15. Peris

The walkto my car is silent and tense as irritation rolls off me in steamy waves. The vapor dissipates in the cool, late autumn air, mingling with the shadows of night. I glance up at the moon, hidden behind a foggy wall of clouds, as I dig around in my bag for my keys. They bite into my palm as I clasp them tight enough to break skin.

Gabe opens his door, not bothering to spare me a glance before he drops down into the seat. I stare over the roof to the empty lot in front of me with the school its dark outline.

“You going to stand there all night?” he calls out, voice carrying over and up. I snap my molars together to keep from retorting as I throw my bag in the back seat before settling into my own.

After turning my phone on and plugging in the auxiliary cord, I open my music and hit play on the last song I was listening to—“Enemy” by The Plot In You. As I swipe out of the app, notifications start popping up now that my internet has reconnected. My eyes catch on a random number with the notification, “three images attached”.

With my brows furrowed in confusion, I open the thread and then nearly snap my fucking phone in two. My grip is tight enough to make the aluminum creak as I stare at Abel’s half-naked fucking body on my screen.

“I’m gonna wring his goddamn neck,” I mutter to myself as I rake my fingers through my drying hair, unable to look away from my fucking cum streaked across his skin, a purple wall of lockers at his back.

These are from that night in the locker room.

The last time I let myself…

Gabe’s sharp whistle rings too fucking loud in the small confines of my car. My head swivels in his direction, finding his gaze locked on my screen as he peers over my arm, dark eyebrows lost beneath his hair.

My thumb hits the lock button, turning the screen black instantly. “What the fuck are you doing?” I snap as I drop my phone to the cupholder. My hand burns from where I held it. Knowing what’s on it. Inches away. I sink my nails into my skin.

“Little dude’s kinky,” is what Gabe says in response. “I dig it.”

“Yeah, you fucking would,” I snap, slamming the car into reverse, then drive, peeling out of the lot. I keep my teeth firmly planted into the fleshy muscle of my tongue as I drive toward Gabriel’s fucking mansion.

The only sound permeating the car is the ferocious tapping of my fingers against the cracked leather of the steering wheel. “CAN’T LOSE YOU” by Night Lovell comes on, so I crank the volume until I feel the heavy thud of the base in my bones.

Just knowing those photos of Abel are right next to me, so damning, makes my body thrum with a deep, rapacious hunger to break him down until he’s nothing but a dirty mess again.

God, I fucking hate him.

Or maybe I just want to.

He has burrowed so deep beneath my flesh, his tiny fingers are picking at my frayed insides. Digging, searching for something he can grasp onto. And he found it, just by showing me his tears that night. So small and vulnerable.

It was all a goddamn show—but the worst part is, I already knew that. I just didn’t care. I don’t care because nothing has ever felt as good as hurting Abel. Watching his pale, milky skin flush scarlet in the shape of my hand. His lips stretched wide until they’re bloodless. Throat so full he can’t take in any air…

To be ugly and messy and ruined. Made pretty by me, my hands, and my cock.

Abel’s like a science experiment gone wrong—the concoction of mutated genes shoved inside one entity, warped and mismatched. And yet, in spite of it all… he’s gorgeous.

The epitome of kryptonite for a guy like me.

The vibrating music fades as a song ends, leaving the silence between me and my best friend all too staticky. When the next song starts, making me jerk at the sudden strum of a guitar, Gabe turns it down.

“Wanna tell me why you’re so pissed?”

I bite my tongue. “I’m not?—”

He scoffs loudly. “Don’t fucking tell me you’re not, dude. That’s insulting.”

I blow out a breath as I pull into the long, circular drive, stopping in the center in front of the double doors. Trying to gain traction on whatever the fuck it is that I’m even feeling.

“Can’t fix what I did if I don’t know what that is?” He poses it like a question, but all I can think about is Abel’s knowing little smirk as he passed Gabe the ball. The twisted curve of his lips, the way his dark lashes fluttered against his sharp, pale cheekbones.

And Gabe.

“You fucking flirted back,” I snap the thought out loud. The second it’s in the air, I regret it with the crack of my jaw closing, but it’s too late now. Gabe… knows without knowing, but this just adds more numbers to the already complicated equation, and?—

“I do flirt a lot. But I have a feeling you’re talking about someone in particular.” There’s a long, dramatic pause, his index finger tapping along his thigh in my peripheral. “Like maybe your new foster brother?”

