Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn‘t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It‘s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena.
“You‘re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers.
“Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation.“Because that‘s what you and I do. Protect each other.”
After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.
Funny the things we remember by the seemingly unrelated.
For this, I remember a possibility that was pondered. Maybe in the future, a new beginning, for something that was abruptly ended.
i can’t tell you how many times i’ve spoken up about harassment only to be told to “learn to take a compliment”.
since when do “compliments” intrude on my space? what kind of “compliment” makes a person feel unsafe or threatened?
harassment isn’t a compliment. know the difference.