in her faded grey hoodie and dark blue jeans, and then at him still wearing the clothes from the day before. Blinking she pulled the covers around her shoulders and scooted back a few inches to see his face.

"I want to know what happened." Her tone was low but he could hear the seriousness in it. He didn't have to ask what she was talking about but he did anyway.

"What happened?"

"What happened to you. That day when...you were attacked." She shook her head. "Unless you don't want to tell me, I understand that if you don't. But I'd like to know and hear your story instead of just the condensed version."

A lump formed in his throat and Martin swallowed. He thought back to the day before and could see the gentle river waters lapping at the concrete under his feet. He imagined himself sitting old, almost done with life, and wearing a silly hat where no one would care. They'd call him that crazy old senile man who once dressed as a girl, but no one would care by then.

"Are you sure you want to hear this?" He finally asked.

Monica nodded but then suddenly she held up a hand. "Wait, before you start I have to tell you something."

"What's that?" He felt his stomach ease a little at even the temporary chance of a distraction.

"What happened to you has never happened to me," she told him, not meeting his eyes. "But I feel like it has and that's horrible of me. How can I say I feel like I've gone through your pain when I've never been humiliated or treated like that? It's not fair and sometimes..."

Her voice trailed away and she laid her head down again as though she'd changed her mind and decided to keep sleeping. He touched her shoulder.

"Sometimes what?"