My first instinct is to blurt a rebuttal. To scoff in his face and spew more venom. It’s what makes sense, what I should do. But apparently, I’m not doing the right fucking thing anymore. If I ever really did.

I catch Gabe’s dark eyes for a flash before I drop my head into my hands. My palms drag up and down my face, pulling my itchy skin taut. A breath is exhaled, trapped between.

As if Gabe senses my trepidation, he says softly—too softly, “You like him.”

I burst out laughing. Head thrown back, neck exposed, boisterous cackles ripped from my vocal cords. It’s deafening. Averting. My stomach hurts by the time the spell has drawn to a stop, muscles cramping, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. I wipe at them with the heels of my hands, huffing out a few short bursts still jammed inside me.

“No.” I’m shaking my head against my hands. I can’t look at him. At anyone.

At myself.

“I don’t fucking like him.” It’s not a lie. But it doesn’t feel like a truth, either.

What the fuck is happening to me?

The thought makes me want to cry. To scream and throw up and just not exist.

“I don’t.”

Gabriel’s swallow is rickety and slow. Deliberate. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeat, much too quickly.

“But you don’t not like him,” he quips back.

My lips part in rebuttal, but then, I pause, dropping my head back against my seat. I pull my fingers through my hair, swiping it away from my face. My skin is too tight and dry, ill-fitting on my skeleton. Organs punctured and decaying, their rot seeping into my veins, spreading up and into my brain.

“I don’t want to have this conversation, Gabriel,” I say at last, my voice sounding as tired as I feel. Days of barely sleeping have caught up to me. But I couldn’t allow more than an hour here or twenty minutes there knowing what lay for me on the other side.

Nightmares. Of him. Of what happened. Bleeding into now and how I feel. And that can’t fucking happen.

“Hey, you’re the one that made it a fucking problem with me, man.”

“No, all I said?—”

“I heard what you said. And it was pretty much in layman’s terms, Peris.”

“Gabe,” I start.

“Maybe it’s time?—”

“Get the fuck out.”

Static crackles in the air, sharp little sparks that bounce and burrow beneath my skin.

“What?” Gabe says after a moment, tone soft and confused. It only pisses me off more because I can’t focuson his hurt. Only my own because I’m selfish.

“I said I’m not doing this right now. Get the fuck out.”

Gabe remains for one beat of my heart and an intake of breath, and then, he’s grabbing his bag and pushing the door open, but before he closes it, he dips down to peer at me, the small yellow light above casting strange shadows along the interior.

“You ever think that maybe you’re the fucking problem?” His question sits like a noose around my neck, hanging me as he slams the door and waltzes inside. I wait until his front door is shut between us before pulling around the rest of the drive, pausing at the entrance to the street. I glance left, then right. Nothing but darkness and yellow street lamps.

I think I’ve always been what’s wrong, I just can’t keep it buried anymore. This… thing. It’s like sludge. Thick and black as coal. Multiplying with exposure, like it’s been starved, and now, it’s ravenous.

I crank the volume back up to its max as I dip right, taking the road that will bring me home the fastest. To where I know Abel is.

The source of all this… bullshit.

And the only person who doesn’t see it as a bad thing. Who wants me like this.

Who saw and taunted and baited until he ripped off my skinsuit, exposing realities I hate and truths I can’t ignore.

I never knew submission could feel so sharp and clear. Like the plastic covering removed from a mirror, exposing the crystalline reflection beneath.

And mine is that I can be cruel with Abel. I can release it all on him because that’s what he wants. But more than that, it’s what he deserves.

The tell-tale soundof water rushing from the bathroom makes my ears prick. My bag slides off my shoulder, dropping to the ground with a heavy thud as my feet take me closer to the noise.

Standing in front of the bathroom door, I lean against the wood. Water splashes against the basin, the curtain. A low hum permeates through the echoes—and it’s that noise that has me trying the doorknob, but it rattles, not budging against the lock.

Sliding my tongue across my teeth, I shove off to grab a butter knife from the kitchen. With it in hand, I easily wedge the thin metal between the latch and the door frame, watching as the latch pops free, and the door creaks open.

