Lisa shut the door behind Sam, wandering after him with a hand wiped down her face, which then went through her hair out of a stressful habit. her head was killing her, but part of her didn't care. Concentrating on a hangover was easier than trying to sift through the image-salad that were her thoughts recently. In a way it was a relief. Except, not really.
"Peachy," she answered his concern with tired sarcasm, but it lacked anything resembling hostility. "Is that what you wanted to ask me?"