...That was going to leave a bit of a sprain in her wrist. She felt the slight barely-care-about-it twinge along the tendons, and normally she would have shrugged it off as nothing more than a momentary ache. But her recent worries had her cursing -- loud and vehemently -- at the closing door. To anyone else, it might seem as though she was cursing out Jack Horner. How dare he; how could he; what an asshole-pig-jackass-loser.

But she stood outside his door for three or four more seconds, angry at the door but lost and drifting on the topic of the man himself. After her pause, she breathed deep. She turned around. And she walked out -- all while trying to remind herself that he wasn't worth her time.

So why did she end up feeling as if the truth was that she wasn't worth his?