Alice
Legacy Name: Puuf

I met you in the dead of summer. That year it was so humid they closed the drive-in theater because everyone kept complaining about it being too hot. So where could we go on that first date? That was the question in a town like ours. Our options were limited; I suggested we go to the diner for milkshakes, but you said you didn't want my classmates to see. You suggested stargazing, but it wasn't realistic, with my parents.

Everything would change when the school year started. You made that clear. People would talk, you said. But maybe we could keep things discreet. When I said maybe they'd understand, maybe they'd see if they knew we met just by chance, your hand brushing against mine, reaching for the same book in the shop on the corner...

Like an adult. You said that everything about me was different. I wasn't like other girls; I was quiet, I always had my nose in a book. You said girls like me were rare. My mother had always said the same thing. Don't worry about not fitting in. You're rare. Was that really what it was? Was that why I was alone? Don't worry, she said.

It was Steinbeck. East of Eden. You pulled your hand back quickly, a look of surprise on your face. I felt my face flush, turned away and began to walk. You grabbed my shoulder. Did you want this? you'd said. It's okay, I said. I've read it before. You laughed, a nice, easy laugh. You smelled like peppermint. I've reread it so many times. I'm actually teaching it this year, you'd said. Up at the high school. And that was how it all started.

You kissed me in the car at the movie theater. You were polite; your hands didn't stray. You cupped my face gently. It was a matinee; my parents were at work. My heart was racing. My sleeve fell off my shoulder, and I rushed to pull it back up, but you had already seen. Your eyes filled with tears. Who did this to you? you asked. I checked the clock. My father would be home in a few hours. I should go, I'd said.

Maybe we should just go away, you'd said. That was two weeks before school started. I was supposed to be at the library, but I was in your car at Evans Point. Really? I'd asked. Yes, really, you said. Pack up all the things you want and we'll just leave this depressing little town. I'll find another job, in another place, and we can be together, you'd said. You kissed the bruises on my arms and put your hand on my breast. Squeezed, almost too tightly. I blinked tears out of my eyes.

I'd decided within the week. It would be easier to leave during the day, when my parents were gone. You agreed. So I shoved all the clothes I had in my suitcase. For my mother, I left a note: To mommy. I hope you know none of this is your fault... you won't see me again. To my father, I had nothing to say.

When it was all done, I sat in the middle of my room. I looked at the stuffed animals on my bed and felt a wide grin spread over my face at the absurdity of it all. What was I doing with a bed full of stuffed animals? It looked like a child's room. I heard your car idling outside. I was giddy, dizzy with the thoughts of you.

I want to make a quick stop, you'd said. It's a little place I found when I was first exploring the town. Okay, I said. It was summer, and I finally felt the sun on my skin. The bruises on my arms were fading; that day, I'd packed my favorite sweater up instead of putting it on. You look so beautiful, you'd said. I felt my face flush, looked out of the window, stuck my hand out, felt the air buffeting against it.

It was a meadow right outside the edge of town. We stumbled into it together, holding hands. You pulled me along, just a bit too fast for comfort. I struggled to keep up, the mud coating my shoes. Come on, you said. It's such a beautiful spot, I just know you'll love it. You were holding a blanket in your hand and a bottle of wine.

I thought we should celebrate, you said. You had taken your shoes off; your feet were white in the sun. You uncorked the wine, handed it to me. Should I...? I said. You laughed. Of course, go ahead. It's a special day for us. You placed your hand on my thigh and I gulped. Have as much as you want, you said. My head felt light; I began to laugh. I felt so free.

You began to kiss me. There was too much force behind it, this time. I felt clumsy, groggy. Your body weight pushed me backwards, until your head was above mine, obscuring the sun above. I was in shadow. I don't remember what you said, but I was afraid; I began to cry. Your face was distorted, angry.

The metal was cold against my throat. I seemed to come back to earth with vivid clarity. Why had you brought a knife with you? Here, for our little celebration? My stomach was sick. I felt like the world was dropping from under me. Shut up and don't move, you'd said. You're mine now. Here, and wherever we go from here.

You made a mistake that day. While you took my innocence, you left your knife unguarded. I stared up at the sky blankly, but my hand moved until I felt the cold metal bite my hand. So I plunged it into your throat. Again. Again. You fell, looked pleadingly at me, and tried to speak, but no words would come out. I crawled over to your shoes, gagging, and grabbed the car keys. They were slick with your blood. I heard your body fall to the ground, softly, almost. You faced the sky, unmoving. I gripped the keys in my hand.

I laid down next to you. The grass was wet behind my head. I wrapped my hand around yours. It was still warm. I turned my head to the sun, and I stared into it for a second, then I closed my eyes, felt the grass tickle my legs. The wind stirred the trees around us for a second, and then everything was still.

I moved the car keys in my hand. I am mine now. Here, and wherever I go from here, I thought.

background
given name alice carhart	alias saffron (future)
zodiac sign
appearance
eye color blue	hair color light brown
height 5'5	build slender
distinguishing features brbrbrb

phobias //
habits and mannerisms //

associations // vick becker (future)
interests // literature, theatre
occupation // student
birthplace // a small town in Nevada
personality type // infp (the mediator)
arcana // the fool
temperament // melancholic
enneagram // the loyalist