Break

He da*n near twisting my arm and had me leaning at an angle where I was losing my balance. My solemn instinct was the turn and look at him and look for my opportunity to strike. Wretching through the pain, survival was still in the forefront of my mind to push forward with a defense. 

I could feel his breath curling on the top side of my neck and the movement of his torso influencing me to move in ways that I was not in agreement with. I was an unhappy hostage, almost in the same position as a mean drunk with the will being drained from me.

With one effort, I made a move to twist and turn only to hear an unfamilair snap and suddenly I was at a loss for words just as much as I was at a loss for the use of my limb. 

I was no longer in the fight and all of a sudden trying to figure out the mystery of an arm that did not function. It was obeying the commands of my brain. I think that was the real break, the understanding of the miscommunication between my arm and my brain. 

It was a break but I was broken.