The Inmate

by Freida McFadden

Tracy Gifford is the girl who was found dead over the summer. Obviously, none of us have been on a date with her. But then Tim raises his cup. And he takes a drink.

WHAT THE FUCK

As I climb the stairs, I get that sensation again like somebody’s watching me. That creeping in the back of my neck.

He almost seemed… Afraid. But that’s silly. There was nothing to be afraid of. Shane was behind bars at that point, for the rest of his life. There was no way he could get to me. I was safe from that man. And I still am.

Despite the thunder outside and my racing thoughts, I fall asleep in Shane’s arms. And I don’t wake up again until I hear the screams.

I’m glad I only wore lipstick tonight, which largely rubbed off when Shane and I were kissing.

I love how this is what shes worried abt.

It’s sandalwood.

NAHHHHHHHHH

It’s a baseball bat.

“Don’t worry, Brooke,” he says. “Your secrets are safe with me. But you better be a little nicer to me. For starters, from now on, you can bring coffee to me every morning.”

Who does this bitch think he is

Does Tim have a mannequin wrapped in a tarp in his basement?

Is she actually fucking stupid