Molly shakes her head, the motion still a slight one, though it occurs to her a moment later that she can't be entirely sure. Mostly, she remembers what Andrea did based on Patrick's reactions; at that point, her attention had been pretty well focused elsewhere, much as she doesn't want to think about it, let alone give voice to it. This has to be on record, she knows, but just the thought of saying so, of it being on this recording, of someone listening to it later, is enough to make her feel queasy, almost wanting to call this whole fucking thing off.

Except she'll have to shoulder it herself regardless, and at least one person saw firsthand what Patrick did to her. Keeping it to herself isn't going to make this go away. Nothing could. "I don't think so, at least. She tried again not long after," she says, outright avoiding Russell's gaze now, her hands clasped in her lap, fingers twisting. She's told him so much before, more than she ever has to anyone else, but this is different. "I, um. I wasn't really looking. I was just telling him to stop. He —" Faltering, she swallows hard against a wave of nausea, and she doesn't shut her eyes — she knows Patrick is the only person who'd be there if she did — but she's extremely fucking tempted to. There aren't even words for this, not really, no simple way of explaining it so she can get through it more quickly. For that more than anything else, she thinks, she hates the bastard, barely noticing when tears begin to prick in the corners of her eyes. She hadn't thought she'd be capable of any more, but apparently, she'd been wrong.

"He went down on me," she continues finally, the words sticking in her throat, eyes still not lifting. "He didn't, like. Undress me or anything, but his mouth was... between my legs, and he — he was biting me."