NOTE: Without work to distract him everything comes to the surface. May be a trigger to some people but tried to keep it from getting to be too much in one chapter. So if you think this will trigger you, please do not read. It mentions rape and involves some self harm.

Maybe he shouldn't have pushed her. He could tell she was deteriorating and pushing her could push her into her delusions…But so much of his life was a lie. He was so angry at her for so long but he wondered if he should have directed his anger at the person, no not person, monster responsible.

Brady raped my mother. That monster, that absolute piece of garbage, violently raped her and destroyed her mind.

He wished he could have unleashed on him but by the time he confirmed what he did, he was being put to death.

Death was too good for him. He should have suffered like he made my mother suffer.

Like he made me suffer. Brady knew what he did to my mother and he taunted me. He got off on stringing me along while he asked about my family, knowing that he must be my biological father and that he knew my mother intimately. He was inside our home and interacted with us living with the secret evil he had inside.

"Are you close to your family?"'

My family! What did that bastard know about family? He destroyed families.

He pictured his mother's black and blue covered body, the tears that streaked across her face as she, no doubt, begged for her life, begged for him to stop, and as she screamed out in pain. He remembered his hands around Brady's neck. He remembered Brady egging him on as he squeezed around his neck. He could have done some damage but that's what that coward wanted. He was not about to give him what he wanted after he hurt so many women, so brutally. Also the thrill he got from life fleeting a person was not a quality he shared, it made him sick. As he crashed onto that interrogation table, he felt like he would vomit any second.

He recalled one of Brady's victims, "I let him think I'd enjoyed it." Did you do the same thing, Ma?

By this time he was livid. Every painful emotion screaming for attention.

"Momma!" He wailed from an agonizing pit of his belly. He flailed his arms violently sending everything on his counter to crash and spill all over his floor. That wasn't enough, he had so much more anger coursing through his veins. He slammed his head against the wall banging his hands there but not hard enough to puncture a hole. He felt like he was suffocating. Tears were burning his eyes and he was gasping for air as his hands seized to his heaving chest.

He stumbled to his bathroom, the space suddenly feeling too small and closing in. He turned the spicket of his faucet and reached down to catch a bit of water in his hands to cleanse his face. His hands cupped his face. He closed his eyes as the water splashed onto his face. Then, he opened them as his vision began to refocus but it wasn't his reflection in the mirror. It was Brady's. He balled up his fist and smashed the mirror sending shards of glass onto the floor, into his skin, and clanking into the sink where water encircled the blood dripping from his hands. As they met the water changed to a pink-ish hue.

"Shit." He didn't feel any physical pain. It was like his mind shut it out. His eyes were glazed as he had the urge for numbness emotionally too. He picked out the glass out of his hand in a quick and lazy manner ignoring the pieces too small to grab easily. He rinsed his hand and wrapped a gauze pad around his knuckles and palm. The blood soaked in but with a couple layers, he managed to pause the flow. He grabbed his keys, pressed a cigarette between his lips, and left the apartment in search of alcohol.