every Christmas for her daughter. She sent them last year."
"At least she has good taste in color." Martin lifted the shrieking tea kettle and poured the hot liquid into two coffee mugs. Monica scooted her chair closer to him and they sat at the table, staring out the window at the first snowflakes of Winter drifting around the townhouse.
"There's not a lot to tell." Martin continued to gaze out the frosted sheet of glass. "It was my first year at college, before I transferred here. I was walking back from the library, a little later than usual due to a midterm I'd put off and had crammed for all night."
The tea warmed his mouth and he winced when it hit a tiny blister on his bottom lip.
"I went down one of the little streets toward my apartment and when I got into the darker part of the lot, a group of guys showed up. I don't know if they were waiting or what. I didn't see them at first and I still don't think I'd ever met them before, but they acted like they knew who I was. At least, if nothing else, they suspected I was an oddball. One was shouting things about being a faggot at me, stuff like that."
Monica squeezed his arm and took a long drink from her cup.
Martin swallowed. "And then they attacked me. The police came afterward but a vague description of guys in jackets didn't do much good. They took a few notes and left. They called it a mugging because either they took my wallet or it fell out during the struggle. I don't know which."
The words were right there, so easy to say out loud for the first time, but he couldn't seem to force them out. His heart thudded and he opened his mouth only to find silence. Coughing, he took a large drink of his tea and sat the cup down with shaking hands.
"I'm so sorry that happened to you." Monica looked away from the window at him. "I really appreciate you talking with me about it though."
"The police," Martin blurted out, knowing his nerves would fail him if he didn't get it over with. "They called it an attack. They refused to call it sexual assault even after the
"At least she has good taste in color." Martin lifted the shrieking tea kettle and poured the hot liquid into two coffee mugs. Monica scooted her chair closer to him and they sat at the table, staring out the window at the first snowflakes of Winter drifting around the townhouse.
"There's not a lot to tell." Martin continued to gaze out the frosted sheet of glass. "It was my first year at college, before I transferred here. I was walking back from the library, a little later than usual due to a midterm I'd put off and had crammed for all night."
The tea warmed his mouth and he winced when it hit a tiny blister on his bottom lip.
"I went down one of the little streets toward my apartment and when I got into the darker part of the lot, a group of guys showed up. I don't know if they were waiting or what. I didn't see them at first and I still don't think I'd ever met them before, but they acted like they knew who I was. At least, if nothing else, they suspected I was an oddball. One was shouting things about being a faggot at me, stuff like that."
Monica squeezed his arm and took a long drink from her cup.
Martin swallowed. "And then they attacked me. The police came afterward but a vague description of guys in jackets didn't do much good. They took a few notes and left. They called it a mugging because either they took my wallet or it fell out during the struggle. I don't know which."
The words were right there, so easy to say out loud for the first time, but he couldn't seem to force them out. His heart thudded and he opened his mouth only to find silence. Coughing, he took a large drink of his tea and sat the cup down with shaking hands.
"I'm so sorry that happened to you." Monica looked away from the window at him. "I really appreciate you talking with me about it though."
"The police," Martin blurted out, knowing his nerves would fail him if he didn't get it over with. "They called it an attack. They refused to call it sexual assault even after the
