Disclaimer: I only wish I owned Ringer, but I don't actually own it. After all, if wishes were horses then beggars would ride. Yeah…my Mom tells me that a lot, it never made sense to me.
A/N: I know, I know. It's three days into NaNoWriMo and already I'm writing a Ringer oneshot when I should be writing my novel…that's just me. Unless something is specifically required I usually do whatever I want. Of course, nagging is what helps me keep writing fanfiction.
This is for SarcasticBunny, who wanted more Siobhan-oriented fics :) hope you like it!
Also, if you'd like to read my NaNo novel (or what I have typed so far), please PM me. I'd be happy to share it with you on DocX
I sat down on the edge of my bed, trying to calm my stomach. I had just been feeling better and then the nausea was back again. Why was I so sensitive about Gemma? I had only befriended her so I could fit in with Andrew's high-class life, and later so I could have Henry without her suspecting a thing. She was just a person.
My plan was flawless, that much I knew. With access to Andrew's account I would have all his money in a few weeks, making me a very rich woman. Gemma was gone and without her around Bridget wouldn't be forced to tell Andrew that she wasn't me. She was such a baby, and though I knew she was terrified of whoever was after her (I knew it was someone who had murdered a lot of people, and didn't particularly care), I knew she would rather admit to the truth than pretend to be the sleep-around slut that she really was, but as me instead of her. She wouldn't want Andrew to think of her as me, and as a cheater. It was complicated to think about, but it made sense. All I knew was that she would rather give her secret up, and now that Gemma was gone she was safe again.
I felt my breathing speed up, and I tried to think about the plan again. With Gemma gone…with Gemma gone Henry would be devastated at first, but when I came back I would comfort him. He would trust me because it had been Bridget that put him through all the pain of rejection, not me, and he would never have to know I killed Gemma. With Andrew's money we could come to live in Paris.
I wasn't sure how that part of the plan worked. Should I call him and tell him to come to me? Should I go to him and prove I was who I said I was? Surely Bridget had done a good job of pretending to be me. Henry knew me intimately, more than my own husband, and I was surprised he hadn't figured it out by now.
And then there was Charlie. He owed me a favor or two, and I hoped he hadn't made Gemma suffer much. I didn't know why I hoped it, but I did.
It was like a horrible, twisted fairytale. I had gotten my best friend killed, was going to steal my husband's money, and then was going to live my life in Paris with my lover and our child. All I had ever wanted was to be loved, and to not be poor for once in my life.
My stomach twisted, like the baby didn't like what I was thinking. I absently stroked the bump that had started to show, feeling something akin to love—no, it was love—for the unborn baby. Despite everything I had done, and all the people I was hurting (Bridget included), all I wanted was to keep my baby safe and happy, with Henry and I.
I wasn't going to let Bridget hurt it. Not this time.