Page 18 of Make Me Pretty
There’s so many…
An echo. I blink. “What?”
A lock of damp, white hair falls in front of his split eyebrow. “The T.V.” He points to the remote in my hand.
“What about it?”
He lifts that cut brow, forming a near perfect arch. It makes the barbell through his nose lift slightly. “You turned it off,” he says slowly. “Am I supposed to ask for permission? That’s usually the case, but I had a feeling your mom wouldn’t care… Didn’t even think about you, though.”
Didn’t even think?—
My teeth sink into my tongue as I glance down at the remote. I drop it to the sofa, and it rolls toward Abel, drawn near because of the dip in the cushion. My eyes follow its path until it stops against a… I balk as I stare at the bulky, flat disc pressed against Abel’s extended hip.
My eyes catch on the tiny, cracked display screen, watching as a CD spins below the small rectangle in the lid, flashing a bright orange.
“Is that a Discman?” I ask, following the black cord of the earbuds around Abel’s elongated neck. “Where’d you even find one of those?”
He beams at me, two full rows of crooked teeth on full display. A canine, which is more of a snaggletooth, catches on his lip as they stretch wide, mouth lopsided when it twists into something reminiscent of a smile. “Yeah!” he exclaims, all pretenses of neutrality abandoned. “I found it at the thrift storealong with a bunch of CDs. Only three bucks. And the CDs were fifty cents apiece, so it really was a steal.”
Abel looks so carefree, I’m momentarily stunned.
His head dips toward the plastic sack on the floor at his feet. “I always—” His smile falls instantly, twisting into something akin to sadness.
My stomach sinks watching his smile bleed out.
Abel picks the Discman up and turns it, causing the CD inside to skip and scrape. His chewed-up thumb presses the off button, then he wraps the black cord around the base before dropping it inside the plastic bag.
After leaning back, face back to his usual crooked guise, he tips a small red bag into his palm and, after picking out the green ones and eating those first, he shoves the rest of the rainbow candies into his mouth. The sound of his chewing echoes loudly in the now-silent room. A slow, pulsing probe.
The muscles in his jaw flutter and bulge under the pressure, his cheeks hollow little dips.
“Always what?” I ask, curling my fingers around the back of the gray, suede couch, eyes pinned to the side of his head. Pin-straight hair hangs around the sides of his face and in front of his eyes, skimming his heavily pierced ears and the large holes in his lobes.
“Nothing,” he says dryly after swallowing and smacking his lips. As if he’s nowboredwith the conversation.
Something hot and nasty furls in my gut, mutating with his flashes of hot and cold. “That’s what you spent my mom’s money on?”
Abel’s large, crooked nose comes into view as he whirls around, pushing to his feet. His pale face is flushed a bright pink, too-full lips pressed into a tight line.
As he shifts his weight, hands clenching into little fists at his sides, my eyes dart downward, noticing his bare feet. It’s the firsttime I’ve ever seen him without those fucking pink shoes on, and it’s… strange to see that part of him naked.
His toes are long and straight, and the tops of his feet bulge with tendons and veins, which roll beneath the surface as he digs his toes into the carpet.
“Fuck you,” he snaps sharply—defensive.“She said I could buy what I wanted.” His chapped lips quiver, nothing more than a microscopic flutter, but I swallow at the sight of it.
His small body coils with tension, muscles flexing beneath his extra-large t-shirt with a faded band logo. It barely skims the edge of his littlepinkshorts. I follow the path down his knobby knees, over mottled bruises, to the curved scars beneath blonde leg hair in every shade of pink.
Air whistles heavily through my nostrils as I take a step closer, drawn to his heat. “Yeah. Meaning clothes. Because you don’t fuckinghaveany.” I can’t keep the venom out of my words, theneedto strike him back. To prod and poke where it hurts.
The cesspit is filling rapidly, licking at the tips of my fingers.
“Well, I’m certainly wearing new ones, am I not?” he sasses.
My eyes snap to his before dropping of their own volition. “I’m pretty sure she meantappropriateclothes.”
“Oh?” He raises a brow, full lips pursed slightly, budding with amusement. I can’t hold back my sigh as I dig my thumbnail into my left eyebrow.
Here we fucking go.
