I’ve never been this close to a boy.
Not to Dillon. Not to anyone.
But now he’s so close I notice the faint smell of toothpaste he must have used hours before. I can see the scar at the corner of his eye where his dad’s ring nicked him in the 5th grade, and I can see the one forming above his lip from the beating he was given yesterday.
“This is going to hurt.” He tells me calmly. Of course he can be calm; he’s not the one on the receiving end of impending pain.
I take a deep breath. “Just do it already.”