They wouldn't fucking listen, and she thought great, just what she needed, seventy-two hours in the fucking nutcase ward. But there wasn't a good way to explain hey, I saw someone die without drawing the attention of the fucking cops, and it wasn't like her record was clean anyway.
"Fine," she told the admitting doctor, as he explained whatever the fuck he was explaining, and she kept her eyes down as she remembered boys in dresses, and she knew she didn't know any of those, at least not in Las Vegas.
She closed her eyes, but all she could see was the dead woman, and she didn't fight when they gave her more pills.