Cucumber mint. Sea fennel passionflower. Coconut almond. Blood orange vanilla. Honey buttermilk. Jasmine vanilla. Sandalwood lavender. Wait. Did I say sea fennel passionflower? Motherfucker, this was supposed to work. I knew it wouldn't work. This is ridiculous.

Piper Chapman took a deep breath of recycled prison air and wrung her clammy hands. She had gotten her old shrink's contact information from her mother the month prior and had finally made contact with Dr. Sil last week. His advice on dealing with her intermittent panic attacks had been exactly what anyone would recommend - "Find your 'happy place,' relax with deep breaths in said 'happy place' until your heartbeat slows, your nausea dissipates, etc etc what-the-fuck-ever." It just so happened that Piper's "happy place" lately had been memories of making bath products with Polly - specifically, testing new scents. Sandalwood had always been her favorite, but adding lavender had taken it to an unprecedented level. But it was fucking moronic to pretend to give a shit anymore about scents when all she could think about was Alex Vause's probation officer.

When Polly called to confirm that she had made contact and that a check in would be performed… Well. Every time Piper had imagined the moment - lying awake, gripped by fury, able to feel every dent in the metal surface of her bunk beneath her unsubstantial mattress - she had envisioned some glorious, "sweet revenge" type of situation. When in reality, she just panicked as she pictured Alex's life going up in flames once more. She knew she should feel vindicated - an eye for an eye, right? Except something crazy had happened. Those zen ways and thoughts she had fought so hard to achieve in her pre-prison life had snuck up and gripped her from out of nowhere - at the precise moment that they became irrelevant. The deed was done.

Alex would be returning to Litchfield. That much Piper was sure of. Or if not Litchfield, definitely prison. Prison somewhere. Thoughts weighted with emotion collided every thirty seconds in Piper's already crowded head. This is my fault - she'll be back in prison in no time and it's my fault. Litchfield? Is it fucking awful that I want her to come back here? To me? What if they didn't find the gun? Will she know it was me? Of course she'll know it was me, what a dumb notion.

Piper forced her feet over the side of her bunk and collapsed with her head in her hands, elbows bracing the weight on her knees. Voices of her fellow inmates waking up around her hummed deep in her ears, like riding a commuter bus with a hangover. She had never been the type of person to just go through the motions, but since Thursday - *the* day - that had become her norm. Wake up. Shower. Eat. Work. Eat. Sit in front of the television. Re-read Gone Girl. Eat. Sleep. Lather rinse repeat. How long had it been?

She slipped into her shoes, opting to skip a shower for now, and rambled toward breakfast. Her mind registered Taystee yelling her name, but only barely, like a walkie-talkie picking up hints of a transmission just out of range. Still, her reflexes told her to slow down, and Taystee caught up to her. Once she was right next to Piper, she matched the pace and took a moment to catch her breath.

"Damn girl. Whew. I mean. WHOO. I been meaning to ask you if you got any snickers you lookin to trade. I don't have a lot, but I probly got somethin you wan- Shit! Chapman. Are you alive? Is this? Are you? Are you a fuckin zombie? Is this that zompocalypse I keep hearin about? The fuck is with you? You the one that stole Vee's shit? Dippin in now before she come back?"

Suddenly Piper's feet were dragging through pits of cold honey. She felt water stinging her eyes, but couldn't describe it as "tears," there was no emotion affiliated. Just emptiness and doubt. She pressed her palms into her knees, doubled over, waiting for something to happen. Vomit, crying, nuclear reaction. Nothing came, so she glanced up at Taystee -

"What… What day is it?"

"Aw fuck, see - I knew it. Of course it'd be some bourgeoisie fuckin white girl snatched Vee's horsey. Girl, we need to get you cleaned up before somebody takes special notice of you."

"No. It's not. That." Piper gulped through her nausea and stood up, taking a deep breath of sandalwood lavender. "I'm sorry. I'm really out of it. There's some… stuff happening on the outside, it's really taken a lot out of me. I'm not on anything, I don't know anything about any 'horsey,' and if I were a zombie, I wouldn't be speaking. I mean, obviously it depends on which folklore we're running with, I think the Haitian voodoo zombies maintained some measure of their former selves, but I'm not educated enough on the subject to aptly-"

"Good lord, I get it! Alright, alright. It's fuckin Sunday, you ain't got shit to worry about except if you gon eat your granola bar now or tonight when you readin that tired ass white girl novel."

Shit. Three days. It had felt like weeks. All Piper could feel was relief. Her day was sluggish until yard time. She pulled her jacket over her arms and onto her shoulders. She was acquiring a fondness for the heavy denim, despite the fact that it turned her into an amorphous, monochrome blob. She chuckled quietly as the word "dyke" sailed through her brain. After fifteen minutes of running, the jacket was just a hassle, and she chucked it off to the side of the track. The cool air was invigorating, her neck and upper chest hadn't been exposed to fresh air in months.

Holy shit. This might be my church. Running fucking sucks, but being outside…

She trailed off in her own head, allowed her inner monologue a respite, but felt utter comfort in the moment as she added another item to her "happy place" list.