Page 46 of Make Me Pretty
The harsh intake of a snore has me tensing beneath the blanket stretched around me. It’s paper thin, the flame flickering in front of my face more than enough light for me to see through the goddamn thing.
It does nothing to fight off the cold, but it’s something. And something’s always better than nothing.
When my thumb starts to sting, I release the trigger, letting the lighter dangle between my index finger and thumb. I stare at it in all shades of gray as it sways back and forth.
What if…
Don’t think,a sharp, nasty little voice screeches in my mind. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it—in fact, we have conversations often. After all, what else is there to do when one’s living in a hell they can’t escape?
Using every ounce of strength I have left in my riddled body, I press the stinging metal to the crook of my arm. I have to sink my teeth into my tongue to block the cry from spilling out and causing irreparable damage.
All I taste is copper and elation.
The heat fades fast—too fast—but the dull ache it leaves behind makes it worth it. Makes itcompulsive.
I lose track of how many burns I give myself. Over my forearms, my thighs, even my calves. The inner thigh hurts the worst—the most sensitive skin just in the crease.
Through another flickering flame, I glance down at the red welt on my arm, at the others scattered over my body. With the promise of smiley-faced scars, I sigh, hating them as much as I need them.
Sometimes, trying to find my voice in a cesspool filled with hundreds of others gets a little… complicated.
When the skinof my thumb starts to char, I release the stinging metal with a relished hiss, blinking down at my blistered skin.
Do it.
With wide eyes and lungs filled to capacity, I flip the lighter between my fingers and shove the metal down against the soft,sensitive flesh of my inner thigh—just below the satiny skin where my leg meets my groin.
“Shit,” I groan at the initial,fuck this is stupid, why would I do thismoment. But then, my eyes light up with adrenaline, then roll back with relief, and I start the process over. I lose track, never pausing in my tedious technique until my gaze blurs, the color white fading in and out in heavy, drugging waves.
When I can no longer keep a grip, the lighter slips from between my fingers and clatters to the tile floor. I stare at the pink stain as I sway, hair tickling my spine before I slump back against the tank of the toilet with a moan of comfort.
I’m not a masochist. Well… maybe I am, but this has never been about that, per se. It’s actually more of the opposite. The need to feel good when everything else just… hurts so fucking bad. Pain for pain. A reminder thatIam the one who chooses what affects me.
And the sting of the welts, the twisted, gnarly, smiley faced scars they leave behind help keep that reminder alive.
Especially now that things are… warped. And confusing. I need it now more than ever, I think.
Dizzy with a buzzing vacancy, I release a shaky breath and swipe up the lighter to drop it atop the counter before jumping in the shower to wash the stain of the day down the drain.
CHAPTER 15
PERIS
The walkto my car is silent and tense as irritation rolls off me in steamy waves. The vapor dissipates in the cool, late autumn air, mingling with the shadows of night. I glance up at the moon, hidden behind a foggy wall of clouds, as I dig around in my bag for my keys. They bite into my palm as I clasp them tight enough to break skin.
Gabe opens his door, not bothering to spare me a glance before he drops down into the seat. I stare over the roof to the empty lot in front of me with the school its dark outline.
“You going to stand there all night?” he calls out, voice carrying over and up. I snap my molars together to keep from retorting as I throw my bag in the back seat before settling into my own.
After turning my phone on and plugging in the auxiliary cord, I open my music and hit play on the last song I was listening to—“Enemy” by The Plot In You. As I swipe out of the app, notifications start popping up now that my internet has reconnected. My eyes catch on a random number with the notification, “three images attached”.
With my brows furrowed in confusion, I open the thread and then nearly snap my fucking phone in two. My grip is tightenough to make the aluminum creak as I stare at Abel’s half-naked fucking body on my screen.
“I’m gonna wring his goddamn neck,” I mutter to myself as I rake my fingers through my drying hair, unable to look away frommyfucking cum streaked across his skin, a purple wall of lockers at his back.
These are from that night in the locker room.
The last time I let myself…
