Do you laugh
When I'm complaining
That I'm all alone
Where were you
When I searched the sea
For a friend to talk to me?
~Ghost by Emilie Autumn
Four: Ghost-Zoned
His hands were braced on either side of her, effectively caging her in. He leaned in, dangerously close. Moonlight filtered through the bedroom window, illuminating his face in an eerie pallor.
"Stay."
Her silhouette glowed in the darkness, moonlight tracing the gentle slope of her hips, the soft curves of her bust. Shuddering at his touch, she shrank back against the wall, like she wanted to sink through it.
"Stay," he repeated in a voice barley above a whisper.
She didn't respond. Her eyes were alight with terror and intrigue, like someone who witnessed a tragic accident and couldn't look away. She wore her babydoll dress again, the one which had burned into his psyche. Her strap had fallen askew, revealing a pale shoulder.
"Stay," he continued to urge, sotto voce.
A squeak eked out from her when he reached out to her bare shoulder, hooking his finger underneath the strap and righting it. "I'll protect you forever."
"I—I—" Any protest she might've managed died on her lips when he stroked her jaw next, eliciting a violent shiver. "Danny…" Blood rushing to her face, shining in weak starlight. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
"Sam…" Danny cocked his head to the side, irises sparkling scarlet. "Stay with me."
Her lips quivered. "I… can't."
He almost recoiled to hold his stomach. Red-hot fury stabbed him in the gut, like a poker stoking the embers of his Obsession. Still he endured, held it all in for her. Only for her.
"Yes you can." He leaned close enough for their breaths to commingle. "What can I do to make you stay? Anything you want, just ask."
She chewed her bottom lip anxiously. His thumb grazed her cheek, an animalistic growl rumbling in his chest. Her lips parted in a soundless gasp.
"Sam…" he murmured, a delicious thrill running through him at the sight of her effectively stunned by a few innocent caresses. "Why won't you stay?" He brushed the shell of her ear with his lips, speaking gently. "Tell me, please. What can I do?"
She trembled. Her adrenaline spiked; her fear and ecstasy mixed into a dangerous cocktail.
"I want you to stay so badly." Perhaps he could hypnotize her if he whispered sweet nothings in her ear? Worth a shot. "Please, Sam. I've never seen anyone like you in my afterlife."
Her eyes clenched shut, a virulent blush spreading to her collarbone.
"Stay," he groaned out again. His lips drifted to her neck, grazing a throbbing artery. "You're safe only with me."
Her palms braced against his chest suddenly, shoving him back a step.
Danny allowed it. Let her try and defend herself. Eventually she'll realize that she can't.
"Get out," she cried before he could say it again. Stay, stay, stay. "That's what you can do to make me stay! Get the fuck out of my house, you FREAK!"
Danny woke up with his heart clenching, greeted with the darkness of his parents' underground laboratory. Sam's cries echoed in his ears, the 'freak' bellowing.
"Lights on," he commanded. A row of ceiling lights flickered to life. He sat upright on the mattress, a slight groan issuing. "Not good," he muttered to himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Peering at his reflection on one of the analog screens, he noted blood-red irises.
"Not good," he reiterated, the red gleam fading to ecto-green. "Not good at all."
He fell back on the mattress, placing a hand on his aching chest. Even her imaginary rejection stung. One that he'll never hear—because she will never get the opportunity to see him in ghost form.
She's already seen you in human form, taunted the Obsession, and she liked it.
"Shut up," he said aloud. "That was a freak accident that has never happened before and will never happen again."
Oh, but it happened, because you were distracted by her. You got sloppy!
"That's enough!" he cut off the thought before it could finish. "I'm not doing anything you tell me."
Silence, blessed silence, if only for a moment. Wiping a hand down on his face, he sighed and glanced towards the portal, deep frown etching into his features.
"Maybe I should talk to a certain professional…"
To the average explorer, the Ghost Zone was an interminable labyrinth, impossible to navigate without a GPS or decades' worth of memorizing the landmarks. Hence why only younger ghosts struggled to navigate it. While not being ancient, however, Danny knew the Ghost Zone like the back of his hand, having acquired a 'cheat code' of sorts not long after his partial death. One that Plasmius envied and coveted to this day.
