Sarah, Looking Disheveled

My stepdaughter, Sarah, is on her bed, partially covered by her sheets. She looks rough, her red hair in a mess. I see the dark bra straps on her pale shoulders, one of them hanging off her arm, apparently quickly thrown on when she heard me coming up the stairs. She's covering herself from the chest down, gripping the sheets. It seems I surprised her by coming home a little earlier than usual, or she simply lost track of time.

"Sarah?" I ask, concerned, "Is everything okay?".

"Yeah, James, everything is fine. Leave me alone." It stings when she uses my first name instead of 'dad'. She knows this, and does this quite often.

"Are you sure? I heard something fall. What happened?" I ask, remaining partially in the doorway and averting my gaze from her half-dressed form.