After the match, Gangrel took Psyche back to his house, not stopping to change. He had lost the match, thanks to Psyche, and he was mightily pissed off.
He dragged Psyche through the front door and sat her on the couch.
"Do you know what you did back there?" he yelled. It wasn't the yelling of a pro wrestler, boastful and fake, but the yelling of an angry parent, hurtful and sharp.
"You just made me lose one of the biggest matches in my life! He had the freakin' championship belt! I was going to be the champion! For one night, I was going to be the champion! And you messed it all up!"
He sighed. Psyche was curled up on the couch, looking at him.
Gangrel sat down next to her. She didn't snuggle up next to him, but she didn't flinch at his closeness, either. He took that as a good sign.
"Look," he said, forcing himself to look into her eyes, "if you're going to live with me, you're going to have to follow my rules, okay?" He talked as if to a child, not a crazy teen. "And that means, for one thing, that you can't interfere in my matches." He waited for a response. There was none.
"You know, your mom got thrown out of the WWF for interfering," he told her. "You don't want that to happen to you, do you?"
Psyche turned her head away from him. Gangrel sighed, and started to get up. Then Psyche looked back at him.
She looked eerily coherent. She studied him for a moment, as if seeing into his head. Then, when she spoke, it was not in the thin little voice that she had said her name in earlier, but a strangely confident voice.
"With me by your side, Gangrel, you will win the championship. And as long as I am with you, you will keep it."