It hurts to think.
Her name was Madeleine. She talked for hours. She asked so many questions. She just asked and asked and asked, and I could tell she had good intentions because she wanted to study what was wrong with me and Gatsby and our mother but it just hurts so much.
But I answered her questions and I made her promise not to bother me again.
It just hurts so much. I know I keep saying that but it's true. There isn't anything as painful as this, not for me. Not as much as remembering her.
I need a drink. I just need to drink and lie down and try to put all of this behind me.