“Sloane realized she'd rather die than be eighteen years old again. No matter how tired she was now, she wouldn't go back to some self-sabotaging youth, the version of her who felt like she might disappear without the attention of some fucking asshole, the stakes of the universe arranged not by any rational, objective measure but by how she felt about herself in her worst moments, by how others might feel about her. She'd take a bullet to the head rather than return to the fundamental question of who would she be, what would she accomplish, what was she good at, was she running out of time?”
―
Olivie Blake,
Girl Dinner