"...This truth drives me
I know I can stop the pain
If I will it all away..."
"My fault… my fault. This is all my fault… God, I'm so sorry Ginger…" a soft voice was issued from the young girl draped across the wolf-like creature's corpse. Brigitte's dark hair fell across her face, obscuring the tears that ran down her cheeks. She was right, it had been all her fault from the very beginning — had she not suggested that Ginger and her steal Trina's dog and make it look like it had been killed by the Beast of Bailey Downs, then they would not have been wandering around in the woods at night, and Ginger would not have been attacked by the werewolf. Going back a little more, if Brigitte had not suggested Trina as a Search and Destroy victim, her little lackey might have heard her and Trina would have pushed her into the poor dog's mangled corpse, angering Ginger.
If she had not, those were the magic words.
Sniffling loudly, Brigitte finally straightened and pushed back her hair with a blood-stained hand — Sam's blood. She flinched back from her own limb as she realized this and stared at the stained hand. Sam's death was her fault as well, if she had not gone to him for help… if she would have exited the closet, not him, there was the very big possibility that he would still be alive.
"Fuck!" she shouted, shaking as she stumbled to her feet. Unsteady legs threatening to buckle as she made her way to the door. She had to leave, and soon. If she stayed, she would be in deep shit — deeper than she already was. What with her mother still out, due to come home any minute to see the corpse of a young man strewn about in the hallway and the body of her transformed sister in the bedroom, impaled with a knife instead of the cure that was meant for her.
"Fuck!" Brigitte screamed again, squeezing the syringe slightly, her hand screaming out in pain as the edge of the plastic dug into the cut she had made not a few hours ago.
When Ginge was still alive.
Brigitte knew she was now infected, and refused to drop the Monkshood, her only chance to be cured. Besides, it was the only this she had left of Sam. 'Be careful' she had said to him when he made his way out of the closet, those were her last words to him.
"Be fucking careful! You couldn't listen to me? I trusted you would be alright, you seemed so sure… Sam…" she whimpered. She knew she was having a breakdown of some sort — probably a mental one, but wouldn't anyone? After what she had just gone through, she believed she had the right. Reaching for the doorknob, she halted as she realized that it was jiggling by itself. No… not by itself, but by someone on the other side of the door. Gasping, Brigitte nimbly ran and ducked beneath Ginger's bed, thanking God that she was skinny enough to fit and vaguely wondering where that burst of energy had come from.
That one word made Brigitte want to scream. Well, maybe it wasn't the word, per se, but the voice that said it. The girl's eyes followed the new set of feet that stepped into the room, watching as they stopped in front of Ginger's body. The person's pants were blackened by blood, what little light there was made them glisten wetly.
"Brigitte? Are you in here?"
Sure she was, and she wanted to cry at the moment. She was unsure whether to burst out from underneath the bed crying, or pop off the mattress above her and yell out 'surprise!' in a cheap attempt at humor. She tightened her already tight grip on the syringe and once again, grimaced in pain. That was proof enough that she was awake, that this wasn't just some horrible nightmare and that she wasn't going to wake up to find Ginger making caustic remarks at her about being able to sleep anywhere, despite the circumstances.
"S-Sam, is that you?" her voice came out raspy, sounding like a person who had not used her voice in a very long time. Swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the ache in her throat, she watched as the feet turned in the direction of the bed and rushed over in a way that seemed too healthy for the young man who was supposedly killed not twenty minutes ago. A knee was lowered to the ground and a face slid into view — a face that was all too familiar.
"Brigitte! What are you doing under there?" a worried look was now placed upon his handsome face, but something was off about it. Brigitte did not respond to his inquiry, but instead studied him blankly, he was still covered in blood, she noticed. His own blood, the blood that was let out when he was attacked and killed by Ginger.
"Brigitte. Fucking answer me, say something for God's sake!" his tone turned sharp, with an underlying note of pleading that Brigitte could make out and could not ignore. Taking care not to drop the Monkshood, she carefully inched out from underneath the bed, vaguely noticing Sam moving back from it to give her space.
"Are you really here?" the girl whispered as she came to a stop in front of him, kneeling with her hands on her lap. Tears began to leak out of her eyes again as she fixed him with a dead stare. Sam nodded, taking her hand — the one free of the syringe — and placing it against his neck, so she could feel his pulse throbbing steadily. What she noticed was not the beat of his heart, nor the unsettling warmth of the blood still on his skin, but the holes littered at the base of his neck. Pulling her hand away, she screamed, only to be silenced by Sam's hand, placed firmly — but softly — against Brigitte's lips. The metallic taste of Sam's blood entered her mouth and reminded her of her failed attempted to appease Ginger by drinking his blood — an attempt that didn't even seem to be needed now that Same was sitting in front of her, his hand on her mouth.
"Bee, it's okay. Just calm down." he spoke soothingly, but his words didn't seem to have the desired effect as he felt her stiffen. She pushed his hand aside roughly, her dark eyes glimmering with something alike to rage, but the effort didn't seem to be quite there.
"Don't. Call. Me. That." Brigitte hissed, averting her gaze down to the corpse of the beast. Sam made the connection and nodded apologetically, taking her free hand once more and placing it against his lips gently. Now he was just taking advantage of the fact that she had a bit of a crush on him — he had realized this after he brushed off what Ginger had said that once time at the greenhouse, he said something about him 'not being interested in her like that.' Her reaction had said everything — The soft feeling of Sam's lips made the girl look up in shock.
"Brigitte, we have to go alright? We can't stay here any longer, people are bound to come investigate after the noise we just made."
"I-I can't! I can't leave her, I can't leave Ginger." The realization that she would have to leave her sister seemed to have made Brigitte dissolve into sobs again as she attempted to pull free from Sam and go back to mourning her sister, but Sam held tight.
"No Brigitte, she's gone. You can't stay with her because she's not even fucking here anymore! Let's just go," he had said it harsher than he meant to, but he had to get her moving somehow. With a small effort, he hauled both him and Brigitte to their feet, not waiting for her to give him another excuse to not go. To his surprise, she didn't struggle and instead followed him mutely, tears still making their way down her face.
"You're infected." The slight girl said this as a statement, not a question, as she slid into Sam's van. There was no other explanation, he was there, alive and breathing. His wounds were very nearly healed, even though they should have been fatal, and he seemed to be in better condition now than when this whole mess started — not to mention his broken arm was no longer broken.
"Yeah. I'm infected." He gave a small nod as he pulled away from Brigitte's house, he took a small bit of joy from this fact because if he were not infected, he would be dead. Instead, he was here with Brigitte. Shifting in her seat, she reached inside of her coat and got out a small bundle of plants from within, the dried purple buds giving off a slight, bitter fragrance.
"Good thing I got the Monkshood then," the young girl's mouth turned up a little at the corners, contorting her pretty face into a bitter smile, her eyes still shining with unshed tears as the van made it's way down the empty street.