She wrenches herself up from the chair and heads towards the nearest exit, jacket and things forgotten, heels clicking angrily and resentfully against the floor. Her hands unconsciously open and close and she can practically feel Gwen's concern emanating off of her, just as she can feel Jack's sympathy, and she doesn't want it, any of it. She tries to keep going, forge ahead, but she can't breathe, her chest feels tight, and—god, she hasn't even known him all that long, really, but she can't stay here in a room with too much pity and not enough air, in a place with too much concern and not enough humanity.
"Tosh."
"Leave it, Jack. Leave her alone."
She rushes out the door in a flurry, exhaling harshly as she walks towards her flat. The wind whistles and she shivers. The air feels thinner and there's a certain something about breathing in the cold that she enjoys. Goosebumps prickle on her skin but she just keeps moving. She can't stop. Not when she's just sent Tommy back, back to die; he trusted her and she liked him and maybe she's become more invested into this Tommy thing more than she's willing to admit.
She has an unopened bottle of wine and a half-drunk bottle of vodka that Owen left the last time he stayed with her, too pissed to remember anything. She bites her lip as she stops walking. She doesn't even remember the last time her calves hurt this bad. She heads out a little into the street and hails a cab. She gets in the first one that stops and quickly rattles off her address. The thing about pain is it helps to forget. And she needs to forget more than anything else.