>Your eyes stare into the mirror above the sink, as you brace yourself for what you’re about to do.
>Your rainbow mane is ruffled.
>Your cyan coat has traces of snot and dried up tries.
>But worse of all.
>Your left wing is limp against your body.
>Forced to flex, as it hangs lifelessly from it's socket.
>No matter how long you stare at it, it doesn't make the task at hand any easier.
>You fill your lungs with air, and hold it in.
>Grabbing your wing between your hooves, you push with all your might.
>A loud pop echos around the room, and the breath you held comes rushing out as a scream.
>Fresh tears stream down your face. 
>The pain that followed such an act was beyond describable, but at least you can somewhat feel your wing now.
>You are thankful that flyer school had taught you how to mend a broken wing in the field.
>Your breath comes out ragged, your body is trembling, and vision is a word your mind can barely comprehend.
>What feels like hours is actually mere moments.
>You slowly open the cabinet, and reach for some bandages
>Tentatively wrapping your limp appendage.      
>All you can do is hope that’s all it will need to heal properly.
>Even if it heals you could never forget the sound it made when it was pulled from its socket.
>That disgustingly loud pop that you are sure only your ears could hear. 
>The experience was made worst when the paralyzing pain that surged through your body afterwards.
>All you could do was cradle yourself till the pain subsides, and that took hours before it even numbed a little bit.
>Your mind started going over the past events, and the more you thought of it, the more you thought you deserved it. 
>Anon had every right to break your wing, to remind you not to make him angry.
>You shouldn’t have dropped that plate while making dinner.
>You shouldn’t have yelled back when he called you a clumsy, useless cunt.
 
>Today at work made you forget your place.
>A co-worker bailed making you stay far longer than you would like.
>You were still agitated when you returned home, and you needed to vent 
>Fury consumed your thoughts.
>Maybe some cloud glue on their route next time will show them.
>You should of paid attention to how hot the plate was.
>But you didn't.
>The pain from holding a hot plate in your hooves caused you to drop it.
>Spilling Anon's food all over the floor.
>Anon looks up from his newspaper.
>And the first thing he does is to insult you.
>You were in no mood for that, so you insult him right back.
>That caused him to raise from his seat, while he shouted more insults towards you.
>Not backing down, you continued to shout back.
>Apparently Anon had enough, as he started to walk towards you.
>His hands balled into fists.
>There was so many things you could have done in that instance.
>But you weren't thinking straight, as you press your back against the oven, shouting at him for getting closer to you.
>You waited to late to move out of the way.
>Anon rushed you down, and maneuvered his body on top of yours.
>His hands wrapped tightly against your wing, and then.
 
>You shake your head, but it doesn't stop the sounds, nor the quick jolt of pain that runs through your wing.
>Anon left you afterwards.
>Saying that he was going to cool off somewhere.
>Raising you head to look in the mirror.
>Looking worse than when you walked in somehow.
>You need to clean up.
>You need to fix Anon a proper dinner.
>You need to apologize to him, and beg for forgiveness.        
>Anon is a wonderful husband. 
>He provides for you, takes care of you, and even makes enough money so you don’t have to work full time anymore.
>So long as you don’t make him mad your marriage was nothing but sunshine and rainbows.
>With you wing fully wrapped in bandage, you give it a gentle flex, relived to see it moved slightly.
>Now all you need to do is come up with lie that would appease your friends.
>Hopefully they buy it just one more time.