Page 66 of Make Me Scream
“Yeah,” I say, nearly choking on the words. Tears come to my eyes, images of Peris flashing in my mind’s eye. I squeeze them shut and crinkle my nose against the onslaught. They creep through anyway, and I feel them slip through my lashes.
And it fuckinghurts.
For the first time in my life, being selfish cripples me, and I don’t know what to do with that. I clutch my chest from the pain—knowing what this will do to Peris and to me as well, but also knowing I can’t stop what I’ve already started.
All I’ve ever known is how to survive, and I can’t stop now.
I need to get out, and this is how I do it.
“So…” Jason drawls.
“So…” I parrot, hitching my voice an octave higher to imitate flirting and to try and work past the lump lodged in my throat. I don’t know if it works, but even if it doesn’t, he doesn’t seem to care.
“I’m guessing you would like to meet up soon then, since you called me?” he questions.
“Whatever works for your schedule, of course, baby. But…” I pause, hesitating.What if I ask for more?My heart starts to race. I would have to do it less to get the same amount, and it would be easier… fuck. I yank on my hair. Sweat beads along my forehead and upper lip. I swipe my tongue across it and lick it away.
I have to risk it.
“I’m worth a little more now. Is that all right with you?”
He chuckles, and I shiver. I kind of forgot how hot his voice was. “How much more we talkin’ here?”
“Five hundred for the night.” I stumble the words out.
“Five hundred, baby? Damn.” He whistles, and I wince. Fuck. That’s too much. I more than doubled my usual price.
No one’s going to pay that much for a whore.
“Let’s see if you can make a fuck worth five hundred dollars, baby boy. How does that sound? If you can, that’s what I’ll pay.”
“Oh,” I chuckle breathlessly, feeling relieved instantly. “You must have forgotten who you’re talkin’ to, baby. You know I can fuck you that good.”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
I grin into the air, feeling a bit of my old self wash over me—and damn, it feels kinda good. “Yeah, I guess we will.”
My eyesopen on Christmas morning, and I’ve never felt shittier in my life. I feel hungover—my head is pounding, and my throat feels dry. My stomach is curdling and roiling, nausea ever-present, and I’m just on the verge of throwing up.
“Fucking lovely,” I mutter as I roll to my side, scrunching my eyes shut. I push out every breath slowly through my nose and out through my mouth, hating every fucking moment that I’m alive.
My phone vibrating beside me makes me jolt, and I groan loudly. I scrabble for it and swipe to answer the call without bothering to see who it is. “Hello?” I croak.
“Oh, no, you sound sick.”
“Elise,” I whisper, freezing up.
“Who else would it be?” she laughs lightly, and I can’t fucking speak. I haven’t talked to her since I left. I’ve been a coward—ignored her calls and texts, refused to answer and face what I had done to her.
“I… don’t know,” I say after a while, squeezing my phone tightly in my hand.
“Are you okay?”
“Feel like shit,” I croak.
“Catch a bug, maybe?”
“In this mold-infested apartment? Anything is possible,” I mutter.
