Glenn picks up his prize. “You wanna hold it?” Imagine being so desperate for trophies that you want to hold one you didn’t earn, and I smile—“I’m good”—but he hands it to me anyway, and I hate that it feels good in my hand, that Glenn knows it, and is this what it’s been like for you? Constantly being forced to do what you don’t want to do, then hating yourself for almost liking it?
