Imagine being Sam and Ginger’s girlfriend and a self-styled bimbo.
Brigitte was being hunted by a werewolf, you were being haunted by ghosts. If you weren’t already acquainted, your circumstances would make a good case for group therapy. Which you joked about, ignorant to where you two would eventually turn up.
“Nice Barbie costume. Halloween isn’t for another…”
You weren’t the one reliant on aconite. The Happier Times Care Center thought otherwise.
All because you panicked after Brig accidentally scratched you. One single prick. But no injection. Which was for the best, because she was the only one showing signs of lycanthropy at the clinic. Who knew if you’d be here if you’d actually injected wolfsbane?
Brigitte needed a friend. You felt like you needed your lovers, but the veil wasn’t always as thin as you would have liked.
“It’s not a costume, I’m just this stylish year round.” You winked and giggled at your fellow patient.
Aren’t goths usually asked that question? Has Ginger ever been asked?
Her tastes were morbid, but her style had always been more casual. Sam was so lucky to be dating a goth and a bimbo. If they didn’t manifest in your room tonight, you were going to have to hold a séance.
Where would I get the candles, though? “Exchanging favors” with Tyler’s the only way to get anything around here.
And he wasn’t going to go anywhere near you. Not after mistaking you for an easy target. Not after trying to surprise you in the washroom and witnessing your girlfriend’s reflection trying to shatter the glass while Tyler’s soul tried to escape his body. No, you realized with a shiver.
Sam’s apparition was siphoning off the heat from the orderly’s body. Ginger rested her palms against the glass and smirked. Tyler’s breath had barely visualized when he got the memo and departed, just not in the way they’d hoped.