Deep down, Molly knows that he's right. There isn't any way she could have known, not even when Patrick seemed to be acting a little strangely, that he could be capable of something like this. In a way, she thinks that's what's so unsettling, and all the more reason why she keeps trying to think otherwise. It should be a good thing, ridding her of any responsibility in the matter. It doesn't seem right, though, that it could have been that well-hidden, that she could have been so oblivious. She couldn't have, but she wishes that weren't so. At least then, it wouldn't feel so fucking pointless.

"I knocked," she says after drawing in a deep breath, her chest still aching with the effort to do so. She's composed now, but with the time she's spent crying tonight, not to mention the times Patrick was choking her, she feels the strain of it regardless. "But I think he was waiting there. He — and he had music playing. Something awful from the '80s. Then he opened the door, he... pulled me in by my hair, and I was confused, you know, I didn't know what he was doing. So I told him to let go. That's when — when he broke my nose." She looks up at Russell with wide eyes, suddenly wondering all over again if she's even doing this right. "You have to hear this, too, yeah? I don't want to just be going on if it's going to get in the way of what you need."