Steam creeps through the crack as I step inside, quietly shutting it behind me. It fogs the mirror, billowing up from the opaque, glass door. It dampens my skin instantly. I draw in my lips in contemplation.

Pocketing the knife, I rest my hip against the counter of the vanity, hands gripping the edge as I stare through to the shadowed form just on the other side of that glass. Something bumps my palm, and I flick my gaze down to find a pink lighter.

My brow arches as I glide a finger over it, finding it slightly warm to the touch. My lips twitch. Him and the color pink, I fucking swear.

Abel isn’t conventionally flamboyant—he’s too ugly, too rough for that. Truly a ropy foster kid in those regards. But it’s like he chooses certain things to reflect back to the world that he isn’t what everyone says he is—unabashedly sexual, always donning what I presume is his favorite color, impervious to any and all opinions people may have of who he is.

And it’s… compelling.

How does he just… not care?

With one last tap against the smooth surface, I turn away from the lighter and the thoughts of whatever the fuck he’s doing with it to cross my arms over my chest and listen to the sounds Abel makes as he cleans himself. How thorough he’s being if the curve of his arm is any indication.

Jesus fuck.

My head rolls between my shoulders, eyelids falling to half-mast imagining his long, spindly fingers shoved inside his hole, all the while watching his shadow move. His other arm jerks, creating a rhythmic splash of water against the foot of the tub.

Knowing he’s getting himself off, right now, right in front of me, has flashes of his little cock jerking beneath my foot burning through me, and my teeth latch onto my tongue to keep noises locked in.

My blood coagulates in my veins. Everything—hate and desire and need—has propelled its way to the surface, becoming impossible to ignore when we’re in the same vicinity. Skimming along my flesh, fire licking gasoline, burning brighter and hotter with each passing second.

My skin grows damp from the steam, beads of moisture trickling down my temples and my spine, making me itch. The movement of his arm speeds up. Water spits at his feet with ferocity, making my dick lurch.

I reach down to press my palm flat against it, panting through the humidity as Abel’s breathy little moans permeate the air. They hitch, merging closer together until they’re one continuous stream of pleasure.

“Runt,” I muse, loud enough to be heard over the shower. My heart skips, fingers digging into the flesh of my biceps as I wait with trepidation and excitement.

All movement stops in an instant, filling the small room with a new form of peaked intensity, and all the while, I stare at the outline of his body. Watch as he pulls his fingers from himself and stands straighter. Finally turns around.

The knobs creak, and the sound of the water cuts off, leaving the room in an amplified silence. Water drops hit the floor of the shower with a long, drawn-out plink, plink, plink. Feet slide over the porcelain, wet skin rubbing together.

I keep my features schooled into a blank stare when the door finally slides open, and I’m met with a full-frontal view of Abel’s body. Our eyes connect for a split second of molten metal before I drop my gaze to pick him apart.

He really doesn’t have an ounce of body fat on him, his torso the exact same as it was five days ago with the addition of yellowed blemishes. Heat-reddened skin stretched over bone in a sickly way. Curves that make me itch to dig my fingers in and hold tight. To mar his flesh with fresh bruises the shape of my fingers all fucking over again because I already know how pretty he looks all black and blue.

I follow the dense line of hair like the happy trail it is down, seeing him bare below the waist for the first time. Saliva pools on my tongue, a confused mix between an ache and nausea. His dick is thin and small, even though it’s rock hard, but it suits his little body. The base is enveloped in a neat patch of coarse blonde hair, and as my eyes zero in on it, I want nothing more than to delve my tongue into it, to feel the wiry hair scrape against—my stomach contorts, a heavy sludge of vomit creeping up my throat.

My back bows as sweat licks across my forehead, burning beneath my skin. I drop my chin to my chest, focusing on the rapid rise and fall of my sternum, the raspy, stuttering breaths between each movement, even as my gaze never leaves Abel’s crotch, the length of his dick sticking out from his puny body.

“Are you finally done?” he asks, deadpan. I force my eyes away from his groin, bypassing the odd, curved welts near his thighs to confront his steely gaze. His impertinence dissolves my dread in an instant, a quick mutation into my own version of apathy.

