Page 14 of Make Me Bleed
“Good. I think she needs a nap. Are you sticking around?”
“Yeah, I’ll stay ‘til after she wakes up. I want to spend more time with her.”
“Brilliant. I can use the company. I’m going to help her lie down.”
“Thank you both.”
“And thank you, Abel.
By the timeI’m walking up to my building, it’s dark and cold, and I’m shivering down to my fucking bones. My teeth clack, and I wrap my arms around myself after unlocking thedoor to the building and walking through the lobby. It’s quiet—just past seven o’clock because I decided to stay and have lunch and dinner with Mo after what happened. I couldn’t leave until visiting hours were over. But after she woke up, she seemed to be feeling much better, which was a relief. The rest of the day was beautiful and relaxing.
But now, I’m tired down to my bones, guilt and shame and something I can’t name weighing me down as I trudge up the stairs because the fucking elevator is brokeyet again.
My feet are leaden as I take flight after flight until I make it to the third floor with a breath of relief. I walk with legs like Jello until I stumble up to my front door and shove the key into the three locks that adorn it—with two more for extra security on the inside.
Once the door is shut behind me, I lock them all and stomp across the open area to my bed, stripping my clothes as I do, before flopping down onto my mattress with a groan.
What a fucking day it’s been.
I huff out a breath against the blanket, feeling hot air blow back against my face. It heats my flushed skin, and I curl into myself, pushing the blanket deeper into my face, relishing in the warmth—even as I loathe it.
The guilt swarms in my gut like an angry wasps nest that’s been battered over and over with a fucking bat. The buzzing makes me twist and groan, and I ache to ease the pain—but I can’t because I don’t deserve to.
I left Mo. Albeit, it wasn’t my choice, but I still left her.
And then, she went through shit bad enough that—I cut the thought off with a sharp inhale and shoot up in bed, shoving the blanket off. It falls into a heap around my ankles, and I scramble to my dresser where I keep my weed.
The drawer reeks when I open it up—Gorilla Glue is my favorite strain but damn, does the scent linger on everything. Iflip the lid on the box I keep everything in and pull out one of my pre-rolled joints and put it to my lips, enjoying the way it sticks to my chapped skin.
The taste already seeps into my skin as I swipe one of my many lighters and head to the balcony. It’s fucking cold when I slide the door open, but I welcome the frigidity as I drop down into the metal chair and bring the flame to the end of the joint, inhaling deeply until my lungs burn and the dark world around me begins to spin dangerously.
I move to drop the lighter onto the small tabletop beside me, but then, my fingers clamp around it instinctively. The smooth grooves of plastic bite into the inner flesh of my palms, and the sensation is so familiar yet so foreign, my brows furrow as I stare down at my shadowed hand. I can’t really make anything out, but I know what’s there.
What I could be doing.
What I know I need but haven’t taken in so,so long.
Those scars have healed without him, and I can’t bring myself to create more without him.
Fucked up and pretty sick, but it’s true, nonetheless.
I never claimed to be anything but.
I drop my head back and breathe in the earthy tang of the weed, filling my lungs with the burn, only coughing a few times when I can’t quite catch my breath. My head starts to swim deliciously, filling me with warmth and apathy as I stare up at the stars littering the night sky. The clouds slowly roll in, blocking them from view, and as they do, my grip slowly loosens on the lighter until it eventually clatters to the concrete at my feet, where I let it lie.
Some things are better left that way.
Discarded and forgotten after they’ve slipped from your fingers.
CHAPTER 5
PERIS
Sweat beads across my forehead,soaking into my hair and dripping in my eyes. I push it back with an angry swipe, growling loudly when Jordan slips past meyet againand shoots another three within the past five minutes.
I flex the fingers on my right hand, feeling the burning ache radiating up my arm.
“Damn, Baxter,” he muses as he walks up to me a moment later, cocky fucking grin in place. “Head not screwed on right today?”
