"S'fucked up," Arla muttered, jamming her spoon into her ice cream. She crawled off of the couch and shoved the ice cream in the freezer with the spoon in it and no cover-----and then she was rummaging for alcohol. There was alcohol. Where was the fucking----oh. She grabbed a bottle of vodka and looked it over for a brief second before deeming it acceptable for the time being.
It wasn't necessarily that what David was saying was so horrifying, but Arla wasn't sane. And she drank too much. "I don't... I don't really know what to say to that," she said, and so instead of saying anything, she took a sip of vodka from the bottle. "But you're okay and you're not all dead. Nobody came after you."