Page 15 of Make Me Scream
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuck.
“Oh, what are we watching?” Abel strides into the room, red-eyed and pale and as confident as ever. My heart chugs heavily.
Mom and I exchange a look before she says, “Not sure. What are you in the mood for?” She scooches over to give him room between us, and I glare at the screen in front of me as Abel plops down deliberately on the cushion to my left, jostling me.
“Something funny,” he says easily, reaching for the remote in my hand.
I jerk back. “I amnotwatchingSpongeBob,” I grit through clenched teeth and scroll past the channel with a sick sort of glee when I catch Abel’s pout in the corner of my eye.
“Awe, Peris, c’mon,” Mom tries.
“Yeah, Peri…” Abel chimes in as he leans over, voice dropping all sultry and shit. My muscles tighten, groin coiling. “Comeon.”
My breathing kicks up as Abel’s breath fans across the side of my neck. It’s hot, and it smells like sex and candy.
“Fine,” I snap and scroll up, slamming my thumb on the button. The grating voice plays through the speakers, and Abel’s own follows suit. “Thanks, baby,” he rumbles beside me, barely loud enough to be heard over the television.
I’m panting now, and I can’t help it. It’s fucking hot, and I can’t breathe, and it’s all too much—and then, Abel drops his head onto my shoulder, and the chaos comes to a standstill for the time being as we watch his favorite T.V. show together in mutual silence.
Ma hangs out on the couch with us, none of us saying a word as the minutes pass, eventually slipping into hours. Darkness falls, and eventually, Mom heads off to bed, leaving us to fall into a mutual, restless sleep on the couch in a tangle of limbs and nightmares we both know were once—and are yet again—our reality.
I wakebefore the sun to the pressure of his body against mine. It’s warm and solid, and I hate every second of it—only because I know I shouldn’t like it, shouldn’t find comfort in it. I’m confused, the way it’s all changed, so much, so quickly. How none of this makes sense. Hating him and not being able to stand the very fuckingsightof him, yet needing him in the same breath.
Knowing, deep down, I loathe who I am and what I need. Who Abel sees and what he’s forced me to acknowledge.
And now, he’s leaving me.
“I fucking hate you.” I murmur the words to the top of his head as I breathe in the cherry scent of his hair.
“I know,” Abel responds in the next breath, fingers tracing along the pattern on my shirt, startling me. “I hate you too, you know.”
“Good.”
“Yeah, it’s good.”
“Better this way.”
“Yep.” He sighs.
“Mhm.”
“So why are you still touching me then?” I canhearthe smile in his words.
“Why are you?” I retort, just as quickly, not moving my hand from his hair, instead tugging sharply at his locks and earning a hiss.
“Because I can do whatever the fuck I want, Peris.”
“So can I,runt.”
“Guess that settles that then, huh.”
“Guess it does.”
“Why are we doing this?”
“Doing what?”
