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Rebecca's suffering a classic case of the sneaky hate spiral. After meeting Eden and realizing that there are people who have, well, realized their dreams while she pushed hers away like it was of the fever kind, she doesn't know what to do with her life.
Not that that's a new thing for her.
She'd spent literal years convinced that being a lawyer was the best thing for her, so much so that she became really good at it. She went to the best of the best schools (and the second best when she was kicked out of the best), she worked with prestigious firms until it all fell to pieces with three, sing-song words: Joshua Felix Chan.
Here, she can't blame him for her distraction from the task at hand – the task at hand being a mature adult person who goes to work from 9 to 5 and doesn't cry herself to sleep at night. But there is the distraction of the fact she's in a fucking alternate dimension where weird shit like drastic climate change and toys that try to kill people is the norm. So instead of working her way up the legal ladder all over again, she spends her day staring out at the window and imagining she's anywhere else.
Almost anywhere else.
Not, like, a psychiatrist's office.
Like the one she's staring at the brochure right now in some fancy mental health clinic.
Like the one that's in her hand as she runs out of the clinic and down the path, not yet having thrown it out before she's colliding with a stranger. An almost stranger. The guy who had witnessed her musical meltdown not that long ago.
"Why does this keep happening to me?"
Not that that's a new thing for her.
She'd spent literal years convinced that being a lawyer was the best thing for her, so much so that she became really good at it. She went to the best of the best schools (and the second best when she was kicked out of the best), she worked with prestigious firms until it all fell to pieces with three, sing-song words: Joshua Felix Chan.
Here, she can't blame him for her distraction from the task at hand – the task at hand being a mature adult person who goes to work from 9 to 5 and doesn't cry herself to sleep at night. But there is the distraction of the fact she's in a fucking alternate dimension where weird shit like drastic climate change and toys that try to kill people is the norm. So instead of working her way up the legal ladder all over again, she spends her day staring out at the window and imagining she's anywhere else.
Almost anywhere else.
Not, like, a psychiatrist's office.
Like the one she's staring at the brochure right now in some fancy mental health clinic.
Like the one that's in her hand as she runs out of the clinic and down the path, not yet having thrown it out before she's colliding with a stranger. An almost stranger. The guy who had witnessed her musical meltdown not that long ago.
"Why does this keep happening to me?"
