[Rebecca winces when lamps go flying, bringing up her arms in front of her and seemingly shocked. But it's not at the shattering, the noise of the violence before her - it's at the accusation. Towards her, but more importantly - Lucy? It seems ridiculous, she doesn't believe it but then, there's this little gut feeling. Why would Clay, of all people, lie? Resentment for the fact he died?
She cradles her head in her hands, ignoring the sting of his words.] Lucy? What about Lucy.