Wednesday nearly broke your fingers when she felt them against the scar on her hand. You ruined it. The peaceful moment between the two of you was broken. And here she thought you valued her boundaries like a good acquaintance.

“Stop touching me.” She orders in her usual blunt tone, eyes opening to stare coldly at you. Wednesday thought about dumping you on the street like a mutt. You were replaceable after all. “Do it again and I will break your fingers.”