She stops scratching, but keeps her hands there as she breathes. "I was dancing with Newt," she adds. The story exits her as disjointedly as it exists in her. "I didn't realize he was him, at first. He was alone, and I felt good, and—" She reaches up to rub her face, then curls her hand around Jack's wrist without losing his hand on hers.

"But it got too much. I left, I just— I left." She'd left Girl, and she'd left her stuff, and everything had turned to shit.