In the wee hours of the morning, Danny flew through the Ghost Zone with purpose, breezing by various doors that bobbed in the swirling green abyss. Some were medieval in nature, denoting a mid-century resident. Others were ostentatious double doors with a nod to Greek architecture, or simple and modern styles with 'Keep out' and other angsty teenager messages stuck on the hinges. One even featured a refrigerator door with an assortment of alphabet-letter magnets spelling out the name 'Klemper.'
It took him about twenty minutes to reach his destination. Danny halted in front of a wooden door with a plaque affixed to the front, the name 'Dr. Spectra' embossed in curly script.
He knocked once. It swung open to reveal Bertrand, formally dressed in his human form with his silvery hair slicked back.
Bertrand's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "You?"
"Me," Danny said simply. "I need to see the doc."
He scowled. "Could've made an appointment," he grumbled before stepping aside and welcoming him in with a sarcastic flourish of his arm.
"I'll tell her it's an emergency." He sunk into a shadow that slunk across the floor, making a beeline for Spectra's interior office. Danny hovered in the waiting room, ignoring the stares from other ghosts who were occupying the cushioned seats.
"Danny!" Spectra opened the door with a cutting grin, ushering out an amorphous ghost that resembled more slime than human. "Come on in!"
Danny whisked on by, Bertrand's shadow filtering out.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" She locked the door, situating herself in a leather armchair. In the corner, her unattended desk oversaw the whole room, neatly organized with a retro desk lamp and brass plaque boasting her name.
Danny perched on the chaise lounge across from her. "How's ghost-feeding been treating you?"
"Hmm." She pulled out a compact, examining herself in the little mirror. "Lackluster."
"Looks to me like you can still retain your form." He gestured vaguely to her figure, smartly dressed in a white button-down, red suit jacket and tight pencil skirt that hugged her hips. One leg crossed over the other, foot bouncing in red pumps.
Her lower lip jutted in a pout. "Sure I can, but haven't you noticed the condition of my skin?"
Danny shrugged. "Looks fine to me."
She huffed, pocketing her compact mirror with a dramatic snap of the lid. "What brings you here, darling? Surely it's not a status check?"
He thought about correcting her on the epithet—'darling,' she called him—but ultimately decided it didn't matter. "It's about the new girl," he said. "I might need your help."
"Ah, yes, the new resident." Feigning nonchalance, Spectra studied her manicure. "Gossip travels far."
"Yeah, well." He looked to the side, spiky bangs shrouding his gaze. "Something's… wrong."
"A damsel in distress?" she teased, gaze returning to him with a predatory gleam. "Oh dear. Is she triggering your Obsession?"
"More than anyone else ever has," he admitted. "She's… different, and… kind of frustrating." When Spectra merely waited with her hands folded primly in her lap, he went on, "She's reckless, keeps endangering herself in ways that seem totally senseless."
"You feel she's self-destructive?"
"I know she is."
'If I die, I die.'
"It's like she doesn't care if she lives or dies."
"What's got you all twisted up in knots, exactly? What's she doing?"
He ground his teeth. "Painting on a roof, for starters. It's completely unnecessary. She could easily afford the labor."
"And yet she doesn't." Spectra stroked her chin. "Overconfident perhaps?"
He crossed his arms defensively ."It's more like a death wish."
Spectra's palm shifted to her cheek. "My goodness."
"She also has nightmares. As in she wakes up screaming bloody murder," he explained—or was he pleading his case? "Not only that, but she doesn't talk to anyone. Barely even texts her parents, doesn't stay in touch with friends, rarely goes out."
She waved her hand flippantly. "That's relatively normal. Kids these days prefer social media over the up-close and personal."
"See, that's the thing, she doesn't use social media either."
At this, the so-called 'doctor' perked up. "Well, that is a bit unusual."
He nodded. "She's… different," he hedged. "Based on other behaviors, I'm also suspecting PTSD."
'They're not real, they're not real, they're not real.'
Who's not real?
"She's making me nervous," he admitted at last. "I—I barely caught her when she fell of the roof, and I—she's—"
Beautiful. Naturally, quietly, unassumingly beautiful. Nothing like Paulina Sanchez, a previous house guest who had been loud and proud in her vanity.
"Hmm?" Spectra prompted when he trailed off.
"I dreamed of her," he settled on saying.
"Ohhh." He deeply resented the glimmer in her eye. "I see."
