Page 14 of Make Me Pretty
Abel’s face splits into a full, lopsided grin, crooked rows of teeth on full display. “Baby, you have no idea what I’m capable of or what I want from you. But I’ll tell you a little secret.” He leans over the center console, doing his best to fight a grimace of pain. It morphs his grin into something more sinister, more…real.Like I’m finally seeing a flash of what lies beneathhim.
“I’ve only just gotten started, Peris,” he whispers into the charged, mid-morning air. “And I’m not going to stop until I drag out of you what I saw that night.” Then, he shoves the dooropen, letting in a gust of cool air as he grabs his backpack from the floorboard.
“Don’t bother waiting.” The door is slammed shut, and Abel disappears inside the thrift store, each step taken slowly and deliberately, like he knows I’m watching every one of them.
My ears are ringingby the time I pull up to the park. Gabriel’s already there, ball between his feet where he’s hunched over his phone on the picnic table. After shutting the car off, I drop my head against the steering wheel, breathing heavily through my nose, thoughts churning and forever surrounding Abel Silver.
He brings out the worst in me. The parts I thought I’d buried deep, had to keep concealed if I wanted tosurvive.If I wanted to ensure what he did to me didn’t change me.
But it did.Of course, it did.How could it not? Something like that would change anyone—irrevocably.
It shaped me into something unrecognizable and disgusting, vile and nasty. And if I’m not careful, Abel’s going to shed my front like snakeskin and bare my depravities for whatever sick viewing pleasure he’d get from it. Because why would he care what it would do to me? Apparently, he’s someone who… I don’t know. Who doesn’t give a fuck about the damage he creates. Who wants a bloodbath. Who wants to see me snap.
What I don’t understand iswhy.Abel doesn’t know shit about me—I know he doesn’t because what happened never even made it into the news. All kept silenced by hushed plea deals and confidential victim impact statements.
But he knows my preferences… and I can’t even admit them to myself.
He knows I can’t keep my eyes off him, even when he pisses me off to the point I vividly imagine choking him and stealing the very life from his lungs. And he knows I’m nowhere near as good as I pretend to be, even when inky black tentacles slip through my façade and wrap themselves around me and everyone close enough to touch.
He sees my lies because he lives in a cesspool of his own.
And he’s not going to stop—that much is clear. So, where the fuck does that leave me? I can either keep fighting him just to end up even more exhausted, constantly paranoid, and on edge. Or do I give in, quit fighting my demons, and let them swallow me whole as I take Abel Silver into the pits with me?
Am I ready to sink, deeper and faster than ever before? Am I ready to let go, to finally let myself feel what has always churned beneath my flesh?
What’s the point in forever pretending to be someone I’m not? I’m already beyond exhausted of pushing and shoving and biting back my instincts—and it’s only been a handful of years. Can I really make it through a lifetime of this shit?
A sharp knock against glass has my heart lurching into my stomach as I jerk back, head slamming into the headrest. My eyes dart over to find Gabe standing with his hands on his hips, a look of concern twisting his features.
Blowing out a breath from between my lips, I grip my nape and crack my neck before dropping the keys into the seat and exiting the car. Gabe steps back, but he still has that fucking look on his face.
“What?” I snap as I stomp toward the empty court. The sound of his footsteps crunching through fallen leaves follows mine.
“What’s wrong?” he asks my back.
His question draws tension to my shoulders. “Nothing,” I grumble pathetically.
He scoffs as he swipes up his ball and bounces it a few times. The air is cool and fresh, and I inhale greedily, needing it to help clear the fog from my head.
“We’ve been friends for how many years now?” he says conversationally, never looking up from the old, worn concrete we’ve been playing on for years.
My eyebrows furrow. “Since middle school,” I answer, albeit slowly, confused as to where he’s going with this.
“Yeah. Since you moved here the beginning of eighth grade.”
“What’s your point, Gabriel?” I sigh, dropping my head back between my shoulders. The sun is hidden behind a gray wall of clouds, but I still search for its warmth when it cracks through the density.
It’s all so cold anymore.
“My point is I know you, Peris. I saw who you were when we first met compared to the person you are now.” He pauses for a moment, waiting for the moment I inevitably meet his dark brown gaze. “And they aren’t two different people. You’re still you, no matter what. Even when you have to pretend. But the shadows that followed you back then are getting darker again.” He says it matter-of-factly. No room for argument. Because he’s right—he has no idea how much—but it still pisses me off, whatever he’s trying to allude to.
“I can see what’s happening. Or… maybe not what, but that somethingis.You’re in your head again. Angier and quicker to snap. It’s been happening more and more over the last few weeks, so I’m asking you outright—what the fuck is going on?”
Fuck, that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does—being seen, even when I try so hard not to be.
A laugh bubbles in my throat, spilling out into the soft, autumn breeze. It’s loud and chaotic, and it doesn’t stop. Idouble over from the force, arm clutched around my abdomen as tears leak from the corners of my eyes. It echoes loudly in my head, creating pressure against various points in my skull.
By the time it slows, I’m out of breath, and my throat is aching, parched and on fire. A hand to my back makes me jolt. Gabe rounds on me, shoving me back into the picnic table. I roll my head between my shoulders as he drops down beside me, only I’m on the bench and he’s sitting on the tabletop. My headplonksagainst the wood, harder than necessary, but I’m hoping it’ll help knock some fuckingclarityinto me.
