Everything Sam had said or done for about the past six months was being gone over and questioned in Faith's mind. Every bad mood, every giddy high. At the time, Faith hadn't questioned the break up with Heather. As much as she felt bad for her, she'd seen for herself how unhappy Sam had been. But had that even been a genuine unhappiness or triggered by something else?
It was frustrating and driving her mind round and round in circles. No one else could give her the answers and the truth was, it was possible even Sam would never be able to. Truth and illusion had a habit of becoming blurred when mind-altering substances were involved, something Faith knew well.
"Think it's safe to say I'm never trusting anything that comes out of her mouth again," she scowled. "Have we even figured out why she's still breathing? Because I really want that bitch dead."
She snagged the bottle of vodka back, downing some more.
"I wonder how she did it," she mused quietly. "How did she turn him from being someone who so hated that demon part of himself that he was willing to jump into the Pits to fix it, into a guy who was guzzling down blood like it's cocaine? What did she say to him to make him do it."