11. Peris

My eye twitchesin time with my cock. I can’t even control it anymore—it just happens.

He’s right fucking there near the top of the bleachers with his school laptop open atop his scrawny legs. Long, knobby fingers fly over the keys surprisingly fast for such small hands. He doesn’t even look down at the court—at me. And he hasn’t since the night I choked him, giving him what he’s always wanted from me.

I really shouldn’t have touched him. But knowing and doing are two painfully different roads. And Abel knows exactly how to get under my skin. He’s burrowed himself deep, fingering my frayed edges, pulling them taut until they snap off one by fucking one.

My eyes narrow. Why’s he even here if he’s not going to watch us practice? Watch me? He’s certainly not off sucking someone’s fucking face this time.

I set my jaw in a tight grit, shaking off any and all thoughts of my… shit. My foster brother. I hate the label—which Ma likes to don every now and again, like saying it will somehow bring us closer. Who the fuck knows. But if she did?...

Abel’s so much more and yet considerably less. He used to just be some fucking twink covered in bruises with his sights set on me, and now… I’m in his vortex.

It’s fine.

I’ve got everything under control.

“Yo, Baxter, where the fuck’s your head?” Gabe yells as he launches the ball at my chest. I catch it on reflex, my fingers splayed wide over the leather.

“Watch your mouth, Avalos!” Coach Johnson yells from the sidelines. I scoff and roll my eyes as I brush sweat from my brow.

“Sorry, Coach!” Gabe snickers as he moves closer to me. He slams his head against mine, and it rattles my brain around, giving me the pain I need to anchor myself to the here and now—and not to the fucking runt sitting thirty feet away. Ignoring me while still invading my every waking thought.

“Jesus, dude. What the hell is with you?” Gabe asks, dribbling the ball between his legs, his dark, curly hair bouncing from the momentum. I look down at my empty hands and blink. I wish my dick was as empty as them, but no. It’s wedged tight and uncomfortable in my waistband so I don’t sport a fucking boner in front of my entire team.

Damn, I’m off my game.

Literally. Figuratively. In all the ways.

I yank on my hair, frustrated and just pissed the hell off. “I don’t know,” I grumble because, really, I don’t.

My eyes find Abel. Again. His black hood is pulled over his white-blonde hair, blocking most of his face, but even from all the way down here, I swear I can see the silver piercing at the bridge of his nose glinting. Taunting.

I hate it.

“Is it him?” Gabe asks. I don’t have to look to know who he means. I’m still staring at him, for fuck’s sake. I nod once.

“Something’s happened, I take it. Because, dude, the way you’re looking at him…” My eyes dart to his. “Did you fuck him?” Gabe asks bluntly.

I rear back at the insinuation and how deeply—how sickly—I wish it were true. And as if Abel senses we’re talking about him, he looks away from his screen. His eyes latch onto mine like he knew exactly where I was the entire time.

The connection doesn’t last for more than a few seconds before he shatters our metaphysical link to look back down at his laptop, completely and utterly indifferent—like he was only staring at a wall.

I want him to fucking look at me, to feel the overwhelming frustration that consumes me. The scream is building inside me. To burn alive with it.

“He exists just to piss me off,” I mutter, hands tightening into fists at my sides, anger rolling off me in gaseous waves. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I can’t deny the appeal of sinking. The carelessness teetering. And he knows it.

So, of course, he’s mocking me. Taking away the one thing that’s always been up for grabs. No longer letting me have it now that I’ve had a taste.

“Peris, did you?—”

“All right! Let’s get back at it!” Coach bellows, pulling all of us back into the game. I growl and grit my teeth, mentally beating my hands against my skull as I shove Gabe’s insinuation down to focus on the ball in my hands, the squeak of shoes against the glossy floors, sweat burning and trickling, throat dry from dehydration.

By the time practice is over, I’m dripping with perspiration, panting from exertion, and fortunately, no longer hard. I glance up on instinct, finding the bleachers empty with Abel nowhere to be seen. My eyes narrow as I scour the gym, expecting to find the runt humping another dude against the white walls while my teammates file out through the double doors in my peripheral.

