Molly nods again, then, but it's a distant sort of gesture. She's more focused on the way Lee touches her than what he says, keeping very, very still as he does. Any other time, and she'd take it as the only sign she needs to get closer. As it is, there's little she wants more than to curl up beside him, let him put his arms around her, take comfort from having him close, a reminder that she made it through and she's alright and he isn't going to hurt her. Knowing what else she has to say, though — that he hasn't yet heard the worst of it — she can't bring herself to. Ordinarily tactile, she stays, other than that one point of contact, closed in on herself now, hands still resting in her lap, gaze fixing on them. What preceded this was hardly easy to say, but it was still easier. She can't look at Lee while she talks about this, though, and not just because she's worried about what she'll see if she does. Save for that night, in the hospital, she's never actually spoken about it at all. Even now, so much time later, giving voice to it come naturally.
"There's more," she says, one corner of her mouth lifting, for just a second, in some approximation of an apologetic smile. With what she's just told him, it probably sounds ridiculous, or it would if it were any other subject at hand. Instead, it just seems as fucking awful as when she talked about it the first time. "I, um — I mean, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. He didn't... It wasn't like he had sex with me, or anything. He didn't even take my clothes off. But I was..."
Her chest tight when she draws in a breath, she finds that she can't finish the sentence, can't actually make herself say the words and tell him that she was sexually assaulted, just like, when she does continue, she can't say what it actually involved. They're words she hasn't yet been able to apply to herself at all. If she does, it will be too real, and she'll have to consider what it means to be that sort of survivor, something it's impossible to comprehend, when she really did mean what she said. It could have been so much worse. Better to focus on that than what did happen. "He went down on me. It was... violent."
Finally, she looks up at Lee, eyes wide and uncertain and brimming with tears that she doesn't realize have started to fall until she reaches up to brush them off her cheeks. "I wanted to tell you sooner. I thought about it. I just couldn't do it."
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"There's more," she says, one corner of her mouth lifting, for just a second, in some approximation of an apologetic smile. With what she's just told him, it probably sounds ridiculous, or it would if it were any other subject at hand. Instead, it just seems as fucking awful as when she talked about it the first time. "I, um — I mean, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. He didn't... It wasn't like he had sex with me, or anything. He didn't even take my clothes off. But I was..."
Her chest tight when she draws in a breath, she finds that she can't finish the sentence, can't actually make herself say the words and tell him that she was sexually assaulted, just like, when she does continue, she can't say what it actually involved. They're words she hasn't yet been able to apply to herself at all. If she does, it will be too real, and she'll have to consider what it means to be that sort of survivor, something it's impossible to comprehend, when she really did mean what she said. It could have been so much worse. Better to focus on that than what did happen. "He went down on me. It was... violent."
Finally, she looks up at Lee, eyes wide and uncertain and brimming with tears that she doesn't realize have started to fall until she reaches up to brush them off her cheeks. "I wanted to tell you sooner. I thought about it. I just couldn't do it."