He leans across me first and turns off the light. I don't mind. If it makes it easier for him to talk in the dark, I'm good. "She was a bitch." He remains silent for a minute and I give him time. "She sold me to men who liked little boys and then to men who liked older boys. She was a f****d-up mess for as far back as I can remember. Not mother material."
I dig my fingers into the skin of his arm, but he doesn't flinch. "Her boyfriend, from the article, was he one of them?"
"The worst."
I can just barely make out his face in the dark and I lift my hand to his cheek. It's what he isn't saying that's even more horrifying. He was only twelve when he killed them. To give a child no other way out is inconceivable and at the same time not surprising. I thought of killing my father for what he
