❝ Why did you kill all of those people? ❞
Roman Godfrey had many reasons to loathe his lying whore of a mother (even now that she was dead), but making the decision to own the property of a goddamned ghost house while she was alive was making its way to the top of his list. It was only made worse by the fact that he had to have his throat ripped out on the front lawn and was stuck here for a fucking eternity. Any remnants of the dynasty his family once was had all but disappeared by now, everyone dead or estranged, not wanting to associate with such a corrupt name. He was all that remained, stuck to live out some sort of cursed existence with the rest of his melancholic housemates.
In all honesty Roman found Tate pathetic, but they were also rather alike in that sense, so maybe that’s why he found himself hanging around the psycho so much. The new soon-to-be-sorry owners of the house were unfortunate enough to produce a classically unruly teen who frequented the bong in the back of his closet , and he was such a fucking idiot that nabbing a bag of his stash and making joints- his preference- was easy.
The science behind how a ghost could smoke pot weren’t specifics he wanted to dwell on, he just didn’t want to smoke it by himself like a fucking asshat, so lighting one up with Tate in the family’s kitchen while they were at work or school made perfect sense in his head. Until the questions started, anyways. “Could ask you the same thing,” he shot back, trying to blow a circle of smoke from his mouth and failing.
The truth was, Roman more than deserved to die, but he definitely hadn’t expected to still be around after the fact. Instead of continuing to be evasive, he shrugged. “I’m a monster and I have no self-control. What’s your excuse?”
SEVEN PSYCHOPATHS SENTENCE STARTERS. // @devilsbckbone