“I’m done when I say I’m done,” I respond, molars clenched together at his attitude.

“Well, hurry the hell up. I’m cold.” His skin is pimpled with gooseflesh from head to toe. He tries to cross his arms over his chest, but I snap out against it, grabbing him. He doesn’t get the comfort.

“Put your fucking arms down.”

Abel eyes me, big mouth pursed in aggrievance before it quirks up in a small smirk.

Go ahead, little runt. Push me.

It’s what we both need, isn’t it?

He yanks out of my grip to hold his arms out in front of himself. Water drips from the tips of his fingers as he displays himself to me. My eyes never stray from his, steel gray and devious, filled with untold secrets.

“Show me your pussy.” My face warms.

Abel balks, face igniting into crimson—probably mirroring my own. His arms drop to his sides before crisscrossing over his midsection. I step forward and yank them down. His skin is slick and hot against my palms as he wriggles around, fighting me.

“Shit!” he yelps, grappling for balance as his feet lose traction. I wrap my arm around his narrow waist and pull him against me. His legs kick in the air, wet tendrils of hair slapping my face as I drag him back until I slam into the vanity.

We both grunt from the impact, chests heaving from stolen breath. Abel continues to fight, thrashing and grunting. He jerks his head back, nearly nailing me in my nose, but instead, his skull connects with the sharp edge of my collarbone.

With a hiss of pain, I constrict my arm, sliding my fingers along his ribs to delve into the sharp, hollowed-out spaces between. His bare ass rubs against my dick, only covered by my thin, athletic shorts, and it takes me far too long to realize he’s doing it on purpose.

I dip my head down and sink my teeth into his bony clavicle, speaking through a mouthful. “Knock it off.”

He jerks. “Let me go.” Now, he’s full-on grinding, arching up and back so my shaft glides between his cheeks, and I’m hard enough my dick has its own fucking heartbeat.

His skin is so soft.

My fingers clamp around his throat, applying pressure and pulling back until ribbed cartilage molds to my palm and his hair soaks into my shirt. My gaze rakes over his pale lashes, elongated nose, and fat, wet lips—the things that stick out most from his body.

I ignore his dick entirely as I lower my head, obscuring my vision in the recesses of his neck. “I said I want to see your pussy. So, you’re going to bend over and give me what I want, runt.” I press my digits against his pulse just so I can feel the heavy, rapid thump of his carotid.

Abel stills, though he can’t control the rapid contraction of his lungs. The expansion of his ribs is sharp against my forearm. I tsk. “Don’t pretend to be shy now, pup.”

He shudders, and I feel the vibration in my bones. “I-I’m not.You’re just…”

“I’m just… what?”

“Crueler than I thought,” he spits with venom.

I cackle lowly. “Really, Abel? You should know better,” I sneer directly into his ear, skimming my lips over the pierced flesh. My tongue flicks out against the sharp metal, tracing each hoop down to the heavy stone in his stretched lobe.

“This is what you wanted from me. Quit fucking acting like it isn’t. Trying to be all cute and innocent, but I see you. Just a pathetic runt. With your pretty face and—and your slutty little waist, flaunting your ass in those shorts, giving me your tears. Yeah, right.” I latch onto the long barbell near the top, snagging it before pushing him away. He stumbles into the wall opposite us, hands splaying wide over the light gray paint.

“So, spread those cheeks and show me what’s mine.”

Abel’s head thunks against the wall, white hair falling against his face, heavy with water as it steadily drips to the floor beside his feet. I trace each knobby vertebra down over scarred skin stretched tight over bone, barely enough elasticity for it to be possible.

His ass is small but round and smooth and hairless. I reach out to brush my fingers over his washed-out skin, knuckles just grazing flesh when I catch myself. Gritting my teeth, I jerk back, clutching the counter as tightly as I can.

“Show me.” My eyes follow a bead of water rolling down his shoulder blade. Please, I nearly say.

“Please, Peris,” he whispers on a whine, synchronized with my own pleas as his feet shift back and forth. Breath catches in my throat, being mirrored with him in this moment.

Abel’s lighter bumps against the meaty part of my palm. I pick it up and flick it on, waving the little flame around and ignoring the tremor as I say, “Please make you, or please don’t make you?” It clicks off.

