Torrie's train car is quiet, swallowed up by the dark and the deceiving calm of the tunnels around it. It's hardly difficult to get lost in thought in her own space, and though she wouldn't let on, her brain's a little foggy around the edges. She hasn't used (much) since before Theo showed back up, and her whole body is feeling the effects of it. If she held her hand above the mattress she's sprawled on it would definitely tremor enough to be seen in the dim light of her space. But even with the effects of withdrawal slowly fighting against the remnants of her last high she can't admit to herself that she needs to pull her bootstraps up -theoretically- and crawl her way back to Miz D on her hands and knees.
She knows she should, especially now that Jo knows she's here and Torrie knows for sure that she's back in the tunnels. Its fear that keeps her rooted; she doesn't know if her spirit can take one more detox, if at the end she would just be one more broken addict. At least if she stays how she is, where she is, she can act like her problem isn't so big.
It's not. Not compared to some of them. To Emilie, to Clover, to the myriad of others in the tunnels. She's not so bad. It's what she tells herself.
When a voice cuts through the calm black of her space, she knows it immediately. Would know it even if it hadn't been her own name called through the dark. Solomon. He said he'd be coming by, and her brother has always been a man of his word. It's something she both loves and hates about it. Loves because he has always been dependable, and hates because she has always taken advantage of that when she's been at her most low. It's hard, even for her to guess, whether she'll try now. She's not at her worst, but it's been a long time since there were friendly faces in the dark.
With effort she pulls herself up from her bed and hangs herself half out the doorway of her car. "Hi," she says as her eyes adjust to the light Solomon is carrying, it silhouettes him a little. "Come in here." Her feet take her a couple steps back into her car. Relatively unchanged since the last time her brother would have seen it. Torrie's space has always been cleaner than a lot of the junkie nests; an amalgamation of style with whatever pieces she could scavenge. Then because she can, and because she was being honest when she told him she missed his face, she steps into him and wraps her arms around his middle. "I'm fucking relieved you didn't get your face eaten off on your way down here." And she hopes foolish that he doesn't notice the tremors in her body.