Already, it's almost too much. Molly isn't sure quite what it is, whether it's the relative lack of sleep or the hangover, everything she's had on her mind for the last day or the simple fact of Lee standing here now, or, more likely some combination of them, but just hearing that is enough to make her feel like she's about to burst into tears again. That it isn't necessarily a very promising start, after an entire fucking night, doesn't help matters either. He's right, they probably should talk, but she can't in the moment think of a single thing to say that wouldn't be too spiteful. She already tried talking. It didn't exactly go very well.

She stares at him for another few seconds, until her vision starts to blur, and then she turns, blinking furiously to try to clear the tears from her eyes as she folds the blanket she'd half-slept under the night before. It's more an excuse to keep herself occupied than anything else, but she's not sure she could bear to keep looking at him. Not like this, and not when she can already barely keep it together. Things are fucked up enough already without her embarrassing herself more than she did last night. At least she didn't ask him not to go like she'd wanted to. That almost certainly wouldn't have worked out well.

"I don't really feel like talking," she says, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to keep her voice as even as she can, still not looking at him. All things considered, it's the nicest way she can put it, when the idea of his wanting to talk now, after all of this, is pretty fucking ironic. "I'd just like to know if you're staying or if you only came for your stuff."