Page 18 of Make Me Scream
“Y-you can’t do this,” he stutters, wincing as he looks away. His confidence is gone, and everyone seems to have dispersed into their own conversation, leaving us to ourselves.Boring.
My eye twitches, knowing exactly what the fuck he means by that.
Peris.
I lean forward, close enough to skim my nose along the side of his face as I whisper into his ear, “I can dowhateverthe fuck I want, Gabriel.” I drag my tongue along the shell of his ear, grinning wildly at his responding shiver. “If there’s anyone with a fucking leash, it’s Peris with mine around his throat.” With that, I suck the lobe of his pierced ear into my mouth, grinning around the stud at his resounding shiver and gasp.
Fingers delve into my hair, cinching tight, and for approximately two seconds, I revel in the burn before I’m yanked backward. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, runt?” Peris spits in my face, cheek pressed to mine, skin burning hot as we melt together.
I’m panting—I can’t help it. Peris wraps his arm around my waist, pinning me to his front. I can feel the soft press of his dick against my back, and I push back against him. He grunts, and I hear the squeak of his teeth grinding together in his skull.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he gnashes out and reaches down to still my waist with a tight grip on my left hipbone.
“Well, I’m gonna go now,” Gabriel blurts.
My eyes dart over to him. He’s still flushed, eyes avoiding us readily. Everyone else seems to have dispersed. “Awe, are we turning you on, baby?” I taunt him.
“Shut the fuck up, Abel. Gabe, get the fuck out of here.”
“Right. R-right. I’ll see you both—” At that, his eyes widen when Peris snaps his teeth. “I’ll see you at practice. Yep, all right. Bye.” And then, he slings his bag over his shoulder and is gone, leaving Peris and I alone in the middle of the commons room.
“Damn, that’s too bad.” I pretend to pout. “He’s cute.”
Peris’s arm swings around, and his fingers find my throat in the next second. “Abel, I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
“Why? I find you quite hot like this,” I tease.
“This is fun for you, is it? Pissing me off?” His voice has lost most of its venom.
“You know it is, Peri. This is the game we play.”
“What if I’m done with the games?” Like the crack of a whip, his question shatters the stillness in the air.
“Well, that makes one of us, then.” His grip on me has slackened enough, I’m able to pull away, hating myself a little more the further away from him I get. Each step weighs more than it should. My body is encumbered considerably—probably from all the weed I smoked, but I have a feeling it’s more than that.
I’m just so fuckingtired.
But nope, not thinking about that today—or tomorrow. Or literally until I’m walking into her house and forced to.
Until then, I’m gonna fucking pretend because that’s what I’m good at. Dissimulating and posturing. Impersonating and cheating… because I have no idea who I really am other than who I’ve been forced to be.
The son of a drug addict and a whore, forced to become one of the same. Born to manipulate and seduce, take for gain and do what must be done to live this fucked-up life.
I’m a survivor, and I’ll keep doing what I must to endure it all…
But I’m getting pretty fucking sick of it all.
The shorts adorningmy bare legs bring a genuine smile to my lips for the first time in days. I glance down at myself and run my fingers over the hairs slowly growing back. They are short, fuzzy, and blonde—and they do nothing to hide the multitude of scars littering the expanse of my thighs.
I smile down at the scars smiling up at me, some more deformed than others. I trace one with thicker scar tissue, hating the way water wells in my eyes before I quickly blink it away like it never happened.
“Ready?” Sierra asks from just beside me.
“Absolutely,” I drawl, tightening my hair in my pigtails and digging the toe of my Converse into the floor, twisting it around. My green shirt is cropped and baggy, showing just a sliver of my abdomen, and my shorts are tight and black, perfect for Peris to have the best view of my ass while he’s trying to score his baskets.
Ha, the fucker.
When we enter the gym, I sway my hips a little extra, knowing the extra sets of eyes I have on me—always gotta give ‘em a show.
