greatest shows I’ve ever seen!

But I am not!

I should have seen this coming, now that I think about it! There seems to have been a shift somewhere, I can’t put my finger on it! But there was something that changed about this show! There is a sign that I ignored, actually it was the reason why I have not posted about episodes 4 and 5 but this is not the post for raging!

That post is coming soon when I get my hands on a high quality version of episode 6. And so while you all wait, just so that you are not confused about my sudden face-heel-turn, having not read the book but having been watching the show, below after the jump are some excerpts from my beloved ‘Rolling Roulette’ part in the book!

I urge you to please read these excerpts carefully! Take every sentence in. Draw the scenes out in your mind. Then read again as you do that. See the absolute undiluted lesbianism in these scenes.

Read these then think of the episode.

Then wait for my reaction and reason why I feel like getting piss-drunk right now, binge every TV show that I have in collection and just about forget what I have just been witness to!

SPOILER: Do whatever the fuck you want to the story but fucking with my yuri is where you’re fuckin cancelled! You hear me show runners!!?!!

Before we start, the book was all in Camille POV! Which really pisses me off about the Dick thing! He wasn’t even that relevant in the book! There was no relationship only sex, but here we have the show going out of it’s way to….Okay, happy thoughts BG, happy thoughts. Let’s begin…

Camille when she runs into Amma and her friends in the car:

I thought about my options: Go home, drink by myself. Go to a bar, drink with whatever guys floated over. Go with these kids, maybe hear some interesting gossip at the very least. An hour. Then home to sleep it off. Plus, there was Amma and her mysterious friendliness toward me. I hated to admit it, but I was becoming obsessed with the girl.

In the car:

“Camille, look what we got,” Amma leaned over the passenger’s seat, so her rear was bumping Kylie’s face. She shook a bottle of pills at me. “OxyContin. Makes you feel real good.” She stuck out her tongue and placed three in a row like white buttons, then chewed and swallowed with a gulp of vodka. Try.”

“No thanks, Amma.” OxyContin is good stuff. Doing it with your kid sister isn’t.

“Oh, come on, Mille, just one,” she wheedled. “You’ll feel lighter. I feel so happy and good right now. You have to, too.”

“I feel fine, Amma.” Her calling me Mille took me back to Marian. “I promise.”

She turned back around and sighed, looking irretrievably glum.

“Come on, Amma, you can’t care that much,” I say touching her shoulder.

“I did.” I couldn’t take it, I was losing ground, feeling that dangerous need to please, just like the old days. And really, one wasn’t going to kill me “Okay, okay, give me one. One.

She immediately brightened and flung herself back to face me. “Put out your tongue. Like communion. Drug communion.” I put out my tongue and she set the pill on the tip, “Good girl.” She smiled.

Rolling Roulette:

Amma grabbed my hand and pulled me upstairs to “The VIP Room,” where she and the blondes and two high-school boys with matching shaved heads rifled through J.C.’s mom’s closet, flinging her best clothes off the hangers to make a nest. They clambered on the bed in the circle of satin and furs, Amma pulling me next to her and producing a button of Ecstasy from her bra.

“You ever played a game of Rolling Roulette?” she asked me. I shook my head. “You pass the X around from tongue to tongue, and the tongue it dissolves on last is the lucky winner. This is Damon’s best shit, though, so we’ll all roll a little.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” I said. I’d almost agreed until I saw the alarmed look on the boys’ faces. I must have reminded them of their mothers.

“Oh, come on, Camille, I won’t tell, for Chrissakes,” Amma whined, picking at a fingernail. “Do it with me. Sisters?”

“Pleease, Camille!” moaned Kylie and Kelsey. Jodes watched me silently.

The Oxy Contin and the booze and the sex from carkier and the storm that still hung wet outside and m wrecked skin (icebox popping eagerly on one arm) and the stained thoughts of my mother. I don’t know which hit hardest but suddenly I was allowing Amma to kiss my cheek excitedly. I was nodding yes, and Kylie’s tongue hit one boy, who nervously passed the pill to Kelsey, who licked the second boy, his tongue big as a wolfs, who slopped over Jodes, who wobbled her tongue hesitantly out to Amma who lapped the pill up, and, tongue soft and little and hot, passed the X into my mouth, wrapping her arms around me and pushing the pill down hard on my tongue until I could feel it crumble in my mouth. It dissolved like cotton candy “Drink lots of water,” she whispered to me, then giggled loudly at the circle, flinging herself back on a mink.

“Fuck, Amma, the game hadn’t even started,” the wolf boy snapped, his cheeks flushed red.

“Camille is my guest,” Amma said mock haughtily

Soon after:

I smiled. The X had released its first wave of chemical optimism, I could feel it float up inside me like a big test balloon and splatter on the roof of my mouth, spraying good cheer. I could almost taste it, a fizzy pink jelly

Kelsey and Kylie began following us to the door, and Amma swung around laughing. “I don’t want you guys to come,” she cackled. “You guys get to stay here. Help Jodes get laid, she needs a good fuck.”

Kelsey scowled back at Jodes, who hung nervously on the stairs.

Kylie looked at Amma’s arm around my waist.

They glanced at each other. Kelsey snuggled into Amma, put her head on her shoulder.

“We don’t want to stay here, we want to come with you,” she whined. “Please.”

Amma shrugged her away, smiled at her like she was a dumb pony.

“I’m so tired of all of you. You’re such bores.”

