A beat. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.
Another moment passed. “What… who?”
He hesitated, “Is that, is it okay to ask?”
I nod.
“It’s okay now, I think,” I whisper.
“When?”
“I was a lot younger, a neighbor… he was,” I gulped, “he was my only friend,” I looked away from him. The shame building up is trying to force its way out.
The lump in my throat does not allow me to continue.
“Was he older?”
“No, I mean, just a bit. A year older, maybe. We were in the same school,” I said.
“Your parents?”
“They didn’t believe me when I told them, my mom brushed it off.” He winced at this. The hurt I felt when my own mom didn’t believe me is still fresh in my mind.
“And Augustus, of course, he doesn’t care about anyone but himself,” I said. He clenched his fist.
“It was just the one time,” I tried to justify. Make light of the situation, perhaps. So that I don’t inconvenience anyone because of my experience.