“Nor should you. So…” She takes a long sip of her drink and studies me. “Something happened. You might not want to talk about it, but you need to.”
I grab my own drink and slug a shot back. “She’s locked herself in the bathroom. Crying. Right in the middle of some of the best s*x we’ve had in a while.” Another deep swig. “s**t. I don’t f*****g know what happened.”
Bambi nods like she does know. “She was triggered.”
“She was what?”
“Triggered, dude. You know, like something was said or done that immediately body-slammed her brain into a point in her life that’s hella traumatizing.” She hides the next sentence behind a feigned sip. “Did you breathe? That’d be enough to do it.”
I shoot her a contemptuous glare. Mostly because she’s right, and I deserve the reminders of how right she is.
