“Wren. Are you alright? You appear to be injured.”
The movies and TV were heavily censored and prevented him from seeing anything of a s****l or even affectionate nature, but had no qualms about showing violence and injury, maintaining the fear factor and keeping him inside his apartment. Coupled with the story about cockroaches and acid rain it was a very effective method of control. Wren couldn’t understand why he looked so worried.
“Injured? What do you mean, injured?”
He put his hands to his face, dragging them down his cheeks before pointing.
“That. Between your legs. It looks like you’ve cut yourself. And it looks like it hurts. It’s kind of red inside, it’s inflamed.”
“That? It’s just my vagina.”
“v****a?”
“Well, that’s its official name. There are lots of other names for it.
