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“Oh, come on, Doc,” Freddie cajoles, leaning back in her kitchen chair. “Give a girl some details.” Her hair is a riot, curls untamed from a night spent on foreign sheets.
“You saw the photo,” Alana says, not looking up from her morning paper. Margot rustles about in the bedroom above them. She doesn’t have the stomach for Freddie, but allows Alana her unexplainable attachments. “He won’t survive it.”
“I’ve always preferred men when they’re silent,” Freddie muses. “And Dr. Chilton was especially in need of…silencing.” She sips her coffee, gazing out the window. When her eyes dart to Alana, a mean smirk comes to her lips, sending a spark of heat through Alana. “I heard his skin started slipping.”
Alana sighs and stands, using the table for balance. “His ear fell off. Kind of just…pulled away.”
“Ooh,” Freddie hums, appreciating the sight of Alana in her silk bathrobe. “Like saltwater taffy.”
“Bubblegum flavored,” Alana says without thinking, and presses her lips together to avoid laughing.
“Alana Bloom,” Freddie sing-songs. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your sense of humor.”
They wouldn’t believe you anyways, Alana thinks, and goes upstairs to dress.
Freddie can see herself out.