Re: Brooklyn: Wren & Ryan
[Marco was just one of many, right. A buncha men who did shit that wasn't white collar, wasn't even blue collar, to make a buck. He was the kinda man her brothers would love or they'd fucking hate because he was too close to what Ry remembered they were like. She didn't think about seeing him again, che. Not when she was eighteen and laughing abut the bruising on her hip, not when she picked him up confident he'd be good in bed.
Nah, she hadn't thought nothing about coming face to face again and with footsteps across the apartment, she tucked the sheet around her, dry tongue clicking against her teeth when Marco pushed into the bedroom. Ry didn't look like nothing he remembered, right. Older and her skin was grey with all that pain, and her eyes were bloodshot. But she yelled back, her vocal chords skidding, hurting.]
Vete a la mierda, quiero salir de aquĆ. [Chin up, and she glared at him like a one-night-stand was something you were real solicitous after. And either Marco really wanted echar un polvo, or he had sisters and a mama somewhere back of his head. Because he didn't move in like he was gonna hit her, which Ry half expected he would. But he wasn't nice, right. She didn't pick nice.]
Sal de mi cama [And he wasn't going to help, she figured. It hurt so bad to try and reach for the nearest clothes, hurt so bad she felt damp when she blinked, but Ry tried. And when he started up with vamos again, she said it quiet, flat.]