preview of three
The idea of it, of actually being twenty-three years old, felt somewhat preposterous, as if she’d slipped through the cracks somehow and been allowed to live on past her expiration date. Growing up, Alice had always sort of expected that, upon turning twenty-one, she’d embark on some booze-fueled, Fitzgerald-esque bender, and go out in some faux-romantic blaze of glory. But twenty-one had come and gone, and the inspiration to go through with it just hadn’t struck. Of course, she’d been with Catherine then, so maybe it wasn’t all that surprising that she hadn’t been able to work up the requisite spunk.
For a moment, Alice tried to imagine what it would have looked like penciled in in Catherine’s infamous day planner: possible death bender, location tba. She smirked at the thought, taking another swig from her glass. It had occurred to her, in the last week or so, that maybe that’s what the whole thing with Catherine had really been about, some twisted sense of self-preservation. Perhaps somehow she’d subconsciously known that with Catherine she’d be too bored to risk her own life like that, whereas with—
She shook her head quickly. The theory had merit, but she didn’t like to give it too much thought. It bordered too closely on the conclusion that Catherine had saved her life, which at best was a joke, and at worst was too uncomfortable to stomach.
