The only time that Frankie had felt alive was with Cat. It was a raw, powerful feeling; one that lifted her up and made her want to be better; one that terrified her, made her mad. She was suffocating; she was breathing freely. She wanted Cat; she would destroy Cat.
Running was what she did best, and America seemed far enough.
She finds she is wrong when weeks turn to months and months turn to years, and she hasn't forgotten Cat at all. She remembers every detail of her smile, her touch, her taste. Every woman is Not Cat.
Frankie tips back the beer and feels the cool liquid run down her throat. Her aunt's message still rings in her ears. Her plane is hours from leaving. She holds the electronic tickets in her hand, unsure what to do. If she returns to Glasgow, it confirms the one person who cared about her is dead. The one person besides Cat, that is.
She'll have to face Cat, and that conflicting swirl of emotions; and she's still not sure that she's ready, but in a rare moment of clarity she sees her life laid out before her: a life full of Not Cats' and it's so maddening she feels like howling. She remembers what she said the night before to a girl whose name she's all ready forgot.
One down, two to go.
She bits her lip. It hurts. She relishes the pain; it tells her that no matter what else, she's still alive.