Royce is standing at his full height, so his hands barely reach the belt loop on my pants, but that doesn’t stop him from curling the middle fingers of his left hand through one as his right comes up to my neck. I have no idea why I let him. I should crush his windpipe, jab a finger between his ribs... something. I don’t. I don’t breathe either, officially a board piece in his little game of humiliation.
