The impact drove Sofia's head sideways so hard her neck cracked — the flat, open, 'weighted' impact of Elena's full arm behind it, the sound of it in the small dormitory room considerably louder than it had been in the garden.
Sofia's nose.
The , immediate, warm rush of blood — the thin, copper-bright stream of it appearing immediately at her right nostril, running over her lip, the taste of it arriving on her tongue before she'd finished processing the impact.
She fell.
Her knees finding the floor, her hands catching the stone, the , total, 'everything-at-once' impact of the physical and the everything-else simultaneously.
She looked up.
From the floor.
At Elena above her.
At the cold face looking down.
Elena crouched.
The , deliberate movement of a woman bringing herself to your level because she wants to look at you directly.
"Say it," she said.
Quiet.
"I don't have a dick."
Sofia stared at her.
"Say it."
Blood running down her lip.
