It's OK, it's OK, it's OK, keep it together.
I'm a winner, everything's cool, this is my game I'm Andrea Raymer, I'm 77, I'm the female Adam Dodd, I'm a winner, I'm Andrea fucking Dodd is who I am.
Everything's cool, everything is cool
Keep it together.
Jesus fucking Christ, her eyes are fucking staring at me.
Andrea had seen dead bodies before SOTF, of course. Real life wasn't like Six Feet Under and she hadn't grown up with her dad embalming bodies in their basement; but she'd always embraced the morbid cool factor of her father running a funeral home and figured she was desensitized enough. Hell, she'd crack wise at some of the kids' reactions on earlier SOTF versions.
But had she ever seen a dead body with its eyes open like that? Fucking staring at her like Lucy Ashmore was? Andrea couldn't remember. By the time a body got to a funeral home, its eyes were long since closed, the eyeballs themselves sinking back and settling in their sockets. Her father would only open them long enough to put a plastic eyecap under the lids, which helped to give them a more, well... lifelike shape and appearance. That done, he'd glue the lids shut, and that's how they'd stay. It was all very professional, very clean.
Lucy Ashmore's eyes weren't clean. They were just THERE, staring out of a bloody face into nothingness. Desensitized or not, it was really, really unnerving, and that combined with all the news about Liz Polanski and Danya blowing collars had driven Andrea to the ground, where she repeated the mantra a couple more times.
Everything's cool, everything is cool.
Keep it together.
"It's like I said, huh?" she said, for lack of anything else to say. "People fuck around, they blow up someone else's collar! That's why you, uh, you gotta be entertaining to them..."
Andrea heard the unmistakable sound of vomiting and trailed off, realizing that she was muttering to herself. Whoa. That was trying way too hard to keep it together. Thing was, she recognized that, but wasn't sure she could do any better right now. It wasn't just the girl's collar getting blown apart in front of her, it was the entire situation. While Andrea was fucking around, Liz Polanski was actually accomplishing stuff. That might end up helping her in the end or screwing her over completely, but either way, she had to make some actual progress, and soon. Otherwise, who the hell knew? Maybe she'd get her collar blown next time. Not only would she be dead, she'd be completely fucking forgotten.
Allen turned back to her, wiping his mouth, and asked a silly question. For which she didn't really have an answer.
"OK? Yeah, yeah, sure I'm OK, I uh, I needed to change my shirt anyway." It was all she could think to say. Well, whatever, Allen surely wasn't coping any better than she was.
Liz Polanski. Liz fucking Polanski. How'd she done it? And now what was she doing out there?
Andrea knew Liz Polanski of course. The girl was a humorless bitch who didn't have the good sense to at least be self-depreciating about her lifestyle choices. Andrea disliked that in a person. And there was no way she'd let Liz Polanski steal her thunder here.
But it was OK. It was OK. Let Liz have her spotlight. Let Liz take it for now.
Allen, meanwhile, had realized that someone else was around and was fumbling for one of his grenades. Christ. Who the hell had the other guy been? Andrea tried to focus.
"I saw him before," she said after a second. "It's, oh.. who the fuck's that guy, the guy with the hair. Joe Rios."
God, she wanted some more pills right now. Later. Later.
"I think he's cool, but uh, I also think we should maybe take off now."
Yeah, screw this house. There were houses everywhere.
Andrea looked back down at her T-shirt, where Lucy Ashmore's blood was now running down the midriff in ribbons. Shuddering, she grabbed at it, peeling it over her head. Her skin underneath felt cold with sweat. At least it didn't soak through my bra, THAT'D be disgusting.
She called out to the other person as she tossed the shirt aside.
"So yeah, Joe Rios if that's you? Sorry, but I think we're gonna, uh, leave now. And we've got a grenade, so yeah."
Yeah. Get a new shirt on, then blow this popsicle stand.
She moved to zip open her bag, and saw how her hands were shaking. Aaargh. If she opened that bag, she'd see her sweet, sweet medication, and right now, she didn't know if she'd be able to resist gobbling an entire handful of them like Tic-Tacs. Still, what was she going to do, run around topless? That sure wasn't keeping it fucking together.
Then she saw one of the cameras.
At least they're getting a show.
She couldn't help but smile.
Andrea stood up and grabbed her bag off the ground, then looked at the camera. She shook her chest at it.
"And uh, Danya, if you want to see more crazy shirtless Andrea, don't blow my collar!"
Fuck, Allen's gonna think I've gone totally crazy here. And I seriously seriously need him.
She turned to him, smiled, and forced herself not to imagine what he was thinking right now.
"Sorry, lost it for a second there. Yeah, let's go so I can put a shirt on. We can talk, then, k?"
(Andrea Raymer continued in Out on a Tether