He scowled at the tone but didn't comment. "Point is, I need to keep myself in check."
"I assume you've tried my grounding techniques."
"Obviously, or I wouldn't be here," he said, frustration slipping into his voice. "I just—I need to get her under control somehow. If only she'd stop taking risks."
Spectra leaned back in her chair, regarding him with a delighted smirk. "You want me to talk to her?"
His jaw tensed. "I have to know what's bothering her."
She peered at him with her spectacles falling to the bridge of her nose. "Are you sure about this? Wouldn't this be considered a breach of privacy?"
"It's—" he sighed, defeated and put-upon, "—necessary."
"Hmm." She raised her chin slightly. "What's in it for me?"
"Nothing. You'll do as I say," he replied, raising a challenging eyebrow. "Or shall I remind you who I am?"
Her lips pursed, a wrinkle appearing. "No. I simply wanted a reward, maybe…" Here, she fluttered her eyelashes. "A snack?"
He launched up from the chair, flying up into her face with a red-hot glare. "Let me be clear. You feed on her, you die."
Spectra inched back, lips puckering. "But I'm already dead."
"You know what I mean," Danny growled. "I did it once and I can do it again."
She didn't call the bluff, to his relief. "Deep breaths, young man," she cautioned, nudging her lens back up into place, shading the flicker of fear that Danny barely caught. "I was referring to you, darling."
"Don't call me that," he snapped, rearing back to put distance between them.
Spectra splayed her hands in surrender.
"If you manage to extract useful information from her—or actually help her—," he sighed, eyes fading back to their neutral ghost color, "—I'll let you drain me."
"Ah, there you go, incentivize it," she purred. "How will I do it though?"
His gaze drifted to the side in thought. "She's paranoid and thorough. You'll have to go undercover."
"Paranoid and thorough, you say?"
"She already looked up my name," he muttered.
Once again, Spectra's glasses slumped to her nose in shock. "Hold on, she what?"
Danny pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the ensuing headache. "I may have given her my real name."
"You showed your face?!"
"I had to." He threw his hands up in exasperation. "She fell off the roof! What was I supposed to, let her know that ghosts were watching her? She'd panic even more!"
"Okay, okay, I get it." She waved her hand in dismissal. "Don't get your latex in a bunch."
He growled in wordless threat.
"I take it I'll have to overshadow a human doctor?"
"Whoever you'd prefer. Note that you'll also have to overshadow her mother. I have a feeling that Sam will resist therapy unless she's forced."
"You'll let me wander out there unsupervised?" she simpered, eyes lighting with glee.
"No. You'll be escorted by Wulf."
Her smile deflated, wrinkles appearing at the corners. "Hmph."
"You're not draining any humans on my watch," he warned. "I'm no longer just some 'creepy little boy with creepy little powers,' Spectra. Bear that in mind."
Spectra had the decency to wince, her gaze dropping to his ring finger. "I will."
When he returned to the house, he found Sam huddled on the couch. Her feet were kicked up, her nose stuck in a book. He read the cover: another dissertation on Jack the Ripper, proposing more half-baked theories on his origins, whereabouts and psyche.
Well, he thought, grimacing at the grisly black-and-white photographs on the page, at least you're not hurting yourself again.
It reminded him of scenes he'd rather forget. Stomach churning, Danny almost retreated when her phone rang. 'Sperm Donor' lit up on her screen. That's how she referred to her dad in her contacts? She sighed before answering, toggling the speaker.
"Hey Dad," she greeted, unenthusiastically.
Mr. Manson appeared to take it in stride. "Hi Sammykins. I just got back from a business trip. We signed a new contract today. I feel I've outdone myself." And then he launched into a monologue that Sam passively listened to, whipping out her knife and flipping it in various arrays to stimulate herself.
"Cool." She'd pepper the conversation with noncommittal replies, allowing her father to monopolize the conversation without complaint. "Wow, really? …And what did he say? …Okay then."
Finally he asked about Sam—a little late to the party, in Danny's opinion.
"Yeah, I'm settling in just fine. It's a nice house. Thanks for letting me stay." A pause while a garbled reply issued. "Yeah, I saw Mom a couple days ago." Her expression flickered with annoyance like that of a dying light bulb. "She was peachy keen as usual, Dad, though maybe a bit hungover."
