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Hate is a close friend of Ginger Ann Fitzgerald. She spends a lot of time with it each day, just rolling it around in her head and exploring it. It is on her mind almost as often as death is.
She knows hate that is very simple: One could merely despise all of humankind or be repulsed by the suburban middleclass lifestyle in general. But she also knows that this is lame and unoriginal. Hate for beginners. If done right, hating something or someone can be such a satisfying thing. Almost as good as she imagines sex to be.
Good, strong hatred, the kind that lasts, always starts small. The prick of a needle. It has to be nurtured then, raised from the tiny seed of disgust, until it is all bile and loathing, until you sneer at the object of your disaffection and your hands clench into fists at the mere thought of it.
And since Ginger is not a dumb girl she has learned very early in her life that it is so much easier to hate the things you secretly crave. Like that prom dress that would make everyone else except you look pretty. Or that boy who spits on your shoe when you bring up the courage to ask for the time.
Enter Brigitte, picking Trina Sinclair for Search and Destroy.
Trina is the dumbest bitch, but such a pretty one, and so Ginger has done her before, just because. But B's attention has never strayed that way, not that Ginger knows of. And she is spewing out the words as if she's spend weeks thinking about the cheerleading cow, cooking up that very special hatred that has nothing to do with the inevitable revulsion outsiders feel towards the popular.
Ginger watches Trina out of the corner of her eye, brows drawn together because Trina's minion has been listening in and now she only has eyes for her sister, not in the good way, but still. Ginger feels something rise in her chest, a bit like heartburn. Could be hate, could be want. Could be the beginning of something strong. She grips the hockey stick tighter and carefully stays between the hunter and the prey. But her concentration wavers, and when she looks back, the blood of a dead dog is all over Brigitte's face.
For a split second Ginger can't help but admire the artfulness of the situation. The thought makes her stomach cramp, and it helps her put on her menacing face as she walks up to Trina. Nobody is allowed to hurt B, and fucking nobody is allowed to enjoy it. Except me, a little voice whispers.
"Don't ever touch my sister again," she says, and she means it in every possible way. But Trina, the smiling, curly-haired bitch, just stares her down.
* * * * *
"Want me to kill her?" Ginger asks later. The words burn in her throat, acrid with jealousy. She's not noble. She's making the offer for her own good, her own hate as much as B's, and she knows it all too well. But maybe Brigitte won't notice.
Carefully Ginger watches her sister's bloodstained face and tries to read what is going on inside her head. It should be easy. They do it all the time. They just know. But this time Brigitte has shut down and shut her out. All Ginger can see now are narrowed eyes beneath a heap of dark hair, and twisted lips, pressed tightly shut in what could be anger, or shame, or something else entirely.
Ginger makes a fist and feels her nails cut into her palm. What will it take to burn Trina out of her mind?
"Anything you want," she offers eagerly while a voice inside her head screams Liar!
* * * * *
"Ginger, wait outside!"
The words echo in her mind as she strides along the dark streets. She has no particular destination except something, anything, to take her edge off. Her lower lip is thrust forward in what others would call a pout. But Ginger doesn't pout. Ginger rages. Her hands clench into fists every now and then. She yearns to punch the living daylights out of someone. She isn't sure what she feels, just that it burns a hole into her chest, right about where her heart is, and right now she doesn't care if she gets sex or flesh or both.
She turns a corner and stumbles when she runs into someone. The other girls yelps and jumps back, then curses, and that makes Ginger recognize Trina Sinclair.
Trina is not as carefully styled as she usually is. Her hair is a mountain of loose curls around her shoulders, and there is a sticking plaster on her forehead. Her pretty little nose is immaculate, which comes as a surprise considering how hard Ginger pounded down on it. Heat rushes through her as she remembers.
"Get out of my way, Fitzbitch," Trina snarls. Her dog agrees and bares his teeth in a growl but quiets down when Ginger stares at him.
"And what are you doing out that late at night, my little Blonde Riding Hood?" she asks mockingly, and instead of backing away, she grins at Trina. "Gone out to stalk the boy who doesn't want you?"
Trina jerks and her body stiffens. "Stop talking about things you know nothing about, slut!" she hisses, then grabs her dog's leash tighter and pushes Ginger aside.
Ginger's mouth curves into a sly smile as she follows Trina. She's never had a way with words before but tonight they flow easily. Hurt is in her nature now.
"But I know a lot, Trina. I know that Sam tries very hard not to see you when you bounce around him like a lovesick puppy. And I know that you can lust after him for the rest of your fucking life and he will never touch you." She pauses, mostly for effect but also to relish the reaction her next words will get. "And what I definitely know is that right now my baby sister is with him and probably about to give him a blowjob."
