Broken
"Helga," he said gently, "what happened to your eye…?"
"Nothing Arnold." She replied dully.
He chewed his lip nervously, eyeing the blackened bruise.
Without a word, Arnold slumped down beside her. His shirt felt damp against the brick wall of the alleyway. And there they sat for a while, until it got dark.
Somewhere during the twilight sky becoming evening, a slow but sure arm had crept its way around Helga's shoulders. It pulled her in, and her head fell against a beating heart and a familiar scent. Clinging to the plaid blouse with bunched fists, tears fell silently.
"Promise me you won't tell anyone about this, footballhead." Came her muffled murmur.
"I won't."