"Just drop it, ok?" Lena pulled away from the green man with a stubborn set to her jaw. Her knuckles were bleeding again, and her body was sore. But apart from that, she mostly looked weary and agitated. Garfield always seemed to lose it whenever he caught sight of her like this.
Granted, she probably didn't look so great anyways. It was the little things. Nails chewed down to the beds, lips cracked and swollen from biting down on them so often, and wearing the same clothes she had been in when she had left the apartment days before. Her eyes were nearly bloodshot and hollowed out, though they were now narrowed as she looked at Garfield pulling out the first aid kit.
He always wanted to bandage her up and find out why she did the things she did. But Lena knew she would never live it down if she were to tell him that she had been fighting for him. She figured he would give her the whole "that's unnecessary, I can take care of what needs to be done" or a "rise above it all" speech that she hated so much.
In truth, the fight was probably her fault. She had gotten too drunk, and when someone decided to get mouthy and insulted and threatened Garfield, Lena had lost it. Normally she had better composure than that. Normally she never swung first. But she didn't even swing first, she had lunged at the man.
Lena hadn't even known that she could throw herself so far.
"It was a petty fight," she finally relented, grimacing as he started to drip alcohol onto her hands. "It won't happen again." They both knew it was a lie.