Re: Brooklyn: Wren & Ryan
[Learning to control men was something absorbed young, young, and she never forgot. It wasn't the kind of thing to be forgotten, not really, not for a little girl that had watched and listened and learned. Other children had school, and Wren had this. She could turn herself into this thing that was wanted, and it could touch nothing inside her. Standing there, Marco's hands, Marco's breath, and she was fine. It was like nothing, and it was shades drawn over the young woman that had been so honest in the dance studio. Here, here she was thing created brief and of a moment, necessity, and nothing of herself at all.
And she didn't know what he said, but she knew it was romantic and promises, and that was all she needed to wrap him tight around her finger. She knew he didn't care, and she knew this was only a thing of passing fancy. Once he had her naked and in that rumpled bed, then she wouldn't matter any more than Ryan did.
But it wouldn't come to that, it wouldn't.
He looked down at her like she was everything, and it was shallow nothing, but Wren nodded and stepped back, and she let him go to the bed and scoop Ryan up carelessly. Ryan asked for the phone, or Wren assumed that was what she wanted, and Wren walked into the room, picked it up and handed it to the girl in Marco's arm.]
Merci. [Which was sweetly said to the man in question, and Wren sat on the edge of the bed, upon those rumpled sheets, like she planned on staying.]