Page 12 of Brick’s Anchor

"Normal and insane aren't mutually exclusive when you've been through trauma." He’s not pitying. Just stating reality. "Your brain is trying to process what happened. It takes time."

"How much time?"

"However much you need."

I pull my knees to my chest. The cut bunches around me. "I should give this back to you."

"I told you to keep it."

"I know, but—"

"Keep it," he says again. Firmer this time. "Until you don't need it anymore."

"What if I never stop needing it?"

"Then you never give it back."

I look at him. This man who broke down a door to get me out. Who gave me his cut without asking for anything in return. Who's sitting on the floor with me when he could be doing literally anything else.

"Why are you being nice to me?" I ask.

"Because you need someone to be nice to you."

"That's not a good enough reason."

"It's the only reason that matters."

We sit in silence. Downstairs, voices continue their low serious conversation. Somewhere in the house, a door closes. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.

Sounds I don't trust yet.

"I hate men," I tell him.

"Fair."

"I mean it. All of them. Every single one."

"Okay."

"You're not going to argue? Try to convince me you're different?"

"No," he says simply. "You've got every right to hate all of us. What happened to you, what those men did, that's unforgivable. You get to hate whoever you want for however long you want."

"You're a man."

"I am."

"So, I hate you too."

"That's your right."

I don't know what to do with that response. With his complete acceptance of my hatred. Most men would be offended. Would defend themselves. Would list all the reasons they're not like other men, why I should trust them, why they're the exception.

He just sits there and lets me hate him.

"You're confusing," I finally say.

"I get that a lot."