Page 52 of Make Me Pretty
I’m drawn to the red welts at the crease of his right thigh. I count each grotesque smiley face three times over. There are nine, all placed close together but far enough apart to bedistinctive all on their own. The marks are swollen, probably hot to the touch, and surrounded by even more hauntingly distinctive blemishes. Some are pale and silver, a shade lighter than his skin tone; others are purple—newer but healed.
My eyes rake over his naked body, seeing every scar and blemish anew. Some of them are difficult to make out, especially the few on his forearms. But his legs… they’re covered. From just above his knees to his hips.
How did I not see these before? When he was wearing those short, pink shorts…
The answer comes to me instantly.
I wouldn’t let myself see him. Not really.
That awareness hits me harder than expected, the fierce verity of it stealing my breath. I’m reaching out, thumb brushing a fresh wound, not even realizing what it is until Abel’s pained hiss scrapes through my ear canal.
“You love hurting, don’t you?” I breathe the words somehow, even with the oxygen sucked from my lungs.
“I like controlling what I feel,” he states apathetically, but his words wobble at the end, giving away more than I’m sure he intended.
The words feel like I jumped off a skyscraper, and the concrete below comes faster than anticipated, the force of gravity working against me as I crave the freefall before my last breath.
I like controlling what I feel.
As I stare at Abel, his words, spoken in his alto, melodic tone, bounce around like a pinball machine inside my head. Each clash against my skull hits some hidden memory I thought I’d snuffed out, and the abuse makes my temples throb. With stinging eyes, a burning nose, and aching lungs, the lighter slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor. The sound ricochets off the walls. Abel follows the descent of pink plastic, eyebrowslipping into a perfectly formed arc when he raises his eyes to meet my gaze. Questions burn in the depths of gray.
The doorknob is slippery against my palm as I twist it to stumble my way out of the bathroom. The wave of fresh, cool air licks across my damp skin, making me shiver as I stagger toward my bedroom.
Once the door is shut and locked behind me, a thin, but imperative barrier between us, I feel I can finally take a breath that doesn’t ache.
Pretending is good. Easy, even—until it’s not when I’m fucking reminded of all the things far outside my realm of control. How I’ve never been able to grasp my feelings with any certainty, and Abel just… found a fucking way to manipulate the very things thatareunmanageable.
And there is this…thinginside me that craves what Abel and I have. This warped, disturbing twist on connection. What touching him allows. Like, as long as it’s depraved, it’s okay to have.
But can I accept that?
“This is okay. It’s okay. Shh, don’t cry.”
I grab the first thing I see and hurl it against the wall, feeling absolutelynothingas I watch it explode, even as a sound I didn’t know I could make rips from my vocal cords. It leaves me choking, nails digging into my neck.
Even with my eyes wide open, staring blankly at the sharp dent in my wall, the nightmares that plague my dreams begin to morph into reality.
My fingers dive into my hair, yanking until strands rip from my scalp, but the sting is nothing compared to the gnawing in my chest—a slow sludge that creeps up my throat and buries itself right behind my eyes, growing sharp the longer it sits. But I am not going to fucking cry. I haven’t since the night, and I’m sure as shit not about to now.
If I could choke it down every time withhim,I’m sure as fuck not going to let Abel Silver rip it out of me.
CHAPTER 16
ABEL
“What the fuck are you doing?”Peris’s voice hisses directly into my ear from behind. I jerk back, hand slamming into my opened locker door. The metal is cold and biting, sending a heavy wave of pain through my wrist. I grit my teeth but keep my eyes pinned on the contents inside, Lance no longer in my peripheral.
The school’s laptop they’ve loaned me for the year sits on top of four textbooks that I have for homework since I’ve never been allowed to take my laptop off school premises. A few crumpled papers line the bottom, along with empty candy wrappers—all green apple flavored, of course. Minus the Skittles, but that’s different. Skittles arealwaysthe exception.
Peris must have looked inside too, because he then says, “Do you not know where the fucking garbage can is?”
I curl my lips around my teeth, feeling the sharp press of my crooked canine. “And to what do I owe this pleasure, oh, team captain?”
“Shut the fuck up. You know what I’m talking about.”
With a sigh, I peer over my shoulder. Peris is staring down at me, thick, golden brown hair appearing darker in the harsh fluorescents above. His eyes are shiny with his indignation.
“Well, what is it you want from me, Peri? You want me to talk, or do you want me to shut up?” I tilt my head down to accentuate my glance upward through my lashes, darkened with a few passes of cheap mascara. I really shouldn’t have bought it—should’ve been smart and stolen it, saving the money for food for when I’m inevitably kicked to the streets. But it’s fucking worth it to see that muscle jump in his jaw, the flare in his nostrils as his eyes skim over the accented darkness.
