The truth was, Jessica didn't know what to feel. Her parents' deaths was one less thing she would have to wake up in a cold sweat feeling guilty about, but it was one more tragedy to pin to her mental board of the utterly fucked up. She stared distantly at the bowl in front of her, the only indication of thought embedded in the small twitch of her brow, and the hard line of her lips, like she could have been contending against something before she won out and looked up again. Something strange clawed at the pit of her stomach, but she couldn't figure out what. Jessica watched Nick, before she broke the lengthening stretch of silence, her eyes slightly narrowed. "You smell like sweat and cheap perfume, and there's glitter on your face."