She leans even closer, pressing me back into the sink.
“Did you hear me bitch?You’ll be sorry.”
“Oh, Helena. I am sorry,” I tell her, my voice deadly soft. “I’m sorry you got your heart broken. I’m sorry you screwed yourself over. I’m sorry you’re having a rough time. Truly, I am. But hear me when I tell you: if you threaten me again, my sympathies are going to expire faster than the low-carb leftovers in your refrigerator.”
She doesn’t seem to hear me. Not a single word. Standing there swaying uneasily on her heels, she looks almost… manic. It’s frightening to witness. I study her for a moment, taking in the smeared lipstick, the vacant look in her eyes, and realize she has come completely unhinged — a door slammed too many times, no longer able to perform its most basic function. Equal amounts of disquiet and indecision churn through me.
Whoever this girl is, standing in front of me, it is not the Helena Putnam she used to be. It is someone unstable; someone in need of far more help than I know how to give her.
“You’ll be sorry,” she whispers again, like a crazed mantra, the smile on her face promising vengeance even as tears start leaking from her empty eyes. There’s a hysterical edge to her words that sets my teeth on edge.
“You’ll be sorry. You’ll be sorry. You’ll be sorry.”
I look at Harper in alarm, wondering what to do.
She shrugs, at a loss.
Helena doesn’t even seem to see me anymore. She’s retreated inside her head, somewhere unreachable. I sidestep around her and walk to my best friend, ambivalence clawing at my insides.
“What do we do with her?”
“Who, Sylvia Plath over there?” Harper snorts, totally unsympathetic. “Um, how about…nothing.”
“She’s having some kind of breakdown.” I look back at Helena, who hasn’t moved so much as an inch. “We can’t just leave her here.”
“Why not?”
“We’re better than that.”
“Are we, though?” Her nose wrinkles. “This girl has only ever called you names, spread rumors about you in the press, threatened you, and tried to make your life a nightmare. I say… to hell with her, let’s go dancing. If she falls into a toilet and drowns while throwing up all the painkillers she washed down with her vodka soda, well, I for one will not miss her. Karma’s a bitch and so am I.”
“Harper!”
“What? It’s true.”
“It’sawful.”
“Since when are you such a bleeding heart?”
“Since I decided I’m going to try to be a better person.”
Harper blinks at me, as though she can’t wrap her mind around such a concept.
I sigh. “If we call a bouncer, they’ll toss her out on the curb…”
“Sounds like a perfect solution.”
I scowl. “Sounds like throwing her to the wolves. You saw all the paparazzi outside. It would almost be better to let her drown in a toilet.”
“Doesn’t she have a security detail? A driver? A babysitter? A sponsor, who’s supposed to be preventing her from destroying her liver?”
“I don’t know.”
I’m trying desperately to think of a plan when the door starts to swing inward as a gaggle of girls enter the bathroom. Harper shoves it closed before they can get so much as a stiletto inside the frame. They squawk in protest as the panel slams in their faces.
“Out of order!” Harper yells, using her body weight to keep it shut.
I cross to help her hold them off. After a minute of indignant squeals, they give up and stalk away to find a different restroom.