Blackwater Islands Another drink down the drain

Bridget didn't understand how she could look surprised. Did she not see how fucked up it was, what they'd done? It doesn't matter, does it?! You didn't ask, or tell me. Maybe you can pull that shit if it's an emergency, but I don't look dead to me. Bridget growled, punctuating the warning. She'd have liked to have stood on equal ground, maybe gotten in her face a little, but her head ached to the point of nausea.

So, why'd you do it? She couldn't remember. All she had glimpses of was some kind of a terrible dream, one where she'd seen a scene repeat. The faces had faded... maybe it had been her mother, maybe once her father, but she definitely remembered the feeling of despair. It still lingered. What happened last night? Her mouth was dry, but she could still taste the copper tinge of blood.