Page 3 of Make Me Bleed
All alone.
“Fuck, Gabe,” I breathe out, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. “You have no idea how much I hope that happens.”
CHAPTER 1
PERIS
ONE YEAR LATER
I stare downat his name on my stomach, hidden from the eyes of others but never mine.
No. I see it every fucking day because, apparently, some part of me is masochistic. And disturbed.
My eyes roll into the back of my head as I dig my nails into my skin, shredding flesh. I hiss as it bunches beneath my blunt nails. Blood beads and wells, slowly dripping its way down my abdomen.
I release myself with a sharp breath, eyes rapt on the bloody crescent moons in my skin. On the way the blood soaks into the waistband of my briefs, staining them.Ruining them.
How my skin is marred, yet his name always remains untouched despite my every intention.
I shove away from the wall with a huff and drag my fingers through my sweaty hair, yanking on the strands, but even that doesn’t bring any relief.
Just as I reach for the door handle, a soft yet grating voice slices its way through me.
“Where are you going?”
My eyes close as I pull in a deep breath. It’s the same every time, and she knows it. The disgusting guilt that swarms me. The desperate need I feel to scrub it off until my skin is red and burning and raw.
“Shower,” I grunt, molars locked together as I reach over and swipe a bottle blindly. I don’t care what it is—I haven’t for a long time. It’s bitter and hot as it slides down my throat, but I welcome the ache.
It feels like home.
She huffs loudly, and it fucking grates on my nerves. “Of course.” I hear the rustle of the blankets as she rolls around, probably to find her own clothes. It’s better that way—if she’s gone before I get back.
I don’t bother replying as I slip past the door and down the hall. It’s quiet—nearly three in the morning. Everyone’s most likely asleep or out still, which is better for me. Less questions as I dart into the bathroom. My back falls against the door as I wait to start the shower, bottle to my lips as I listen for Skylar’s footsteps walking past the door and down the stairs. The slam of the front door isn’t far behind, and I wash it down with another drink, relishing in the fuzziness that accompanies it.
I sigh softly, but unfortunately, the same thing will be repeated, if not next weekend, then the one after. It’s always the same with us. The back and forth. Me, cold and distant and drunk. Her, clingy and desperate. I use it against Skylar, too, like the piece of shit I am. But I don’t really care.
I said from the beginning I wasn’t a good guy, and I just wanted a release, and she decided not to listen to me. That’s her problem.
But even as I think that, the guilt gnaws at me—not for how I treat her—but for sleeping with her in general. Because even after all this time… even afterheleftme,I still feel like I’m his and I’m breaking something between us.
I shake my head viscously at the thought that always pops up after and I chug the rest of the whiskey, hissing loudly before belching excess hot air. It burns, and I press the heel of my palm against my chest, but it does nothing to ease the ache.
But that’s just fine. It never really goes away, anyway.
I step into the blistering hot water, hissing loudly as it pounds against my flesh. My fresh wounds sting, irritated by the water, but I welcome the pain—something I unfortunately learned from my runt.
My head drops forward between my shoulders, hair hanging in front of my face as water rushes down, choking me in its path to escape. I breathe it in, welcoming a different kind of burn until I splutter. But I still don’t move. I force myself to endure the pain of inhaling water until my body moves of its own accord, and I stumble backward and draw in fresh air, chest heaving with the relief of it.
The room spins as white spots dance behind my eyelids. I pant through the pain, fingers curling inward, finding solace innothing.
Because there is nothing—there’sbeen nothing since the day he left.
I thought Luke had changed me—and he did, in a way. But he’s free now, and I don’t even care because Abel’s gone, and he left me to endure it all by myself.
My lungs contract against my will, forcing me to breathe air when all I wish is to suffocate.
This is all I am now,I think bitterly as I spit onto the shower floor, staring down at the bits of red.