With a huff of annoyance, I pull in a deep breath, relishing in the ache in my lungs. That’s when I finally spot him—leaning against the side rails on the far side of the extended bleachers. His tattered bag is slung over his shoulder with his hood halfway on his head, giving me a peek at his overgrown, choppy hair.

He’s probably only twenty feet away now, close enough I can track the vast array of metal in his ears. I mean, seriously, how many fucking ear piercings does one dude need? And that’s not even mentioning the large, stretched holes in his lobes, filled with some big, emerald-green stone or something.

Gabe comes up behind me to say, “He’s just staring at you?” though it’s stated like a question. I tense, shoulders drawing tight, toes curling into my soles.

Because I’m pretty sure the little freak can read minds like some supernatural being.

“Fuck, he’s irritating,” I mumble more for myself before answering Gabe. “Because he’s—Abel,” I answer lamely. Honestly, that explains him perfectly but makes me sound like a jackass.

He’s everything I hate to want—and he fucking knows it.

He still won’t look at me.

“Y’all know the shit he’s willing to do for a few bucks. Fuckin’ nasty. And those fucking shoes,” Corbin snarks as an afterthought. I look down at Abel’s pink Converse. Shoes that were once a brighter pink but have faded from use and sun exposure, stained and ripped, bordering the edge of developing holes.

The same pink sneakers that have flashed through my mind so many times, I can’t even keep track anymore.

Not that I ever was.

My jaw tightens as I glance over my shoulder, finding my closest friends around me while everyone else has left. Thomas and Grady hang back a bit, still bouncing a ball between them.

“How much longer are you stuck with him? It’s gotta be strange, living with him. With the things he does…” Grady trails off as he shoots a three-pointer. It bounces off the rim, making all of us chuckle while he glares at the hoop like it personally offended him.

I roll my eyes at his blatant inquiry. Like I’d ever fucking tell them a thing about Abel—but only because it simply doesn’t matter what he does at home. Which is absolutely nothing because whenever we’re under the same roof, it’s like no one but me exists to him, and he lives to push my every button.

Like donning those short-ass pink shorts and chomping on various green candies—with Skittles being the exception. T.V. turned on to none other than SpongeBob SquarePants, his Discman from the early 2000s never far away.

I crack my neck loudly.

I’m at my breaking point.

“Couple more months. February,” I say absentmindedly. It’s all I’ve thought about. Exactly how much longer I’m forced to look at his face, feel him everywhere. Like a disease corroding me into nothing.

Thomas pipes up, “So, this is why you’ve been so off your game. You’ve gotta deal with him at home? Is he a nuisance or something?” I almost laugh out loud. I wish it were as simple as him being a ‘nuisance’.

But no. I just saw something I shouldn’t have. Something I hate myself for admitting I like, want, need.And not at all because he makes my fucking dick hard every time I look at him.

“Don’t worry, Peris. Once he’s out of your house, he’ll just be another lost cause sucking dick for rent money!” Corbin yells obnoxiously loud, interrupting Thomas. The sound of his taunt bounces off the vast, white brick walls of the gym.

I whirl around with a snap of my molars to pin him with a glare. My veins surge with overheated blood, making my hands tremble at my sides. “The fuck?—”

The sound of shoes squeaking across the glossy hardwood floor has my neck snapping back, words dying on my lips as Abel makes his way toward us, his pointy jaw set wide, beady eyes narrowed, the silver of his irises flashing many shades darker.

He looks pissed—and seeing that reaction from him when all I ever see is a wash of smug confidence… fuck.

My eyes rake over him, observing with hidden glee at how assured he portrays himself for being so diminutive, walking right up to the five of us like he doesn’t give a fuck. Abel’s gaze rakes over everyone individually in a sharp scrape, his expression passive and indifferent.

He skips right over me in his perusal. My hands fist at my sides.

