[The way her fingers twitch against his throat is probably answer enough, and she pulls her hands away, takes her time putting the lid back on the concealer and setting it back on the table.]

I don't know.

[quiet, a little pained, and she looks at him briefly, brow furrowed, before turning her gaze away.]

My dad was-- We thought he was dead, but now he's back, and he should be in jail, but I was brought here before I could make sure of it.

[There's something strained in her posture, even when she shrugs. Because it's more than that, too; she's worried what her father being back might mean for her mom's addiction, but she doesn't know how to articulate that to someone, or if she even wants to try.]