“I’m going to fucking kill him.” “Wait,” she says, grabbing my hand. “Just calm down.” “Did he do it?” “Yes, but—” “But what?” I interrupt. The anger that’s coursing through me hits a fever pitch as the truth sinks in. “But what? He fucking touched you without your consent because I know no matter how he was bragging about it in there, you didn’t give it. Did he hurt you?” She turns away. “Let’s not do this now. You still have to play the second half.” “Fuck the game.”
