Torrie’s halfway to throwing her own exasperated expression at the side of Solomon’s head, but decides better of it before it fully forms and settles into the line of her face. She’s not actually exasperated that he’s staying, she’s relieved. “Fine, but I get to hold your hand if shit really hurts,” she shoots back, assuming that he would have offered anyway even if she didn’t throw out the ultimatum.
Then Lita and her perfect timing interrupts before she can explain her reasons for being in the North Loop. Of the two Sol’s the one she knows might take it better. It really is only her business, but Lita already thinks she’s being reckless, so it’s not like avoiding an answer is going to raise the opinion any. “Some of the addicts that have been getting their Prax from the new guys in town haven’t been seen around the tunnels in awhile.” She focuses on Sol. “I was looking into it up in the North Loop, since the APD are ignoring it.” Hindsight makes her think she should’ve said something to her brother before she found herself in such a predicament, but she didn’t want to put more on him with Zik’s kidnapping still fresh.
She’s rarely felt the full brunt of the falling out that she and Lita had since it happened, but it’s right up there mixed in with the pain now that she’s faced with it. It’s a lot easier to throw comments over a text, but standing in the same room is another monster. Why couldn’t she be better with people?
“No happy face scale?” Torrie asks, shifting on the exam table, which makes the paper underneath her crinkle. “Might as well go with pretty fucking terrible,” she follows up, because she’s not actually trying to be a difficult patient.