School me p2 (page 16)

Lizzy
“Lizzy, can you please put off that damn game and help me.” That high pitch voice gyrates on my nerves. I huff with annoyance and slam the control on the black coffee table. My gown covered body storms past the dinning area and down the endless passageway straight up the steps and into my mothers bedroom. She’s standing in front of a floor length mirror wearing a navy pinstripe skirt and off white cashmere sweater. Her brown hair is styled into one of those step-ford wives up-do’s that instantly has me chuckling. The room is in a rut, clothes strewn all over the carpeted floor. Black and white sheets wrinkled from her recent sleep, which is a nightly thing.

We are so opposite it makes me wonder. She turns to face me, a slight tick of irritation emanates from her. Her fingers trying aimlessly to put the bracelet around her wrist. I roll my eyes and I am aware she notices it because her red painted lips tighten. But there isn’t anything she can do. She isn’t my legal guardian, I have non, I’m almost nineteen.

After a tense silent minute which is how long it takes to tie the clasp of the peach pearl bracelet for her I turn back to leave her room.

“Did you see the news? Gina Lorne is dead.” Her voice is so casual. I could deny her, and said I was too busy. But this woman has been asking for it a while now. I am from New York fuck off City.

I spin around at the cold undertone of that statement, my eyes glaring daggers at this woman, who is supposed to be my mother, but in its place has always just been a power hungry gold digging tramp. But even whores have standards.

“When I was thirteen I didn’t believe it when I saw a picture in the tabloids of you holding on to some guys arm. My father saw it too, and I knew that day that you didn’t love me, your own flesh and blood, so how the hell could you have loved him right? So let’s cut the crap and tell me what we really doing in Liston Hills, because we sure as hell not looking for my father’s murderer. And the dead woman on that tv confirms it. It’s no coincidence that your sister turns up dead two weeks after we move here. What the hell is going on Diana Lorne?” I make sure to add emphasis on her surname, and watch with glee satisfaction as she melts and starts to pale.

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