He shudders, forehead skipping back and forth over the drywall as he shakes his head, refusing to answer. “Because you and I,” I flick my fingers back and forth between us, “we both know you want to. This whole ‘please’ beggingroutine is pathetic when I’ve already seen how desperate you are.”

His shoulders hike with a sharp intake of air, every sinewy muscle locking tight. And then, I watch, offensively entranced, as his long, scarred fingers glide over his smooth skin, the tips brushing between his cleft.

My heart thumps in a painfully slow arrhythmia, then stops. I can no longer feel the contraction of muscle, but the weight of it is there, choking me where it sits in my throat. My eyes are pinned wide as Abel flexes, and the shadows in his crease are slowly unveiled to the harsh light.

I can’t fucking breathe. Every nerve and vein is seared and fervid. Every tendon and muscle is rigid and atrophied.

His skin is hairless from the top of his crease down to his balls with a tight line running right down the center. His hole is small and puffy and so fucking pink, I choke on air. Spit flies into the back of my throat when his hole puckers, cinching tight before relaxing again.

Abel turns his head, the tendon on the left side of his neck protruding as he looks over his shoulder, wet hair plastered against his flushed face. “Do you like it?” He worries his bottom lip, sounding demure.

It makes my lip curl in disdain, knowing it’s just another ploy.

Swallowing the bile stewing just below my uvula, threatening to make an appearance any second, I push myself off the vanity, drawn to him. The movement puts me inches from his bare skin, and his little hole disappears from sight.

The relief is instant. There are memories that are too close, too vivid.

My fingers strum over his tailbone with newfound assurance as tendrils of my nightmares dissipate from my consciousness, shoved back where they belong. I let my eyes close for a moment, just feeling his slick, cool skin. Knobs of bone. Lean muscle wrapped around them. Microscopic hairs tickling the pads of my fingers.

Pressing my chest to his back, I drop my head next to Abel’s, inhaling the scent of my body wash seeping from his pores. He’s panting, body still tense and vibrating. Our eyes connect, millimeters away. His silvery grays penetrate me, always seeing things they shouldn’t.

I look away, hating the feeling more than the one of him against me. What it means. What I mean.

I’m so fucking confused.

Sinking my teeth into my tongue to abate the threat of tears, I focus on the sharp sting to remind me of what’s right in front of me. Here and now.

The past affects us irrevocably, in every way. It becomes the very foundation of all we are. Influencing every moment, every decision, until we become the very product of our pain.

And I’m tired of living that pain. But it’s the only way I know how to live at all.

But Abel… the way he’s distorted my comprehension of what I thought I knew… it’s as enlightening as it is infuriating. And disconcerting.

I was perfectly content living in the fog I fabricated. One I entwined around my very core, hardened and dense. It kept me detached, disconnected, while still wholly immersed in my solitary torture.

And now, it’s fucking obliterated.

“Get off me,” Abel snaps, wriggling out of my hold. Or, at least, he tries, albeit pathetically. His head scrapes against the wall in his struggle against me, back bowed into the curve of my torso.

I lock my arms, keeping him pinned without much effort at all. It’s the constriction of muscle to bone that causes him to release a high-pitched wail, bucking wildly. “Get your fucking hands off me!” His scream makes me smile, all traces of attainable revelation disappearing.

Abel has fucked me up for months—and damn, does it feel good to give the little runt a taste of his own medicine. To give when he doesn’t want. To push against his fucking will.

It makes my dick hard, treating him this way.

I don’t want to stop… And I don’t have to.

With a hiss and a snarl, I yank Abel back against my torso. A yelp rips from his throat as I lean back, then shove him into the wall with my hand splayed across the back of his skull, hair coiled around my fingers for a better grip.

I bury my nose in his damp strands and inhale deeply. Cherry. “Your pussy is as ugly as I thought it’d be,” I murmur in a hushed undertone of honesty and blatant lies, spoken against the base of his skull. My words abate his fit of defiance. He goes rigid, and I chuckle at the ripple of his gluteal muscles against my groin.

My lips skim over his clavicle in the same rhythm as I reach for the lighter to drag the edge of it against his concaved stomach. When he shivers at the smooth drag of plastic, vague little pieces start to fit together.

