The Way He Looked at Me
That was his first time, and that jerk treated him like garbage.
“That’s… horrible. I’m sorry,” I blurt.
He waves it off, calm but quick. “No, no. Funny. That’s how we survive laugh at our trauma. Heal with humor.”
“But, Carter,” I insist, voice low, serious. “I don’t want to laugh about someone treating you like that.”
The room hushes. The silence presses against my ears, thick and heavy.