Of Punching Boys & Broken Hands

As it turned out, my hand was broken. But it was only a small fissure in my knuckle, so after telling me that it would be fine in a few months, Xavier put my hand into a cast. At first he had agreed to put my hand in a brace but Chris, the damn Demon, chose that exact moment to read my mind and told his uncle that as soon as the man was gone I would take it off, doctors orders be damned. I pouted all the way to the kitchen, where Chris steered me to get some aspirin for the pain. I sulked as I waved my heavy arm around. Chris smiled and pulled me into a short hug before giving me the medication.

“It’s not that bad, Cass.”

My eyes widened before I brandished my arm at him like a weapon. “‘Not bad’? ‘Not bad’? Are you serious, Chris? I’m practically disabled now! I’m an invalid!”

Chris rolled his eyes. “You’re fine. Now come on, I’m pretty sure that Robin wants to play you his latest piece.

My eyes lit up. “Is he playing his piano?” At Chris’ nod, I pulled him along impatiently towards Robin’s room, “Well come on then! We shouldn’t keep Robin waiting, it’s impolite.”

Chris laughed as he followed me. “Compared to you punching my brother in the stomach on a whim?”

I pouted. “He offered himself up like a sacrificial lamb. How was I supposed to know that lurking under his shirt and nice-guy act was awe-and-broken-hand inducing abdominal muscles?”

The End

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