Moira knew what she was doing. She knew this was the wrong audience for a meltdown, but it was the only one she had anymore, and dammit, someone was going to hear her out. The fact that it was a classroom full of Schitt's Creek's next generation was of very little consequence.
Since their fiscal debacle, it seemed her own kids had bigger concerns than her personal angst. Or maybe they'd just gotten tired of her shtick. And with neither her staff nor her circle of erstwhile friends to entertain her every outburst, Moira was in dire need of a reaction—any kind of reaction—and the bewildered horror of blindsided children was somehow very satisfying in that moment. They would not soon forget Moira Rose. No, nor their folk.
Once they scurried out the door to emotional safety, Jocelyn offered one of her overly cheerful smiles of support and a tentative half-hug and then left her there, alone. Moira much preferred the fresh-faced terror. The last of her overdose had all but left her system, and so had the buzz of her collapse. What remained was a splitting headache and a sucking wound to her pride that she'd been unable to staunch since the day of the raid.
No money, no shrink, no booze and soon, no more pills, and then what would become of her? Her heart swandived into her stomach. She couldn't consider this right now. She needed to get back to Johnny. Johnny would fix this. Johnny could fix anything, given the time. He was a goddamned genius. He'd saved her once and he'd do it again. He was her hero. The love of her life. The only person she ever needed. Ibuprofen and pecan pie a la mode in one, but better. Fuck everyone else. Fuck this town. She and Johnny were bigger than any of it, and soon the world would be beating a standing room only path back to her good graces. And scene.