Feeling: bruised
Listening to: Lady Jane Grey - Captured
Reading/Watching: Dragons of Winter Night

::Wham::

I didn't have to fake reeling backward; I fell. Plopped down on my ass, my ears ringing, my head spinning, cheek burning, half wondering if my mouth was bleeding, and glared up at the guy who'd slapped me, words automatically coming to my lips: "Do thy worst! This deed of thine was no more worthy heaven than thou wast worthy her!"

And inwardly I was screaming, Oh my god this hurts so bad my brain is going to fricking explode.

He's supposed to slap me. I yell, insult him, and he slaps me. But this wasn't a stage slap, a light smack designed to make a noise and maybe sting a bit: this was a from-the-shoulder, full-strength-behind-it, sit-your-punk-ass-down-bitch kinda slap.

We finished the scene, and it was acrid and powerful, with Othello roaring and Iago threatening through his teeth, and me screaming my head off, with tears streaming down my cheeks, and I don't think the audience realized I wasn't faking. It was a powerful moment, and for a second I was absurdly proud of myself for how well the scene was going.

And then I "died" and lay on the floor, trying to catch my breath, still crying. It just got worse once I lay still, until my head throbbed in circles from my temple, down to my jaw.

When we went out for curtain call, Othello called my name, softly, uncertainly. I didn't look at him, took my bow, knowing my eyes were red and swollen, willing myself to smile and be okay for five more seconds.

Then, backstage, he walked around the divider to the girls' dressing room and put his arms around me. "I hit you too hard, didn't I?"

"Yes." I hugged him around the waist, trying to stop crying because of how guilty his face looked in the mirror. Everyone was beginning to cluster around, with those concerned faces that make me feel ridiculous for being upset, because it's never a big enough deal that people should just stop and stare. "But I'm okay. You didn't mean to, it doesn't hurt that bad, I'll be fine. Really. I'm okay." I was soaking the front of his costume, which is probably why he didn't believe me and kept apologizing.

The director came backstage, and it became an even bigger deal when she lectured him about getting out of control, and everyone kept trying to hug me, and all I wanted to do was hide and wipe the mascara off my face and maybe swallow half a dozen Advil.

I know people have felt worse pain. It didn't even hurt that bad, really. It was bearable, I was able to walk and talk and could've continued to fuction like normal. Breaking something is much worse. My faceplant from the top bunk in freshman year was worse. It just took me by surprise, and I couldn't properly react to it right away because there was a scene to finish, and dammit, my ears wouldn't stop their damn ringing. Not for twenty minutes.

I've never been hit like that before. Spanked as a kid, hair pulled, tormented by older siblings and such, yes, but not like that. I pity the poor bastard who ever tries to hit me: I'd come back swinging, clawing, and kicking.

I finally got out of there, a half hour later than I was expecting, and even though I was exhausted (I think that contributed to the waterfall), there was a message on my voice mail from mon coeur and I decided, hell with being tired, I want to see him. I want him to hug me and make me feel better. So I went to see him.

He'd gotten me the annotated Dragonlance Trilogy. For no occasion, simply that I'd once said I wanted it. He wrapped it like a present and everything. And he rubbed my temples to ease the headache.

I will officially say it here: I love this man.

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