He moved, shoving g past the men who had been trying to hold him back. His shoulder struck me like a live thing. It was deliberate, not an an accidental a shove with the intent to humiliate me or show dominance. It was so unexpected that the force pushed me sideways and my spine hit the seam of the wall first, then my head slammed against the spiffing stone edge below the shelf.
Pain erupted in a bright, hot shock across the side of my head. For a moment the world exploded into white noise and color. My fingers flew to the place that now throbbed with a searing, stupid heat. Warmth soaked my palm. My vision blurred.
"Mrs. Cross?." someone was shouting, why did it feel like it was from a long distance?. The room tipped and then pitched. Voices collided into me like a storm. I
I did n not want anyone's hands on me. I did not want the pity or the outrage. Pride is a quiet, spiteful thing; mine was louder than whatever pain I was feeling right now now .
