Rachel dawdled back to her room, pausing to look at the grim pictures of Cedardale staff that lined the walls. As she was examining the picture of a pretty blonde, surprisingly labled Agnes Brock, she was tapped on the shoulder.

“Rachel.”

She spun around, expecting Liz’s languidness or maybe even a smile from Andy. “Oh! Erica!”

“Rachel,” Erica repeated. Her petulance was gone, replaced by a weird conceit.

“Hey,” Rachel greeted, confused as to why Evil Erica would be even semi-friendly to her. “What’s up?”

Erica smiled, and shook her short sandy hait away from her face. Her thick, manly fingers curled around Rachel’s bony wrist. “We need to talk, Rach,”

“Of course,” Rachel purred smoothly. “Why don’t I get dressed and I’ll meet you in the common room in fifteen minutes?”

Erica blinked. She was expecting a puzzled garble, but she soon recognized Rachel’s quick-thinking and merely nodded and let go of her wrist.

“Okay, great! See you then!” Rachel bounded off to her room, bewildered but never showing it.

Erica watched the terrycloth-clad newbie leave, completely confused as to why she was at Cedardale. Sure, she was smart and snappy enough to break Ashley down and earn Triple Therapy, but she was polite and cheerful, not your typical rehab resident.

“Hey Roxy,” Liz purred, poking her head into the room the Ana Mia shared with Helene, a suicidal slut.

Roxy looked to the door. “Hello Elizabeth.”

“You can call me Liz. Mind if I come in?”

“Of course,” Roxy said. “I mean, of course not. Uh – wait… um, just come in,” she finished lamely, her face red with embarrassed confusion.

Liz beamed, moderately fakely, and scooted into the cell-like space. “So,” she began, chirpy as a kindergarten teacher. “How long have you been here?”

Roxy stared at her visitor, and put down the book she’d been reading. Liz glanced at the cover, and was surprised to find Cedardale’s Thinnest reading Wuthering Heights. “Elizabeth –“

“It’s Liz!”

Roxy sighed, and shook her head, dull red-brown hair stuck straight down to her shoulders. “Elizabeth.”

“Liz.” Liz put in, edgily this time. Ahh, Miss Kindergarten Class has morphed into Miss Malice.

“Elizabeth,” Roxy started again, her eyes dull yet demonic enough to keep Lippy Liz quiet for the moment. “What do you want?”

Liz arched her eyebrows, and her full lips curved a subtle sneer. “Oh Roxanne –“ here a heavy pause was inserted, with Liz waiting for the skeletal stick to correct her with an indignant “Roxy!” and she could gleefully whip back a sermon on hypocrocy. However, the girl remained silent and still, patiently – painfully – waiting for Liz’s response.

“Roxanne, darling. Must you think so ill of me?” Liz slipped into a sarcastic pretense at Austen-speak. “I’ve just come to chat,” Liz’s intense enunciation and random British expressions were most startling.

“Elizabeth, darling,” Roxy replied, her eyes bright for once. “You still want something. You want entertainment, amusement, companionship, perhaps even friendship. You always want something. We all do.”

Liz sucked in sharply, as Roxy’s sudden bout of perceptiveness-slash-cynicsm was refreshing, though a tad too surprising. “How insightful, dear.”

Roxy nodded. “So. What have you come for?”

Liz shook back golden mane, and she smiled, slow and sweet. “For now let us say I’ve come for distraction from this amazingly dull life. For now.”

“Of course.” Roxy said. “For now.”