Page 12 of Make Me Scream
“It’s certainly… not common,” Bill amends.
“He’s eighteen,” I try, knowing it won’t do any fucking good.
Bill laughs loudly, and for some reason, it seems to break Abel out of his stupor. He glares over at the big man. “That’s what he tells me,” Bill drawls, smirking at Abel like they have their own little secret.
I don’t fucking like it.
“When have I ever fucking lied to you?” Abel questions rudely.
“You didn’t tell me the truth about Morana,” Bill answers just as quickly, and that shuts Abel up immediately.
“Who’s Morana?” I ask.
“Shut the fuck up!” Abel screams, making all three of us jolt in place at the sudden volume coming from such a small body.
Ma startles, eyes wide with worry as her gaze ricochets between us. “Abel, honey, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about…” Ma glances up at Bill from where she’s leaning toward Abel. “We don’t have to talk about it, okay? It’s all right.” She tentatively runs her hand up and down his back. He doesn’t relax, but he doesn’t pull away from her either. I’m frozen watching their interaction and wondering who the fuck Morana is and why he’s screaming about her.
“You’re not eighteen until February, Abel. I remember your birthday, baby.” Lucy strides back into the room and enters the conversation like she never left, which means she was probably fucking eavesdropping the whole time, thecunt.
Abel, the deranged little maniac he is, starts to laugh. And it’s not a good laugh. It’s ugly. The kind of cackle you see in horror movies when someone’s been possessed by a fucking spirit and they’re about to go on a murdering spree, lips spread so wide you can see every tooth in their skull.
The tension is hung so heavy, I can taste it with every breath, nearly choking in its potency.
“She doesn’t even know when my birthday is,” Abel says after long seconds tick away. He’s so quiet at first, I’m not sure I hear him right. The room grows so quiet, it feels as silent as death.
“What?” Lucy asks, her voice absolutelygrating,and that was the wrong thing to say.
“I said,” Abel repeats, voice getting louder with each specific letter he enunciates, “you don’t even know my goddamnbirthday,you dumb fuckingcunt.And you expect me to want to leave here, my fuckinghome,to come and live with you?!” He’s screaming now, and I’ve never heard a better sound in my life.
“You’re a fucking stranger to me! I don’t know you, and I haven’t known you since I was taken when I was five goddamn years old! Why are you trying? Why now, when it’s almost too late, when I’ve finally gotten everything I wanted? When I am finally almost—” He chokes, breaking off suddenly.
My eyes widen, and I lurch toward him, but Abel runs out of the room, hand to his mouth, face more pale than its usual ghostly parlor.
With Abel gone, everyone stands around awkwardly as the tension multiples again without the common denominator in the room.
“I need to go check on Abel and make sure he’s doing all right,” Ma says after a minute. Bill nods, jaw set tight as he drags his eyes away from the hall.
“Yes. I will call you with the schedule once I have it, which should be within the next day or two. Again, I am sorry for this last minute change. I know it’s not what anyone expected, but I do appreciate your willingness to cooperate and for taking such great care of Abel.”
“I’ll always take care of Abel,” Ma replies. Her eyes flick toward Lucy, whose gaze is roaming the room,judginglike she has any goddamn right. “He’s my kid.” At that, Lucy’s eyes find Ma’s, and I watch them narrow. Mom lifts her brow in a challenge before straightening. “I’ll see you both out.”
Before they’ve even left the kitchen, I’m rushing toward the bathroom where I know Abel ran to. I hear water running on the other side. I try the knob and find it locked. I jiggle it a few times. “Open up, pup. It’s just me.”
A loud sigh meets my ears and then thesnickof the lock being turned. I push inside and lean back against the closeddoor. Abel’s sitting on the closed toilet seat, face in his hands, back hunched over. His choppy, blonde hair hangs over the shaved sides of his head, and I crave to run my fingers along the short, soft hairs.
“I threw up,” he says bluntly.
“Nice,” I reply.
“Hot, I know.”
“Very.”
“Wanna kiss me still?” he asks, lifting his head to peek at me through his fingers. I stare at him for a minute before taking the two short steps toward him and bending down to place a chaste kiss to his chapped, pink lips.
Abel lets out a surprised hum, his eyes widening as I grip his chin and tilt his head back so I can look into his bloodshot eyes.
“I never wanna kiss you, runt.”
