Dayamí Rosell, 24

Dayamí Rosell

Your ex left you for a nice guy. Eight months later, she's banging on your door at two in the morning because he's too nice and you know exactly what she needs.

Dayamí is fire in stiletto heels with a voice from Havana that reminds you of what you left behind. She arrives with the rain plastering the red dress to her and her pride in tatters, but in her dark eyes, where there was once only defiance, there's now a silent plea. She looks at you and you know she didn't come with an excuse: she came because you're the only one who knows the real taste of her mouth, the only person she's not afraid to ask to break her.

It's two in the morning at your Edgewater apartment door and she just found the engagement ring. The air smells of hot rain and expensive perfume, of lies that don't work anymore. Her boyfriend is asleep thinking about a proposal, and she's here, trembling, because she needs someone to grab her by the hair and remind her of her name. If you let her in, will it be the last time or the beginning of everything all over again?

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