"What did he do to you?" she asks.
"I'm not going into it," I say, standing and shuffling towards the bed. I jump into the mass of pillows and let the scream escape. I feel her arms on me and don't fight her embrace. The thought peaks into my mind: what must she feel at this moment? what is she thinking about her father? I wonder if she knew already.
I drift into the high flowing in my brain, avoiding the pictures of Ray and running for safe places. But nothing works and his face burns a hole in my attempts to control the anger. A growl escapes my lips and her grip around my body tightens.
"I understand," she says. The statement calms me for I know it's true. She does know without me having to describe the sordid details and disgusting memories.
"The worst is he wrote it all down in his book." I nod towards the nightstand and Mary sees the original copy of his 'Preface to a Suicide'.
"I've read it, you know. My mother..." her voice trails off and we are silent for some time. I turn and force my arms around her, knowing the rest of the sentence without her saying it. That book made her mother kill herself. I know it.
"Shhh," I say, squeezing her against me and kissing the top of her head. "You don't need to say it."
"I do. I blamed you for my mother dying for so long. I never wanted to admit..."
I feel her sobbing and I close my eyes, remembering. Memories long lost flood into my mind and I see it all playing like a movie, in slow motion. Trying to shake it all away, I reach over her and grab the remote and turn on music. Tapping a button, I sigh and let Mozart chase the clouds from my brain.