Page 21 of Make Me Pretty
I wake with a scream in my throat and vomit spewing from between my lips, staining my sweat-slicked body. As the stench wafts into my nose and the liquid seeps into the blankets below, I lie back, bathing in the disgust as my sweat cools against the sheets.
The room is dark apart from the blurred, neon-red glow of the numbers on my alarm clock. I watch as they switch into the next, over and over, until everything’s cold, and I’m shaking.
When I push to my feet, I nearly lose it all over again but manage to stay upright as I shuck my bedding and throw it in the wash before stepping into the shower.
Icy water sluices down my back as my head droops between my knees, neck stretched taut, throbbing under the strain. Water drips across my forehead, trickling across my nose and over my mouth. I draw a little in with every rapid inhale, choking and spluttering, just to do it all over again.
A soft thud resounds through the room, followed by the distinct click of the latch being released. The shuffle of bare feet. A small shadow illuminated. “Peris?” An even softer voice.
And it fuckingshatters.
“Get the fuck out,” I say quietly, curling my fingers around my shins.I can’tcan’tcan’t—not now. Not. Now.
“Are you?—”
“GET OUT!” My voice cracks on a scream, leaving my ears ringing. His throat clears, and I coil for confrontation, but then the door clicks shut, and I’m left in a vacancy I should want.
“Fuck,” I whimper, squeezing my eyes shut against the onslaught. “What the fuck is happening to me?”
CHAPTER 6
ABEL
I’ve developed quitethe reputation, which seems to have followed me like gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I honestly don’t know who’s running their mouth—probably everyone at this point; I’ve certainly given them enough reason—but even I have to admit, some of the shit they’re saying is quite creative.
I didn’t even know I was capable of such atrocities. I tap my index finger to my bottom lip as I gnaw on the dry skin.I suppose I better step up my game.
With a smile twitching into existence, I readjust the hard, plastic ear bud in my ear, head bopping to the beat of “I Miss You” by blink-182. I tug my backpack higher up on my shoulder, wincing as the strap bites into one of many still-healing bruises.
It’s at that moment, searching my locker for more candy before class starts, that I catch the gaze of one of the cheerleaders in my algebra class a few feet to my right. Sierra, I think her name is. I expect a sneer or even to be ignored, but she smiles brightly before turning back to her conversation.
My face splits into a lopsided smile.Well, that’s a good sign… right?
Maybe that means today’s gonna be a great day—or itwould beif I could see Peris for more than two fucking seconds. I haven’t caught more than a passing, stolen glance in days—ever since I woke to the sound of his screams. Screams that were so real, I felt their tenor in my bones.
And I’m jonesing for more. For that acrid taste of familiarity.
It’s like heknows,so he’s fucking avoiding me. I mean, we literally live together, for fuck’s sake. How long can he hold out?
“Too long, apparently,” I grumble to myself as I swipe a few sour, green candies from the shelf in my locker before slamming it closed and heading toward my new in-person English class.
Why I couldn’t continue it online, I don’t fucking know, but Mrs. Garner didn’t give me much choice in the matter—something about dual credit for college and how I should take it in person,blah blah; I tuned her out after that. College credits don’t apply to me in the slightest.
I only took the class because I like English Lit, but whatever.
Cliché whispers echo around me on my way, even as the halls quickly dissipate. Eyes burn into my back, the side of my face. I ensure my spine is straight, my backpack clasped tightly in a fist. I keep my cheap but brand-new earbuds in my ears with my Discman shoved into the large pocket of my new-to-me hoodie. It’s pretty worn with a few stains around the cuffs, but fuck, it’s warm. Warmer than anything I’ve ever had.
I tap my fingers to the beat of the music flooding my ears, focusing on the rhythm to clear my mind, nearly smiling all over as the reality of havingmusic in my earswashes over me again. I really hit the jackpot when I went to the thrift store, finding this Discman and having it work. Then also finding a decent selection of CDs to add to the few I already had.
It’s really one of those little, in-the-back-of-your-mind thoughts you never realize is a dream until you have it, and it’s all just too much. And pathetically sad. I mean, I’m eighteen-years-old with a fucking Discman from the early 2000s while everyone around me has their phone screens shoved up their asses.
But I’m happy to have it. To have this.
Forever living in the now because people like me aren’t allowed the capacity for what-ifs and what-could-bes. Which is just fine by me—I’ve always been content remaining selfishly in the moment.
Always in the moment.
The fact I never had a choice in the matter never much crossed my mind.
