Page 45 of Dirty Liars
“I’ve faced angry parents before. They don’t scare me,” Astor says quietly, his eyes still on me.
Wills grabs his arm and holds it firmly as he makes Astor look at him. “Everything isn’t about you, golden boy. It might be worse for her if her mom finds us here; not worse for us.”
Realization etches its way across Astor’s face and he nods, and sighs quietly. Blair leans down and kisses my forehead lightly.
“I’ll see you soon, Bunny. Hurry back.”
He gives my cheek a stroke with his fingers and then turns and heads for the door.
Astor gazes at me silently for a long moment, looking tortured again, and then he walks to the door as well. Wills gives my hand a squeeze and touches my cheek.
“You take care. We’ll be waiting for you at school.”
He leaves then too, and now it’s just me in the room, looking at the white walls and feeling as if I could not have possibly failed any worse at my life than I have this night.
Mrs. White is going to walk through that door wondering what in the hell is going on, and the whole world is going to crash down. I’m looking at prison, probably. Sadness, disappointment, and no end of regret rack me with sobs as I lay there helplessly in the hospital bed, strung up to an IV.
A long while later, the door opens and I look over at it. This is it. The moment I’ve been dreading.
But it isn’t Mrs. White standing in the doorway.
I must still be drunk. Or I’m seeing things.
Never before in my life have I been relieved to lay eyes on Ms. Martin, my foster mother from hell. Excuse me. Ex-foster mother from hell.
She smirks at me and closes the door. Any pretense of concern is dropped as she saunters over to me with a humorous expression on her face, caked in week-old makeup.
“What … what are you doing here?” I ask in amazement. Thank god the boys left earlier.
Ms. Martin raises one crooked eyebrow at me. “Me? Well, turns out you put me down as your emergency contact on your school paperwork. Dear old mom.” She chuckles and sits on the side of the bed, squishing my leg. “You can imagine my surprise when they called me about all … this.”
She looks bemused. Her hair is a tangle of unkempt half-curls, pinned haphazardly to her head, and she looks as if she’s dressed in something she’s been sleeping in for several days. I might be biased, however … since I know for afactthat she’s slept in those for days. That’s what she always does.
“Not a surprise really. Your type always end up in the crack house eventually.”
“I’ve literally seen you do crack,” I say, then quickly add, “But I wasn’t doing drugs. I just got drunk.”
“Not what the doctor told me,” she says. She leans close and works to focus on my eyes. “Just because you get it from a pharmacy doesn’t mean it isn’t a drug, Theodora.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard my real name in months, and it’s weird.
“Well so now what? Are you taking me back to the foster home?” I ask with unhidden sourness in my voice.
Ms. Martin raises both of her penciled-on brows and smiles just a little. “You know, I was thinking about this on the way here. I mean, at first I just thought I’d turn you in to the authorities, but where’s the fun in that?” She reaches over my lap and peels the aluminum lid off a pudding cup and pauses to give it a long lick. “I mean, what am I really going to get out of that? Nothing. It doesn’t serve me at all.”
Uncertainty begins to pulse through me, and those old familiar warning lights and sirens go off in the back of my mind. I know this conversation is headed nowhere good. Her eyes are glittering in an evil way, and I’m sick to think what’s going on in her mind behind them.
I decide to attack first.
“So, I decided to go to school. It’s not like I did anything wrong.”
Ms. Martin laughs at me coldly. “If you weren’t doing anything wrong, then what are you doing in here?”
I look away from her and cross my arms over my chest. “So, then. What are you going to do?” I ask quietly, knowing that I should tread carefully on her this unstable ground. There’s no telling what she’ll do.
“Me?” she asks innocently. “Well, I’m going to help you. After all, you really do need my help, don’t you.” It’s not a question, and she’s not wrong about it.
I turn and match her coldness. “What do you mean you’re going to help me?”