“Just be a sweetie and fuck off, okay?” Amma said.

Kelsey hung back, confused, her arms still half out-stretched. Kylie shrugged at her and danced back into the crowd, grabbing a beer from an older boy’s hands and licking her lips at him looking back over to see if Amma was watching. She wasn’t.

Instead, Amma was steering me out the door like an attentive date, down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, where tiny yellow oxalis weeds spurted from the cracks.

I pointed. “Beautiful.”

Amma pointed at me and nodded. “I love yellow when I’m high. You feeling something?” I nodded

On the way home:

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Amma said with the exhausted affectation of a pampered housewife. “I’m bored all the time. That’s why I act out. I know I can be a little…off.”

“With the sex you mean?” I stopped, my heart making rumba thumps in my chest. The air smelled of irises, and I could feel the scent float into my nose, my lungs, my blood. My veins would smell of purple.

“Just, you know, lashing out. You know. I know you know.” She took my hand and offered me a pure, sweet smile, petting my palm, which might have felt better than any touch I’d ever experienced. On my left calf freak sighed suddenly.

“How do you lash out?” We were near my mother’s house now, and my high was in full bloom. My hair swished on my shoulders like warm water and I swayed side to side to no particular music. A snail shell lay on the edge of the sidewalk and my eyes looped into its curlicue

“You know. You know how sometimes you need to hurt.”

She said it as if she were selling a new hair product “There are better ways to deal with boredom and claustrophobia than to hurt,” I said. “You’re a smart girl. I realized her fingers were inside the cuffs of my shirt, touching the ridges of my scars. I didn’t stop her.

“Do you cut, Amma?

“I hurt,” she squealed, and twirled out onto the street, spinning flamboyantly, her head back, her arms outstretched like a swan. “I love it!” she screamed. The echo ran down the street, where my mother’s house stood watch on the corner.

Amma spun until she clattered to the pavement, “l’m so happy with you,” Amma laughed, her breath and sweetly boozy in my face. “You’re like my soulmate”

“You’re like my sister,” I said. Blasphemy? Didn’t care.

“I love you,” Amma screamed.

We were spinning so fast my cheeks were flapping, I was laughing like a kid. I have never been happier than right now, I thought. The streetlight was almost rosy, and Amma’s long hair was feathering my shoulders, her high cheekbones jutted out like scoops of butter in her tanned skin. I reached out to touch one releasing my hand from hers, and the unlinking of our circle caused us to spin wildly to the ground I felt my ankle bone crack against the curb pop! Blood exploding, splattering up my leg. Red bubbles began sprouting onto Amma’s chest from her own skid across the pavement.

She looked down, looked at me, all glowing blue husky eyes, ran her fingers across the bloody web on her chest and shrieked once, long, then lay her head on my lap laughing. She swiped a finger across her chest, balancing a flat button of blood on her fingertip, and before I could stop her, rubbed it on my lips. I could taste it, like honeyed tin.

She looked up at me and stroked my face, and I let her “I know you think Adora likes me better, but it’s not true,” she said. As if on cue, the porch light of our house, way atop the hill, switched on.

“You want to sleep in my room? Amma offered, a little quieter.

I pictured us in her bed under her polka-dot covers whispering secrets, falling asleep tangled with each other, and then I realized I was imagining me and Marian.

“So, wanna?” she asked.

“Not tonight, Amma. I’m dead tired and I want to sleep in my own bed.” It was true. The drug was fast and hard and then gone. I felt ten minutes from sober and I didn’t want Amma around when I hit ground.

“Can I sleep over with you then?” She stood in the streetlight, her jean skirt hanging from her tiny hip bones, her halter askew and ripped. A smear of blood near her lips. Hopeful.

“Naw. Let’s just sleep separate. We’ll hang out tomorrow.”

She said nothing, just turned and ran as fast as she could toward the house, her feet kicking up behind her.

That scene where Amma runs into Camille after she agrees to sleep together:

I lay for a second on the ground, Amma’s hair folded in my fist, a firefly overhead throbbing in time to my blood. Then Amma began cackling, grabbing her forehead and nudging the spot that was already a dark blue, like the outline of a plum.

“Shit. I think you dented my face.”

“I think you dented the back of my head,” I whispered. I sat up and felt woozy. A blurt of blood that had been stanched by the sidewalk now seeped down my neck. “Christ, Amma. You’re too rough.”

“I thought you liked it rough.” She reached a hand and pulled me up, the blood in my head sloshing from back to front. Then she took a tiny gold ring with a pale green peridot from her middle finger and put it on my pinky finger. “Here. I want you to have this.”

I shook my head. “Whoever gave that to you would want you to keep it.”

In the house and Camille’s room:

I shut the door of my own room behind us, peeled off my rain-drenched sneakers (checked with squares of newly cut grass), wiped smashed mulberry juice off my leg, and began pulling up my shirt before I felt Amma’s stare. Shirt back down, I pretended to sway into bed, too exhausted to undress. I pulled the covers up and curled away from Amma, mumbling a good night.

I heard her drop her clothes to the floor, and in a second the light was off and she was in bed curled behind me, naked except for her panties. I wanted to cry at the idea of being able to sleep next to someone without clothes, no worries about what word might slip out from under a whirring in the dark

Please take in these scenes. Then think of the episode!

Quite a delicious cake, right? Now you know why I was all over this show, just for this part in the story, right?

Well, prepare for a storm….