Page 17 of Make Me Pretty
“Jesus fucking Christ, Gabriel, can you stop talking aboutfucking?”
“Why?” His eyebrows hike. “It’s the truth. You said so.” Then, he grins.
Oh, that fucker is goading me.“Forget I fucking said that. I didn’t meanliterally.”
“Then how else did you mean ‘are brothers supposed to want to fuck?’ That implies?—”
I twist around, lunging for the ball, but he retreats just as quickly, hammering it between his feet.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” I spit through gritted teeth.
“Sure.”
I pull back with a frustrated groan, delving my fingers into my hair and yanking. “Can we be done with this conversation and just play some ball?”
“Yeah. But real quick—have you asked him?”
“Asked who what?”
Gabe rolls his eyes. “Abel,” he says it like I’m stupid; I am, “if the rumors are true.”
“Of course, I haven’t.” I scoff. “Why do you care?”
“Easy, tiger. I’m just curious. It’s quite the rumor to have—especially at a school like Ardent, and we thrive on the drama.” He laughs dryly.
“Sometimes, I don’t know why we’re friends,” I grumble, making him snort.
Gabe shoves the ball into my chest. “We’re friends because I’m the only one who doesn’t just take your shit.” His hand is above his eyes, blocking out the sun’s rays beaming him in the face. “Plus, I am simply—” he stretches his arms wide, “loveable.”
I snort loudly. “Yeah, whatever. Are we gonna play or not?”
“Real shit or just some fuck-off fun?”
“Well it wassupposedto just be fuck-off fun, but then you went and made me talk about my fucking?—”
“Yourfeelings,I know, the travesty.” Gabe grins.
I roll my eyes, ignoring the pit in my stomach. It’s a sensation that’s ever-present anymore. The heavy-woven twine of endless anxieties, scenarios, and possibilities.
I’ve never been able to shed its burden, but with the leather ball between my fingers and the sound of it bouncing off the leaf-littered concrete, it all becomes a little… less.
CHAPTER 5
PERIS
“What the fuck are you wearing?”I blurt when I step into the living room, finding Abel clad in the shortest fucking shorts I have ever seen, cozied up on the couch.
His head turns slowly, a cord draped over his chin, his gaze a slow drag away from the T.V. screen. “Shorts,” he deadpans, popping a piece of green candy into his mouth and chewing with hismouth open.
“I can fucking see that,” I snap. Then, I yank on my hair. I thought sweating out all my irritation with Gabe was gonna do the trick, but I should’ve known Abel’s merepresenceis more than enough to get the ball rolling again.
He pulls something from his ear. “Then, why did you ask?” he asks, eyes already back on the screen. I can’t even see what’s playing through the haze simmering at the edge of my vision. I round the back of the sofa and snatch up the remote to hit the power button. The only reaction I get out of Abel is a breath that is slightly heavier than normal—not that I would even know the fucking difference.
Jesus Christ, what am I doing?
“Am I not allowed to use the T.V.?” he asks softly, twisting the black cord around his index finger. I watch as his skin losescolor, turning white before he unravels it, bringing blood back to the surface.
I shake my head, trying to clear the fog, but now Abel’s in full view. His long, pale, scrawny legs are on full display, marred with bruises.
