#repwretch1

"Aw, c’mon. Yer tellin’ me ya didn’t get the tiniest lil thrill watchin’ me push that guy’s teeth down his neck?” His voice drips with sarcasm, the mocking edge impossible to ignore. “Y’know, maybe the dumb girl’s finally learnin’ somethin’. Maybe I’m finally rubbin’ off on ya.”

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your skull. But his words stick, like everything else he says—whether you want them to or not.

The truth is, he’s not wrong. You’d stayed. Watched. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder why. It wasn’t fascination, certainly not enjoyment, but there was something grounding about his raw survival instinct. Something almost stabilizing in how he exists in this nightmare, so unapologetically alive despite it all.

And you can’t help but think about how different things might’ve been if you were stuck with anyone else. How much faster you might’ve cracked under the weight of this place without him anchoring you in his twisted, brutal way.

“Y’know,” you start slowly, catching his eye again. “You’re a good person, Wretch. For all your bluster and bullshit.”

He freezes like you’ve slapped him. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t say a word, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and discomfort. Then, a laugh bursts out of him—sharp and bitter.

“Geez, yer really beggin’ me ta show you my ugly side, huh?” He shakes his head, but there’s something softer in his gaze now, something almost vulnerable. His voice lowers, losing some of its edge. “Don’t go thinkin’ I’m some kinda hero, Whore. Ain’t nothin’ ‘good’ about me.”