Page 48 of Make Me Pretty
The thought makes me want to cry. To scream and throw up and justnot exist.
“I don’t.”
Gabriel’s swallow is rickety and slow. Deliberate. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat, much too quickly.
“But you don’tnotlike him,” he quips back.
My lips part in rebuttal, but then, I pause, dropping my head back against my seat. I pull my fingers through my hair, swiping it away from my face. My skin is too tight and dry, ill-fitting on my skeleton. Organs punctured and decaying, their rot seeping into my veins, spreading up and into my brain.
“I don’t want to have this conversation, Gabriel,” I say at last, my voice sounding as tired as I feel. Days of barely sleeping have caught up to me. But I couldn’t allow more than an hour here or twenty minutes there knowing what lay for me on the other side.
Nightmares. Of him. Of what happened. Bleeding into now and how I feel.And that can’t fucking happen.
“Hey, you’re the one that made it a fucking problem with me, man.”
“No, all I said?—”
“I heard what you said. And it was pretty much in layman’s terms, Peris.”
“Gabe,” I start.
“Maybe it’s time?—”
“Get the fuck out.”
Static crackles in the air, sharp little sparks that bounce and burrow beneath my skin.
“What?” Gabe says after a moment, tone soft and confused. It only pisses me off more because I can’t focuson his hurt. Only my own because I’mselfish.
“I said I’m not doing this right now. Getthe fuckout.”
Gabe remains for one beat of my heart and an intake of breath, and then, he’s grabbing his bag and pushing the door open, but before he closes it, he dips down to peer at me, the small yellow light above casting strange shadows along the interior.
“You ever think that maybeyou’rethe fucking problem?” His question sits like a noose around my neck, hanging me as he slams the door and waltzes inside. I wait until his front dooris shut between us before pulling around the rest of the drive, pausing at the entrance to the street. I glance left, then right. Nothing but darkness and yellow street lamps.
I think I’ve always been what’s wrong, I just can’t keep it buried anymore.This… thing. It’s like sludge. Thick and black as coal. Multiplying with exposure, like it’s been starved, and now, it’s ravenous.
I crank the volume back up to its max as I dip right, taking the road that will bring me home the fastest. To where I know Abel is.
The source of all this… bullshit.
And the only person who doesn’t see it as a bad thing. Who wants me like this.
Who saw and taunted and baited until he ripped off my skinsuit, exposing realities I hate and truths I can’t ignore.
I never knew submission could feel so sharp and clear. Like the plastic covering removed from a mirror, exposing the crystalline reflection beneath.
And mine is that I can be cruel with Abel. I can release it allon himbecause that’s what he wants. But more than that,it’s what he deserves.
The tell-tale soundof water rushing from the bathroom makes my ears prick. My bag slides off my shoulder, dropping to the ground with a heavy thud as my feet take me closer to the noise.
Standing in front of the bathroom door, I lean against the wood. Water splashes against the basin, the curtain. A low humpermeates through the echoes—and it’s that noise that has me trying the doorknob, but it rattles, not budging against the lock.
Sliding my tongue across my teeth, I shove off to grab a butter knife from the kitchen. With it in hand, I easily wedge the thin metal between the latch and the door frame, watching as the latch pops free, and the door creaks open.
Steam creeps through the crack as I step inside, quietly shutting it behind me. It fogs the mirror, billowing up from the opaque, glass door. It dampens my skin instantly. I draw in my lips in contemplation.
