Page 87 of Make Me Scream
What about me, damnit?
“Yes. Everything. What’s his name?” I ask, grinding my teeth. I can’t take my eyes off that fucking necklace.
“Abel, who is that?” the man calls from inside.
Abel’s eyes widen, and his head turns to quickly look behind him, “No one!” he squeaks, and I curl my lips inward before giving a quick nod.
“Right. I’m no one. I got it,” I say briefly as I back up a few steps.
“No, Peris,” he says quickly, reaching toward me, eyes wide and glassy. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”
I jerk my arm back, hissing when his fingers skim mine. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
He looks wounded, and he winces. I relish in the sight.
Good.Hurt like me.
“Peris, you don’t understand…” he tries to say, but I shake my head.
“Don’t treat me like I’m fucking stupid. I would understand anything and everything. What I don’t understand islies,” I hiss, nostrils flaring. Tears fill his eyes, and I hope it hurts. I want it to hurt.
His hands shake in front of him as he crosses his arms over his stomach like he’s trying to keep all of his organs inside. “You couldn’t understand!”
“Okay, Abel,” I say resolutely and turn to walk away, back straight and mind made up.
“Wait!” he squeaks. “Don’t go!”
“You just said I was no one, runt,” I hiss. “Fuckingno one.To somebody that really doesn’t matter. So fuck you.” I step forward and shove my finger in his face. “You’re nothing but the fucking whore you’ve always been. And I’ll admit, I was stupid enough to fall for the lies you fabricated. They were good, I’ll give you that, So, congratulations. You got me. You won. But let me ask you this, Abel.” I step forward and wrap my fingers around the side of his neck and tilt his head up so I can skim my nose along the shell of his ear, and I relish in the way it makes him shiver, even now. After everything.
“Do you still win when you’re the lying whore who hasnothingleft in the end? Not even his own dignity? Riddle me that.” And with one last chaste kiss to his tear-stained cheek, I shove him away and stalk down the hall without looking back once, even as every bone in my body aches and yearns in regret for him.
The car ridehome is a blur I don’t remember.
I pull into the drive and stare through the windshield at the front door of the house. Mom’s not home. It’s dark and cold and lonely.
I’m alone.
Always so fucking alone.
“Fuck!” I scream and wrench forward, thrusting my fist into the glass as I stare at the house I hate—because now it’s tainted with memories of a boy I hate to love.
A boy who fucking ruined me.
The windshield cracks and spiderwebs outward. “Shit!” I scream as my knuckles bust. The throbbing is instant, as is the swelling. I pull my hand to my chest, uncaring of the pain.
In fact, I welcome it. It’s better to focus on that than on the ache in my chest. And with that at the forefront of my mind, I stumble out of the car and into the house with painfully dry eyes and a heavy chest.
Each footstep twinges, but I’ve got plans for that as I make my way into the kitchen. I yank open the freezer door with one hand, the other cradled to my chest. I grab the bottle of tequila and kick the door shut before turning down the hallway, bottle already pressed to my lips.
And like the fucking masochist I must be, it’s not until the tequila is burning its way down my throat that I realize I’ve opened the door to Abel’s room, and I’m just standing there, staring at his still half-made messy bed, pink sheets and all.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Fuck!” I let the bottle drop from my mouth as I saunter over, and I drop onto his bed. I flop down, feet still planted on the floor. My phone is still quietly playing music in my pocket, and the lyrics to “Pet Names” by I The Mighty carry through the room, making me feel sick to my stomach as they rip the wound in my chest open a little more.
I wedge the bottle in my armpit, shivering at the cold as I use my good hand to dig for my phone, but as I go to switch the song, some part of me just can’t do it. I’m not sure why, but there’s something about it. I just can’t.
“Fuck it,” I mumble as I tip my head back and glug from the bottle a few more times until my head spins and I feel like I’m going to be sick. When my vision clears, I hit the repeat button and crank the volume, dropping my head back to the pillow that still smells so much of my runt. I bury my nose into it and inhale with tears in my eyes, hating everything he is, even as I still need him.
“God, I fucking hate you,” I swear into the air, tears falling freely down the sides of my face. “But I fucking love you, too,” I finally choke out, chasing the words down with more shots of tequila until I can’t feel my face anymore and my consciousness swims into blackness.
