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compensation for all the years that my grandmother forced me to pray in front of the altar for hours after getting caught kissing with my friend dolores. ☝️
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he inspects the wound with a practiced eye, skin staining red as he tilts her head from side to side. “hmm. we can try butterfly closures. or i can drive you to the ER. your call.” it’s a nasty split; she’s being brave.
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she's oddly compliant, head tilting back with his guidance. she's trying hard to focus on the light's glare, uncaring that it could blind her. better than slipping up, looking like a wuss in front of nicky.
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he feels a rare knot of empathy in his stomach, eyes fixed on her lips. “look up to the light.” captain’s order. calloused fingers tilt her chin up, ignoring the blood and the protests. the amusement on his face is gone. for now.
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she gives him a stare as he starts to drive, quietly assessing if he has good hygiene or not before she borrows his clothes. she'd prefer it more if it belonged to one of his girls, really. “ ever heard of laundry? ”
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“you think i’m jerking off into a hoodie?” nicky snickers derisively as he pulls away from the curb. he’s not gonna push it. her loss. “sweat, yeah. m’sure your perfume would cancel it out.” or whatever she’s wearing. it’s nice—fruity.
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she turns to him then, eyes wide and almost erratic with confusion, wariness — fear, even. there's blood down to her chin. “ i think i need stitches. ”
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“hey, hey—!” his hand shoots out to snag her upper arm, voice taking on a softer, more earnest quality, trying to appeal to the panicked animal inside her, “wait up. let me help. i deal with this shit all the time.”
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suppose she should've given him her number to avoid stupidass inconveniences such as him honking his horn outside, and her not knowing what to wear.
“ yours? no thanks. probably crusted with your sweat and other bodily fluids. ”
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“and you’re gonna bruise like a motherfucker.” when she inevitably falls over. whatever. the car rumbles to life — he doesn’t tell her to belt up because she’s a grown woman, but … “there’s probably a sweater in the back somewhere.”
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her bottom lip has a nasty puncture, like it's been pierced badly or bitten by a dog. she eventually gives in and tugs the hem of her shirt, using it to dab at the endless blood. fucking unsanitary as it is, she's getting +
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he approaches like a vulture looking for pickings, smiling like an asshole.
“what’d you get hit by? ball? floor? fist? that’s nasty.”
getting in her face to take a look, trying to locate the wounds under the blood. hmm.
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woozy from the feel of crimson, a traumatic response she'll likely call 'just a sensory issue'.
she pushes past nicky with a slight whine instead of answering, hurrying away like a hurt animal scrambling to look for a corner to +
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