"Aidan," she repeated - the last syllable mangled by a half-choked hiss. She felt like she were drifting, with only the suction and sharpness at her throat to anchor her. With slender fingers, she set her palms against the shoulders in front of her. "It hurts." Was that all right?
She thought yes. She thought no. She knew she was not doing well at the game. "Are you winning?" she asked. She thought he was. Perhaps that was why this was not a fun game for her. "I don't think I want to play anymore."
It was still all right. It really was. (Wasn't it?) But she must be doing something wrong, and it really.... It really wasn't fun. She tried to squeeze his shoulders, but her fingers slipped off and dropped to her sides instead.