She charms me with her shyness. You should see her when she drinks, I’m told. So I buy her a drink. And another. And later, she laughs at me.

I built up the courage to tell her she drove me crazy. She cooed, and kissed me. I mean you give me mental health issues, I said, twitching.

I never told her I didn’t love her. But she saw something in my body language. Or, perhaps, it was the t-shirt that read “I don’t love you.”

The goon punched me. The taste of metal filled my mouth. I’m still standing, I sang obnoxiously. And he punched me again. And then I wasn’t.