My OC Harley

I don't even know what I intended this to be when I started composição literária it, but... Here?

His brother was in her bed. His brother had shown up on her balcony, soaked in rain water and blood, and she had helped him. His brother had instructed her as she used tweezers to pull a bullet from his shoulder. His brother had kept his voice as even and calm as possible, asking pointless perguntas about her life to help keep her focused as she did so, then stitched the wound shut with her sowing kit and cared to his other wounds. His brother had, with her persuasion, gone to sleep in her bed. It was now 3...