The Slapping Game

Part 2

Vee tried hard to get his breathing under control.

"Want to take a minute?" Aaron asked with a hint of concern.

Hanging from his right forearm like a ripe fruit, Aaron's hand was nearly too swollen to fit into his trouser pocket. The back of his hand had almost the same outward curve as a tortoise shell. It actually did look as if someone had elected to glue a pet tortoise to it. There wasn't a hint of concern on his face, however. On the contrary, his expression appeared quite untroubled.

"Vee, you've gotta stop. The fucker's a masochist, he's not gonna give up," Damian whispered furiously into Vee's ear.

"He's not a masochist, you idiot!"He whispered furiously back. "He hasn't got a boner. If he was a masochist he'd have a boner, right?"

"You're the freaking expert on masochists, mate. How would I know? What if he has a small one?"

A bolt of pain shot up Vee's arm, forestalling any retort. As his heaving chest slowly returned to baseline, he raised his own left hand and inspected the damage there. Oddly enough, despite the fact that Aaron had persisted in tapping his hand lightly, the back of his hand was nevertheless red. Not tomato red, of course, but still a deep blush, as if the friendly taps had somehow managed to embarrass the extremity. There was a smudge of blood there too but it didn't belong to him; several slaps before, Vee had deliberately missed and clipped Aaron's knuckles with his fingernails. What should have left his adversary howling in pain, however, had elicited only puzzlement and yet another bout of minute inspection, as if the meaning of life could somehow be discovered through analysis of the little half-moon incisions in his skin.

Vee turned his hand around and was alarmed that that simple gesture was enough to cause a bout of pins-and-needles over the palm of his hand. Damian gasped beside him. Although nothing near what Aaron had suffered, Vee's palm was already as bloated as roadkill. As he stretched his hand table-flat, its deep pink surface suffered eruptions of white in areas of greater stretch, and a motley pattern of white spots over pink background burst out over the remaining skin.

"Skin's so taut it's actually shining ..." Damian observed clinically. "This doesn't make any sense."

"Enough!" Vee barked. "Put your hand up!"

Once again that odd expression, half hopeful, half apprehensive, passed over Aaron's features before disappearing once again. The somber student stepped forwards and extended a hand out between their chests.

Vee stared at the hand, hardly daring to believe that he was the cause of the damage there. Besides being as bloated and shiny as a tumbler-polished gem, the back of Aaron's hand was the color of burgundy. What was that mineral called? Jasper? He wasn't sure but suspected that it was. That was what it looked like except for the flaws. The old scars on the hand's surface were stretched taut, their color ivory white against the surrounding deep red skin. The patch of skin where Vee's fingertips invariably connected with every slap had begun its journey across the spectrum towards purple.

SMACK!

The impact was weak compared to its predecessors. Vee swore to himself, seeing disapproval flash across his opponent's eyes. He felt somehow ashamed of his performance. Aaron tapped the back of his hand even more lightly than usual. Vee struck back hard in a sudden fit of rage, and the exchange quickly gathered speed as his fury began to swell.

SMACK! Tap SMACK! Tap SMACK! Tap SMACK! Tap SMACK! Tap

The rhythm of the exchange continued to accelerate and the classroom noise began to die away, the collection of students present there fascinated and somewhat horrified by Aaron's willingness to suffer without reprisal. Vee, however, was feeling something else entirely.