Page 43 of Make Me Pretty
“There’s no one to hear you scream or cry out for help…” he muses, tongue dragging along the shell of my ear. The skin of my nape prickles in awareness. His breath hitches, giving him away as he says, “But then again, I don’t think you’re a screamer. But it would be fun to find out. Can you, Abel? Can you doanythingother than fuckingbeg for scraps?”
His fingers against my skull burrow into my strands, gripping tight before they yank back, stretching my throat taut. He comes into view on my left, and my eyes strain under the pressure of looking at him, but I can’tnot.
Nostrils flared, lips slick and wet, he mouths something I can’t make out in the darkness, and then, with a trembling arm and a moment’s hesitation, I’m shoved forward. My forehead ricochets off the window with a sharp thud. “Fuck,” I whimper, curling against the nausea, disoriented as spots flicker behind closed lids.
I’m snatched up by my nape and dragged backward. Lips crash into mine with such a bruising intensity, every trace of air is sucked from my lungs. It’s all teeth and tongue. I can’t breathe. Can’t think.Can’t…
I whimper—a pathetic, feral sound—as our tongues rub together inside of my mouth. Peris is deep inside me and humiliatingly thorough as he licks along my cheeks and crooked teeth. My skin tingles when our teeth clack together, and then he pulls back to sink them into my tongue. I yelp, but the sound is muffled as he pulls back, the muscle trapped between teeth, exposing the flesh to the stifling, damp air around us.
He keeps me pinned with that touch alone, presumably exactly how he wants me. Throbbing with pain, eyes too close to his, every ugly part laid bare. All the while he juststares.
Drool pools along my lips, then drips down my chin and neck where it soaks into the collar of my shirt. It’s cold comparedto the humidity, to the sweat oozing at my pores, and it’s so humiliatinglygood.
Peris is much nastier than I thought he’d be, and I’mgonefor it.
And to think I was gonna walk away.
Peris rips away with a soft grunt and slams backward into his seat. I let out a pained hiss as I pull the sore muscle back into my mouth. It has its own throbbing heartbeat I feel down my throat.
Thud. Thud. Thud.Steady and hot and painful.
I drop my head against the doorframe as Peris silently pulls away from the curb, fingers loose where they curl along the bottom of the wheel, thumb tapping away. I keep my eyes locked on the dash, on the tiny cracks and sun-worn spots. The fingers on his free hand flex, then drag through his hair before dropping into his lap. Seemingly unable to keep still, he taps them against the gear shift, then shifts back to his thigh—a glimpse into his uncertainty.
Muscles flex beneath tanned flesh as he shifts from the gas to the brake, and back to the gas again, through every stop sign on Main Street. A dark smattering of hair covers his skin. I follow downward, though my vision is stolen by the shadows.
“Comedown” by Bush crackles through the speakers in a low hum. I stare at the radio station numbers on the small screen as I reach over to turn it up, up,up,until every thought I have is drowned out and replaced by the lyrics.
When Peris pulls into the drive, the song comes to a close. He shifts into park, turns the ignition. And then, we both sit in silence; the only sounds caressing our skin are those of our breaths and faded guitar notes.
Those sixteen seconds feel like an intense lifetime within a flash.
Once it cuts off and the radio station hosts start talking, he spares me a quick glance before he grabs his duffle and slams thedoor behind him. I stare through the fogged glass, eyes so dry I think if I blinked, they’d shatter. His long legs take him up the sidewalk in quick strides, an ability I’ll always be envious of.
The front door is nothing but another barrier as it slams closed between us, dozens of feet away and yet close enough to feel the smooth steel against the back of my hand. And now, I’m alone with Peris’s smell. Trapped within the confines of his car. It’s suffocating. Notes of citrus and spice mixed with faint traces of sweat long since trapped in the fabric of the seats.
My eyes burn when I dig the pads of my fingers into my sockets before I drag both hands down my face, gritting my teeth when my skull pulls.
I can’t fucking believe I let him see me cry. Don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware a few tears can work wonders coming from a pathetic foster kid in the right situation—we’ve all been there. I’m a tortured individual, after all. Years of built-up trauma cresting at the peak, ready to spill over and wipe me out. It’s all too easy to bring forward. But to expose myself like that? To make myself vulnerable…
I roll my shoulders against the chill raking down my spine, coiling tightly in my gut. The tears may haveultimatelybeen another ploy to get what I wanted—andfuck,did Peris eat it up. If I had known he would snap at the sight of a few sea salt drops, I would have tried them a lot sooner—but they were real, nonetheless, and I think he knows that.
What his friend said sits heavy and cold against my chest. A cinder block that’s still crushing me, despite my best efforts to expel it. Not the crass comments about me being a whore, but how I’mnasty…
And Iknow.Peris has spewed much worse.So has everyone else. But it’s… it’s different coming from Peris. When he saysnasty and worthless and disgusting,I heargood boyandpretty runtbetween each vile word. And it’sperfect.
It’s the game we play. I dig, push, burrow. He snaps, resists, hates. Both hands clutching the tether, vying to see who has the upper hand while we both shake with the unsteady weight.
I roll my head against the headrest, index finger dragging through the condensation, watching through a half-lidded gaze as the water beads and then spills over, trickling in a fat drop to the bottom of the window.
Peris really flipped the script when he let his demons come out to play.
How am I to return the favor?
CHAPTER 14
ABEL
I wouldn’t bewho I am if I didn’t double my return.