Then the doorbell rang, a high pitch resounding throughout the house. Sam looked up to the ceiling and mouthed, 'Thank God.'
"Hey, Dad, I gotta go. Looks like someone who's supposed to install some tech for me just arrived." She clicked off with a harried goodbye, rushing down the hallway to the foyer and checking the peephole.
"Hey." She swung it open, greeting a young man around her age, bespectacled with square-rimmed glasses that magnified a pair of turquoise eyes. He sported a white T-shirt with Axion's company logo emblazoned across the chest, a pair of forest green cargo pants and brown hiker's boots. "Sam Manson." She extended her hand, debunking Danny's theory of her being one of those resolutely touch-averse goths.
"Tucker Foley from Axion. Nice to meet you." He took her hand and shook it lightly.
Sam stepped aside, ushering him in with a lazy wave and smile. "Haven't gone to the store yet but if you want something to drink, I have milk, orange juice, and dihydrogen monoxide."
He snorted. "...You mean water?"
"Congratulations, you passed the nerd test."
Tucker chuckled. She smiled in turn while Danny scowled.
"Thanks, I'm good for now."
She shrugged. "Okay. So how long will this install take?"
"Not long. A couple hours at best." Tucker surveyed the foyer, setting down a suitcase that Danny assumed was chock-full of gadgets. "You got any ladders?"
"In the shed. Do you mind if I blast Dumpty Humpty on my speakers while I'm browsing the web?"
"Are you kidding?" A bright grin illuminated his dark-skinned, scruff-shaded face. "That's just the soundtrack I need."
Sam grinned back, far friendlier than she had been with her mother. "Excellent."
Carefully suppressing the spark of jealousy in his chest, Danny kept an eye on Tucker for the duration of the install. Anyone who treaded on his territory was automatically deemed a threat by the Obsession, especially if they were hired to 'protect' his resident. On the bright side, Tucker focused exclusively on his task, causing minimal damage to the property and respecting the privacy of the tenant, although Sam had yet to bring along anything worth snooping beyond the clothes in her drawers. Luckily though, he wasn't a pervert or harboring any ill intent. While he'd been on the roof, trying to affix a camera onto one of the turrets, Danny assisted him subtly enough to go unnoticed. Tucker dismissed the phantom touch as a breeze, believing he had righted himself on his own when he listed backwards a bit. Crisis averted, Danny tsk-ed quietly to himself. Maybe he should erect guard rails on this accursed roof?
He oversaw Tucker finishing his task in roughly an hour and a half, slightly put off by Sam's trusting nature. Hadn't she been ultra-suspicious towards him?
Well, you did kind of show up out of nowhere, acting shifty... In case Tucker heard it, he repressed a sigh. Then he followed Tucker to the living room, where he'd gone to update Sam. They found her lounging on the couch with her laptop, scrolling through Etsy for gothic decorations. Upon hearing Tucker's entrance, she lifted her head along with an eyebrow.
"All done, Mr. Foley?" She checked the clock on her laptop. "Sooner than projected."
"I'm efficient like that," the techie boasted with a puff of his chest.
I helped you, Danny grumbled inwardly. You're almost as clumsy as Sam.
"Anyway, I'll show you how to work the system. C'mon."
Sam set her laptop aside and followed him out to the foyer, where Tucker pointed out a touchscreen embedded in the wall a foot or so above a sideboard.
"You can set a pin or a password to lock or unlock it, like this…" She leaned over his shoulder while he walked her through the interface, nodding along to his instructions, a little too close for Danny's liking. "And if someone inputs the wrong password too many times, it'll alert the APPD… and here you can access the Ring camera, to check and see who's on your doorstep… Once we connect your phone, you can check all your cameras on any device…"
Danny listened carefully, noting any sensors he might trip if he were to revert to a solid form for any reason. Mostly he remained in his ghostly form nowadays, but unexpected events might necessitate a human face. (Sam proved that.)
"So you didn't grow up around here?" Tucker asked once he concluded the lecture, carefully averting his eyes while Sam input a password for the new system.
'What's the purpose of life?' had been her password hint, and the password itself had been short and sweet: 'Death.'
Danny cracked a smile at that. What would she say about someone who's half-dead?
A ping resounded to signal the approval of her new password. "Nah, I grew up in Chicago. Then I studied in Wisconsin for criminal psychology."
