“Like, when I said I had problems, earlier? I can’t be touched a lot, because my brain thinks somebody’s gonna hurt me again. Does that make any sense? It’s why school doesn’t work for me. Too much shit, and shouting, and calling me poor and all that crap, you know? Makes me mad, and then shit happens. Oh, no, please don’t,” he says, turning to me, pleading. “I’m sorry I said all that. Please don’t do that.”
