Re: Marvel: Wren and "Brielle"
Wren was planning things to say. She was planning nice words that could fall from her lips without jealousy. She was trying not to think about found photographs or entangled limbs. She was trying not to think about secrets and lies. She'd come really, really far from that need to eradicate anything that had touched Luke. She'd thought, maybe, that she'd gotten better about it. Sitting there, hands in her lap and twist, twist of her fingers, she realized she hadn't. She still felt it there, licking at her insides.
But Brielle's mention of the storage unit made Wren's grey gaze lift from her own lap, from that twist of fingers, to meet Brielle's gaze. "Non. I gave Anaïs a key to my rooms in Gatsby. I'm having the pay for a new one taken out of my salary, so that you have somewhere to be. Non." But there was guilt there, bubble and brim and overflow. "I should have allowed you to come to the house, oui? I know that, but I gave you somewhere safe."
She'd turned on the edge of that slide now, fervent and fervor and her knees toward her beautiful and haunted cousine. Her hands were extended, supplication in the tips of her fingers. Absolution, though she didn't deserve it. Though she hated more than she could stand, but a request for absolution all the same.
She didn't add that it was Luke that hadn't wanted Brielle in the house. She managed to bite that back, teeth on her lower lip and droplets of blood there.