injury.

when he walked into the room, she was still rubbing her hand, trying to ease the throb. although she was half-joking, an irate undertone sharpened her voice.

"dude, you have to stop doing that to me--ow, that hurts! seriously, before i need to get a restraining order against you." she massaged the back part of her hand, right beneath the knuckles where he'd accidentally elbowed her.

his eyes were wide. "well, you were the one attacking me."

"well, you touched me first. stop touching me. it's not okay." she paused her rubbing to gesture accusingly towards him, her voice rising with her temper to caustic levels. "seriously, i mean it. stop doing that. don't touch me without my consen--"

"okay, okay."

there was pain in his voice as he interrupted to cede, eager for the cessation of her bitter monologue. sighing, they sat down, facing opposite walls. his focus turned to the floor; she examined the tiny, pale bruise blossoming on her flushed hand. it wasn't his fault, not really. he'd done it all in jest, the way they'd shared jokes and friendly nudges years ago. no, it was she who had petrified her sunlit feelings for him into cold obsidian, thin, brittle, and quick to shatter under pressure. broken by the fervor of her anger, she stared vacantly at her fists, silent. she was biting her pride, but she couldn't swallow enough of it to admit her remorse.