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Wine me
Dine me
Oh baby sixty-nine me

Wine me Dine meOh baby sixty-nine me

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THERE IS SEX.

Lorenzo had left hours ago, he said he needed to deal with the problem. He let me hit him and he smiled after I did—though it looked like it barley left a dent in his smug, stupid and arrogant face.

I didn't know when he'd get back but what I did know that I expected the truth. I needed the truth. I need it.

But at the same time I am terrified to get it. What if it's something I don't want to hear? What do I do then? I don't know how long I've been sat here, watching the door and waiting for it to open again. Maybe an hour. Maybe more...

This is crazy, I am crazy. I felt like a dog waiting patiently for its master to return home.

I chewed anxiously on my nails as I pulled my knees to my chest causing me to sink further down into the mattress. I felt a type of uncertainty flutter through me, it was raw and fearful. It made my organs twist and turn.

Why is it taking so long? He should have been back, how long does it take to "fix a problem". Jesus Christ.

Life was so much easier when I didn't care

Exhaling a breath I flopped backwards on the bed. I had a bad feeling, call it a sixth sense but a part of my felt like something wasn't right. That Lorenzo wasn't alright—I needed him to be alright.

I stared at the ceilings material and made shapes out of it, I wish there was a clock in his room that counted by seconds so I could stare as it aimlessly.

I was lost in thought when the door slammed open and Marco and Lorenzo busted through the door. Marco was holding Lorenzo up, Lorenzo's arm over his shoulder as his other hand gripped his bleeding side.
"Hello sparrow." He winced as Marco carried him to the bed and dropped him.

"What the fuck did you do?!"I growled as I stood up and walked beside him, Marco laughed as he leaned against the bedpost.
"Good question." He said with a sort of sneer.

"Shut it Marco." Lorenzo grunted as he put pressure on his side, his eyes in lined on mine.
His eyes danced as they looked at me, they were on fire.

Whatever happened, Lorenzo obviously didn't want me to know.

My hands reached towards his side hesitantly, and for the amount of crimson blood that was pouring from his wound I thought he would be more...affected. "Grab me the needle, it's in the second drawer." He snapped which shocked me back to reality.

I nodded as I walked to the dresser, picking up the first aid kit and tossing it his way.

This reminded me of the time my brother had forced me to stitch him up. It was late, and I was dead asleep on the couch when he came stumbling in drunk. He had got in a fight he had said, though I never dared to ask any questions. His forehead had been cut by glass, maybe a knife—his hands covered in blood. But I never asked any questions. Because I knew better then to question my brother. I was 11 maybe 12. I stitched him up again, him and his friends, a couple times after that.

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