“ tell me what’s wrong. “ ( from tommy to ryker )
Finding a place to begin is hard for her. Ryker has nervous fingers dug into the carpet, eyes trained on the terrible design imbued in it, trying to wrack her brain to find something– anything to tell Tommy. She doesn’t want to upset him or worry him in any way, shape, or form whatsoever, and she doesn’t want to lie to him to make him stop worrying.
It could be that weird friend he has – what the fuck was his name, she couldn’t quite remember – Jay? That was making her look like she’d just walked for miles and miles on end in the heat having some sort of breakdown of the nth dimension. After about five minutes of silence – the cabinet music overlapping with one another over and over, screens flashing to insert a coin to begin games, the sound of buttons being mashed – she locks her phone and puts it down to look up at Tommy, who’s probably been looking at her for fuck knows how long, and opens her mouth to speak.
“Hard to say.”