Tucker turned, appraising the young woman before him in a way that nettled Danny's protectiveness over her. "Nice. You like true crime and stuff, I'm guessing?"
She shrugged nonchalantly. "What goth doesn't?"
"True. I saw you like poetry too though. Uh—not that I was snooping around or anything, I just noticed a lot of books on your shelves. Also a great selection of games and horror movies."
"Uh-huh." Sam nodded, clearly wondering where this was going.
"I mean, if you're interested…" Tucker fidgeted with his red beret. "We're having a slam poetry night at one of the local lounges."
"Oh, really?"
"Not like a date or anything," he rushed out, waving his hands in front of him. "Just like, introducing you to the town, you know? I take it you're living alone?"
Danny rolled his eyes. Not like a date or anything, he says after checking her out.
C'mon, dude. You're friend-zoning yourself, he thought.
What do you care? asked the proverbial devil on his shoulder. Aren't you ghost-zoning yourself?
He repressed a growl.
She arched one delicate eyebrow at Tucker. "So I should hang out with you because I'm lonely, is that it?"
"What? I, no..." he stammered, but Sam intervened before he could make a further ass of himself.
"Relax, I'm kidding." She fished out her phone, handing it off to him to input his number. "Sure I'll go. Sounds fun."
No, the Obsession roared. Don't let her go anywhere you can't follow!
Tucker perked up. "Cool," he said, handing the phone back to her. "I'll see you on Friday then."
Danny gritted his teeth, aggression bubbling up.
"Cool," Sam echoed, looking and sounding significantly less affected by the exchange than him. "Anyone else coming?"
"Uh." Tucker scratched his cheek. "Yeah. I've got some friends I can invite."
"Okay then. See ya later."
Danny barely refrained from pushing the techie out the door.
She didn't look Tucker up like she had Danny. Unlike Danny, Tucker didn't lie or avoid pertinent questions. Then again, also unlike Danny, he wasn't mind-numbingly attractive.
She lounged on her couch, trying to contemplate the poems in her book, but her mind ran astray to Danny. Danny Danny Danny. He touched her hand; pinned her in place with sky blue eyes.
If Sam were being honest… She wanted him. Maybe just a quick one night stand? Not like she hadn't done it before. One little taste and then see ya, wouldn't wanna be ya!
She snorted quietly to herself; apparently men did not appreciate being objectified, however. Although, it's not like any of the boys could've offered her anything more substantial than on-and-off flings. Elliot, for instance, turned out to be nothing short of annoying. Unless you were the one chasing him, he truly did not care about you. Once you stopped, however, he panicked at the abrupt loss of control and tried to reel you back in. Eventually Sam got bored with it.
Following a short succession of similarly nasty break-ups, Sam quickly realized that she was not relationship material. Partially because she was so similar to Elliot in the sense that she never truly loved a single one of her partners, simply relished the conquest and lost interest when the trophy had been won. But also because no one would want to keep her around for much longer anyway, particularly if she unmasked. At which points, her manic pixie dust would quickly wear off, shattering the illusions she built—and thus scaring off the once-smitten, reality-bitten suitors.
With her pattern recognition, Sam required little repetition for learning, and so the lesson sank in: Long-term relationships were neigh impossible for her. Hence why she only resorted to casual flings from then on, never sticking a label on the affair, never tying any metaphorical knots, ghosting at the slightest sign of her partners broaching the subject. 'So, what are we?' they'd ask, and Sam would be out the door faster than you could say, 'A stud on my belt.'
Sam blinked and shook her head, trying to refocus on her page, but her ADHD seemed to have kicked into high gear. She only managed to read a few verses before her thoughts veered back to the blue-eyed boy.
Maybe just one night with him? she wondered. One little opportunity to ruffle that hair and bite that pouty lip? A chance for him look at her like an angel that had fallen off her roof again, only better? To feel that all-encompassing warmth again, cradled in his arms?
Could she risk that with a neighbor, however? He apparently lived awfully close. What if things went haywire? Sam had experienced clingy exes before and would not like to repeat it.
But still. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her, the way he spoke to her—gentle yet firm. Sweet but domineering. Safe but protective.
