Chapter 7
I’m startled awake by the sound of keys jingling in the apartment door. As it slowly opens I sit up, the dried tears on my cheeks leaving my skin feeling stiff. Georgia walks in, but pauses. She looks at me and then around the apartment.
“Mercy still at work?”
I nod.
“Cool.” She shuts the door behind her and turns the deadbolt before shrugging off her gray coat. “What are you doing up?” she asks, tossing her jacket over a chair. She drops down across from me and bunches her short dark hair into a ponytail on top of her head with an elastic band she’s been wearing around her wrist.
“I had a rough night,” I say.
“Boyfriends suck.” She sighs. “Especially the cute ones.”
We’ve never talked about Harlin, really, but she did mention once that he wassexy as hell. It made Alex and me giggle at the time. Weird that I never asked if she had a boyfriend. “Are you seeing someone?”
She tsks. “I got a guy waiting on me back home. I don’t have time for the fools around here.” She pauses. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“So what did your man do? He find another girl?”
I shake my head. “I was actually hit by a car tonight.”
Her dark eyes widen. “You okay?”
“Few stitches, but I’m fine.”
She seems to think this over, then nods and rests her head back into the chair and closes her eyes. “You’re crazy, girl.”
After six months I feel like this is the most heartfelt conversation Georgia and I have ever had. We don’t fight; barely even talk, really. It’s just that I’m always wrapped up in Harlin or the Need, and she’s... doing what she does.
When Georgia first came here, Alex was totally jealous. He’s been with Mercy since he was a baby, and he takes every opportunity to still act like one. So when Mercy gave Georgia driving lessons before him, Alex went berserk. And Georgia, being sort of a badass, told him off. Now they make a sport of it.
All I know is that Georgia’s mom will be out of prison soon, and when she is, Georgia will move back with her. Maybe that’s why I haven’t tried to get to know her.
I feel suddenly guilty, especially after what Monroe told me. I’m supposed to be some sort of angel, and yet I’ve ignored my foster sister for months.
I stare at Georgia, wondering what it’s like to have a mother you could remember, and then lose her. Wondering if she thinks about her mom all day as she waits for her. Georgia’s dark skin is dotted with old acne marks and her multi-ringed fingers start to brush back her hair. When she turns her head, I see it. Her scar.
It’s pink and jagged and it runs from behind her ear all the way down to her jaw. I’d noticed it the first day she showed up here, but no one’s ever asked her about it. I think we all just assumed it had to do with why she was in foster care to begin with. I’m struck by the fact that I don’t know. That I live with her and know nothing about her.
“What happened to your neck?” I ask.
She looks up and stares back at me viciously. “None of your damn business, Charlotte. Did I ask why you were out late getting hit by cars when you’re supposed to be at home?”
I’m stunned, feeling embarrassed. “No. You didn’t. I’m sorry.”
We’re quiet for a minute and I’m about to go to bed when Georgia starts talking, her eyes closed and her head turned away.
“When I was fifteen,” she says, “my mother was into drugs—using and selling. And one time she let the wrong people in.” She sucks at her teeth as if the memory is painful. “Mom got hit a couple of times, but I got the worst of it. Five stab wounds and a broken collarbone. Spent three weeks in the hospital.” Georgia looks over at me. “After that my mom got arrested for possession and I’ve been bounced from house to house. But I’m almost eighteen and my mom’s getting out in a few weeks and we’re starting over. She’s clean now.”
I’m amazed that she told me this, but I’m without words. Georgia had been attacked. Brutalized. Why hadn’t the Need sent me to her? Why didn’t I save her instead of some junkie in an alley or a thug running from the cops? It doesn’t seem fair. Nothing seems fair anymore.
“I’m sorry,” I say finally.
She waves me off. “Now never ask me again.”
I press back into the couch, watching her as she rests, looking too tired to make it to her room. And I wish that I could somehow save her.