At this, Trina whirls around. Her hair flies wild, and a strand gets caught between her full lips. "You're lying," she says. Her eyes are very big and dark all of a sudden, and it makes Ginger's heart skip a beat. Heat explodes between her legs, and she licks her lips.
"No, I'm not," Ginger replies, voice lowered to a soft, friendly tone, almost a purr. "She threw me out, can you believe that? My own sister kicks me out so she can fuck a boy?"
Trina turns on the spot and storms away, pulling her resistant dog with her. "I won't listen to you," she presses out between gritted teeth.
But Ginger knows that she already did. She follows the fleeing girl persistently, a malicious shadow, hungry for the pain of others.
"What's the matter, Trina? Why won't he give you the light of day? Why does he fuck my virgin sister instead?" Her words are needles, sharp and precise, and she fakes surprise at hearing them out loud. "Ooh. So that's it, right? You're not a virgin anymore, Trina? Did he pop your cherry already? Or... oh, wait... someone else got there first? Someone stole all the fun for him?"
Trina doesn't answer. She is almost running by now, not looking back, not reacting. But Ginger knows she heard every single word because she can smell Trina's tears.
* * * * *
She follows Trina's scent to her home, frustrated to see that the girl is already inside. The insults were fun, but she needs more, needs something really satisfying. Her heart is beating fast, and the heat between her legs is almost painful now.
She walks around the house, sniffing, watching shadows move behind lit windows. Nice little family home. Hasn't seen a tragedy in years.
Movement, seen out of the corner of her eye. A low growl. When she turns her head, she sees the black dog in the back yard, and he's staring at her, teeth bare and white in the darkness.
Ginger knows that he's only showing off. She knows that he's afraid of her, she can smell that, too. She crouches in the shadows and stares back at the dog, and soon he starts whining and puts his tail between his legs.
"That's right," she whispers. Her long canines feel a little weird when she smiles. "Make it more interesting. Run for me, baby."
* * * * *
Trina's body is still warm, but she doesn't feel alive when they put her into the freezer. Her eyes are wide open, and Ginger can't help but think that this is the prettiest she has ever seen her. She looks just like a big doll, only bloody on one side.
The smell of blood is intoxicating. The whole house reeks with it, and the scent makes Ginger light-headed and dizzy. For a second, she closes her eyes, sees again how Trina's blood mixes with the spilled milk on the kitchen floor, and God, could there be anything more beautiful? Her heart is racing; she can feel it pounding in her ears. She is so damn hot.
When she opens her eyes again, Trina is staring at her from her icy fortress, surrounded by frozen meat and vegetables. Something in her glassy eyes urges Ginger to lean over the freezer. Her tongue wets her lips. She lowers her face to Trina's crotch and inhales deeply.
Behind her, Brigitte gasps and Ginger jerks around. Her sister is staring at her wide-eyed, and Ginger isn't sure what to say, so she keeps quiet, just bites her lip with sharp, sharp teeth.
"Come on", Brigitte finally says and turns, grabbing Ginger's sleeve and dragging her back to the kitchen before their parents get inside.
* * * * *
She's lying on the kitchen floor and can't think anymore because the blood is now all around her, and it smells so damn good. The soft sweetness of the milk is there, too. She can almost taste the honey copper mix on her tongue just from smelling it.
She hears footsteps, and while B snaps a picture of her lying there, she turns her face slightly until she can rub her cheek in the moistness. Her breath quickens, and the fever between her legs grows worse. It makes her giddy, as if she'd been drinking, and it feels so fucking good. She raises a hand to push her fingers into Trina's blood, smearing it around, feeling it wet and sticky on her skin like cream.
She licks her lips again. She is high, high on death and adrenaline, and the anger that brought her to this point is somewhere underneath to spice it up. She hates Trina for being the prettiest even in fucking death, but still, the smell of her and her blood wets Ginger's panties, and she tries very hard to keep from satisfying her urges right here on the kitchen floor. Later, yes, but now was not the time for it.
When Pamela shakes her head and turns to put away the groceries, Ginger can't put it off any longer. She licks her hand, licks the milky blood off her fingers. And all the excitement that has been building up inside her is gone all of a sudden. It dies away as if someone had turned off a lamp.
"Oh."
And just like that, all emotions she has ever brought up for Trina are gone. There's only a hint of pity left.
She looks up to meet Brigitte's horrified gaze, and her smile widens even as her sister turns and runs. For the first time in weeks, Ginger feels content.
"You wouldn't have liked her anyway, B," she murmurs while she licks her fingers clean. "She tastes boring."