"Stop it, brain," she mumbled aloud. As if the universe realized she needed a far better distraction than depressing Robert Frost poems, her ringtone went off, Dumpty Humpty lyrics blaring. She whipped her phone out of her pocket, her stomach plummeting at the caller ID. 'Mommie Dearest,' she dubbed Pamela in her contacts, inspired by the movie with Faye Dunaway. Why was she calling? They agreed once a week would be fine and she had already been pushing it with her impromptu visit. Begrudgingly clicking to accept the call, she held it to her ear.
"Hi Mom."
"Samantha!" she crowed cheerfully into the line. "How are you?"
She frowned. Hadn't she heavily coached her mother on avoiding small talk and/or usage of her full name? Guess she got comfortable from holding this property over Sam's head.
"I am Sam. Sam I am," she replied. "What's up?"
Pamela tittered. "Oh, well, I just wanted to check on you! You know how worried I get, and well, your father brought up an interesting point."
She blinked in silent shock. Pamela listening to Jeremy's suggestions? Since when?
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Well, given your history… We're both concerned that you may not be faring well on your own, even if you put on a brave face, you see, so—"
"Are you drinking, Mom?" Sam interrupted.
"What? No, of course not. Why?"
She pulled a lopsided, skeptical frown. "You sound different."
"Hmmm? How do you mean?"
Sam detected feigned shock in that reply, tempting her to counter and interrogate, but she preferred to end this call quickly.
"Just… I don't know. Different."
She couldn't very well elaborate: since when do you express concern for my emotional well-being? Or accept input from Dad?
"Oh, well, I am a tad hungover," she said, and Sam's frown deepened.
Why are you lying...? Are you just doing it for kicks again?
"But anyway, that's not the point," she prattled on. "I've reached out to one of the local therapists. Someone who will come to your house personally."
"Pardon?" Sam asked, reducing to dangerously low octaves.
"Please don't freak out, sweetie. You haven't lived on your own before."
"I'm a legal adult." It took everything she had in her to keep her voice appropriately steady. "You can't forcefully subject me to therapy."
"Then I guess you'll have to move out of the house. We're no longer okay with you staying there without someone to check in on you."
"Why the sudden change of mind? You're backtracking on our deal, Mom."
Not that I'm remotely surprised, she added silently.
"How am I supposed to trust your word, huh? Maybe I need a solid contract if you plan to keep altering your conditions."
"I don't plan that, honey!" she protested, and Sam rolled her eyes wordlessly but loudly. "It's just—I heard from Mr. Lancer that you called and asked about squatters?"
"I'm not paranoid." She almost whipped out her knife but realized that her pent-up aggression might lead to another accident. She couldn't trust her coordination when emotions ran high. Then again, did she really care? That last cut hadn't been deep enough to sting for more than a second—a deeper wound might calm her down. "I was just being prudent," she said, flicking the thoughts away like a bug crawling on her leg.
"It's perfectly understandable to be paranoid when you're alone in such a big house, dear."
"What's with all the pet names all of a sudden?" Sam barked. "You feel more comfortable calling me 'honey' and 'dear' when I'm blackmailed with a house? You sure that's how you wanna proceed? That's how you wanna work on our relationship?"
"I—" Pamela stumbled. "I didn't mean any harm by it, Sam."
"Of course you didn't," Sam snarled. "You sweet, innocent angel of a mother."
Silence on the line, heavy and oppressive. She waited with bated breath, gambling on what version of her mother she'd be getting.
"This only reinforces my resolve that you should have a therapist visiting you," her mother said at last, without sounding the least bit apologetic. "Unless you want me checking up on you instead?"
"No," Sam replied with an offensive amount of haste. She swallowed, shutting her eyes to re-center herself. "One day you won't be able to blackmail me anymore, Mom. Then what?"
"When that day comes, I hope it will no longer be necessary," came her mother's grave reply, "and that you'll understand the love behind my actions."
Sam snorted, loud enough for it to fizzle over the line. "If you say so. When's my shrink coming?"
"Tomorrow at one."
"'Kay. Bye." She hung up abruptly, curses flying from her mouth. "Fucking bitch," she ranted to no one in particular. "Going back on your word, because of course you would. You lying bitch, you control freak!"
Then she sat up, grabbing fistfuls of her hair and staring wildly in the open space. "If only I could ghost you like an annoying ex!"
Still cursing, she went upstairs to change, intending to channel her rage into cardio. Or else she'd disappoint her new therapist with a far less healthier outlet.