Swiftcurrent Creek wild women don't get the blues

But she was not.
I'm really not, Marcus, a retort, a broken laugh; one choked with the bile that began to rise in the back of her throat. no offense, but you don't even fuckin' know me. You don't know the real person that I am. I'm-- I'm dead weight! I'm mean and bitchy and.. mannish and I don't even got the looks to make up for it. I've got a laundry list of-- issues. I'm not someone you wanna make your problem.
Her expression grows cold, sullen; sunken eyes and flattened ears, a terrible frown that creases the corners of her mouth. That horrible feeling in her chest, everything, everything —
He asks of her name, as if everything is normal. As if this had left him unphased. And in her mind's eye is that beautiful downy face, that curved smile and long eyelashes. Silvertongue.
Her name's Bella, belladonna. and she's... smart, and beautiful, and cool. she knows me, and she has not run away. I don't think I deserve her. But, but I'm tryin' for her anyways.
The silence is fierce. An implication that perhaps he should leave. And if he did, Wren would not chase him.