“Well…” he drawls, tone pitched low and soft, eyes pinned on Corbin with intent, “whatever your name is, I’ll be sure to give you a discount when you can no longer resist the temptation and make your way down my alley.” He blows Corbin a kiss as his eyes slide to mine, flashing.

I feel it in my fucking balls. In a heavy, deep throb.

That little fucking runt.

His eyes pinch slightly at the corners, big lips twisting to the side before it all falls away. Then, he walks right past with his head held high, bag slung over one shoulder, shoes squeaking loudly like he’s twisting them against the floor on purpose so I’ll succumb to the urge to walk right up to him and snatch him up by the hair at his nape, growl in his ear, telling him to shut the fuck up while kissing his anger away.

His lithe form disappears through the double doors at the other end of the gymnasium, and my gears shift back to what’s right in front of me like I’m sucked out right out of a tunnel—or tunnel vision.

“Daaaamn,” Gabe drawls, whooping. “Little dude’s got a mouth on him.” He sounds amused—impressed even. Of course, Gabe would be.

But I’m fucking not. I’m not. The way his lips screwed up, steel-colored eyes drilling into me with obvious intent. Always such a fucking tease.

These guys don’t know him like I do. Everything he said—while aimed at Corbin—was meant for me. A visceral truth we’re forever pussyfooting around.

Corbin’s usual ruddy cheeks are now scarlet as he fumbles with the ball between his hands. I step up to him and smack it away. Its bounces and echoes barely register. His brow arcs in confusion.

“Don’t fuckin’ say shit about him again.” My voice is low, tight, and menacing. Each word is spit between clenched teeth.

He stares at me with wide eyes, lips falling open into an “O” shape. My molars grind. Nails bite into my palms, gut hot and churning just thinking about Corbin’s dick in Abel’s mouth.

Fuck, I want to rip my hair out. Peel my skin straight from the muscle so I can breathe without the constriction.

A hand clasps my shoulder, yanking me back. I fumble, finding my footing, and Gabe laughs gleefully. “Alrighty. Let’s just go home. Eat and sleep,” he enunciates the word pointedly. I can feel all their eyes on me, observing me, making my skin crawl like maggots burrowed beneath.

A maggot did.

“Fuck off,” I snap, shaking Gabe’s hand off. He holds them up in front of his face, brows high, but his lips are quirked like he knows something he shouldn’t. But he does because I fucking talked, and he knows me, and now?—

I stomp away to grab my duffle and shove my way through the double doors, heading for the locker room. I usually always go home since I live close enough, but tonight, I need time. To clear my head. To be away from everyone, but Abel and those lips, especially. So big and glistening with spit as he spews his venom.

It’s disgusting.

I readjust my dick as I step into the locker room. It smells like body odor, dirty socks, and stagnant water. So refreshing and a complete boner killer.

Dropping my bag to the bench, I strip my sweat-soaked clothes off and let them fall to the concrete floor with a loud plop. Wrinkling my nose, I grab my soap and step into the communal shower area, turning the knob until lukewarm water spits from the spout. The spray is sharp as it hammers down across my flesh, but I relish in the sting.

I close my eyes, focusing on the rush and fall of the water to try and clear my mind, but I can’t. That fucking look he gave me—like I disgust him—keeps flashing through my mind.

It makes me want to choke him again, to make him see how wrong he is. But even Abel knows the moment I put my hands on him again, every crumbling, hastily built wall between us will cease to exist.

From the moment he showed up at school, he’s been all everyone can talk about. The bruises and odd-looking scars he wears like a badge of honor. The way his eyes rake over everyone—of any gender—with heavy perusal. Not necessarily out of interest but almost like he’s picking them apart piece by piece to see what’s at their centers. Boasting in every atrocious rumor. Smiling with glee.

The dude is fucked up with a wires-crossed kind of chaos.

I shiver while stroking my cock, thinking back to the moment that started this visceral abhorrence between us. Heavy breaths. The distinct swapping of spit. The shlick of Abel’s hand on another person’s dick.

The bright whites of his eyes cutting through the darkness to find me, dying and confused and sick.