“What did he want?”
“I don’t know. But he kept putting his hands on me.”
“On you? You mean―”
“I mean, you know. On me. On my chest. My…” Joe remembered Williams’s eyes that night—the desire in them. “So anyway, I shoved him into that wall right there, and he threw the chamber pot at me.”
“Oh, that’s awful.”
“I was covered in my own—well, you know what I mean. Then he called my mother a w***e. So I hit him with everything I had. I put him to sleep for three days. Left that scar on his face.”
“He terrifies me.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout him.”
“His eyes follow me everywhere.”
“I said, don’t worry ‘bout him.”
“You know what he wants from me. You do know it, Joe.”
Joe looked away. Was that what Williams had wanted from him? Why would Williams ever imagine he’d let him touch him like that? W
