Page 90 of Make Me Scream
His piece of shit, ratty backpack—and I wish, as painful as it is to admit, that it was because he was still with his client—but no, his duffle isn’t here, either. Which means he took all of his clothes. And his CDs. His earrings and the necklace and shoes I gave him.
It’s all gone.
Everything except his fucking phone.
I walk over to it slowly, my hand shaking at my side. I lean down and watch as a bead of sweat drips from my forehead and onto the screen. I reach down to swipe it away from the screen, only to illuminate it.
The screen lights up to a picture of me and Abel at the park—one Gabe took.
Abel was sitting in my lap. My hands are on his ass and his arms are wrapped around my neck. His head is tossed back in alaugh, and my face is buried in his neck, sucking marks into his skin.
I remember he was whispering the dirtiest fucking things into my ear, and he made me so hard, I was so tempted to fuck him right then and there, but no. He was being the worst little cock tease.
My stomach clenches at the sight of the photo—it’s one even I don’t have.
Tears burn their way down my face before I even realize what’s happening, and they splash across my hands and on the screen. “Fuck.Fuckfuckfuck,” I swear over and over as I bring his phone up to my face with trembling hands, trying to blink the tears away so I can see what I’m doing.
I’m able to swipe the screen open without a passcode, and that’s… that can’t be good.
“Oh, God…” Voices scream and shout in the background, but I pay them no mind as the screen pops up, and I read the words that have shown up in front of me.
No…
Abel, baby, no…
You didn’t…
Whores like me never win, Peris. We just survive. This is goodbye.
I fall to my knees on the dirty carpet below, a wail escaping my lips without my permission.
“What the fuck is going on?” Lucy comes running into the room. I whip around and swing the phone in her direction. It sails right past her face and sinks into the soft drywall just to the right of her face. She jerks back with a bellow that nearly rivals mine as I drop back onto my haunches and toss my head back, tearing my hair out as another scream tears through my throat.
Just when I needed someone—neededhim…
He ran.
He fucking ran away.
…from me.
I dig my nails into my chest until I feel warm, bloodied flesh beneath, and then I rip, hoping to yank out the useless chunk of muscle inside.
What fucking good is it now, anyway?
TO BE CONTINUED…
