Re: Studio: Wren & Ryan
Ry, she was used to looking at people. Wasn't nothing critical 'bout how she did it, unless it was a class cross-town from this one and even then that was about competition 'stead of people. She looked because no one ever said she couldn't and she'd stood with her brothers and looked as they catcalled, and punched them in the arms and shit like that. Ry was looked at and she knew the difference between looking and possessing. Wren, she didn't look fragile no more. She was tits and ass, like Ry, except she looked like she didn't skimp on eating pizza Saturday nights or worry about gaining a couple pounds on a bad week.
She looked beautiful. Maybe the sugar-plum girls wouldn't see it, on account of not being able to count every rib.But she looked like whoever it was who put a candle up against the glass of her eyes to make her shine, didn't want ribs.
"So why the gaps?" It sounded different, from nothing Ry had felt. She wasn't lonely exactly, not when she could pile back into the house in Queens and sleep with her sister and her brothers and her cousins crammed around her. "Don't yourself matter no more, to exist to?"
But the smile flashed again, quieter than neon but just as bright. "Gracias. Yours ain't so bad neither. " She leaned back, and she lifted the leg higher to take it off the bar, a roll of hip joint to take it back, thoughtless stretch.
"Yeah, but that don't make it fun like this." Her hair was already falling outta the makeshift bun. "This place don't demand nothing."