“It’s okay, runt.” I press a kiss to his ear, followed by the flick of my tongue against the long barbell lodged there. Spill a truth. “I’ll still fuck it.” I blow breath into his ear, relishing in the appearance of goosebumps rising along his skin. “After all, how bad can it be when it’s been torn up as many times as it has?” My gut coils hotly at the admission.

With a heavy exhale, I grab his shoulders and twist him around. Abel’s sharp jaw is tense, the odd angle of the bone more prominent than ever. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so… incensed before. He’s always effusing this guise of blasé confidence.

Seems I’ve burrowed deeper than he meant for me to.

Welcome to the fucking club, runt.

“Well?” I prompt. His teeth creak under pressure. My brow hooks as I tsk. “Don’t pretend you’re not a whore, babe. I’ve seen you. Heard the rumors.”

“You don’t know shit.”

Look who’s stealing my line now.

I’m sure he intends for his words to bite, to pierce me as deep as I’ve pierced him, but they come out raspy, barely audible over the thick cadence of his voice. Like he’s choked up and on the verge of tears.

Fuck. I wanna see him cry again.

I flip the lighter between my fingers, and Abel’s gaze is drawn to it immediately. “I know you’re a cum dump. You’re horny for it—any way you can have it. The way you salivated for just a taste of mine was proof of that.” I scrape my nail over the metal teeth of the spark wheel, feigning indifference. As if my heart isn’t about to burst through the very bone keeping it protected.

“But that’s okay. Not many people look as good as you covered in jizz. I should thank you for the photos I now have at my disposal…” I drag a finger over his thick, bottom lip, pulling it down until his crooked teeth are exposed. I suck on my tongue, wishing it was his. Wondering if he still tastes like all that candy he eats.

I snatch my hand away with a flash of impulsive revulsion. “But we already know this. What I don’t know…” I bring the lighter into his peripheral and tap the bottom edge against the tip of his nose. Abel’s wide eyes cross as he stares directly at it. “Is why you burn yourself.”

All the blood in his face drains, leaving him ghastly in appearance. His eyes dart downward as his face falls, leaving an odd sort of vacancy behind. My eyes catch on the silver bar in the bridge of his nose for a moment too long.

The realization forces me to take a step back. I bump against the vanity, the fingers on my left hand curling around the lip of the counter, but my eyes never stray from Abel. Even without my hands on him, he stays flat against the wall, unabashedly nude. Or maybe he doesn’t even register his nudity anymore, too focused on the unveiling of secrets that are better left unsaid.

I’m drawn to the red welts at the crease of his right thigh. I count each grotesque smiley face three times over. There are nine, all placed close together but far enough apart to be distinctive all on their own. The marks are swollen, probably hot to the touch, and surrounded by even more hauntingly distinctive blemishes. Some are pale and silver, a shade lighter than his skin tone; others are purple—newer but healed.

My eyes rake over his naked body, seeing every scar and blemish anew. Some of them are difficult to make out, especially the few on his forearms. But his legs… they’re covered. From just above his knees to his hips.

How did I not see these before? When he was wearing those short, pink shorts…

The answer comes to me instantly.

I wouldn’t let myself see him. Not really.

That awareness hits me harder than expected, the fierce verity of it stealing my breath. I’m reaching out, thumb brushing a fresh wound, not even realizing what it is until Abel’s pained hiss scrapes through my ear canal.

“You love hurting, don’t you?” I breathe the words somehow, even with the oxygen sucked from my lungs.

“I like controlling what I feel,” he states apathetically, but his words wobble at the end, giving away more than I’m sure he intended.

The words feel like I jumped off a skyscraper, and the concrete below comes faster than anticipated, the force of gravity working against me as I crave the freefall before my last breath.

I like controlling what I feel.

As I stare at Abel, his words, spoken in his alto, melodic tone, bounce around like a pinball machine inside my head. Each clash against my skull hits some hidden memory I thought I’d snuffed out, and the abuse makes my temples throb. With stinging eyes, a burning nose, and aching lungs, the lighter slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor. The sound ricochets off the walls. Abel follows the descent of pink plastic, eyebrow slipping into a perfectly formed arc when he raises his eyes to meet my gaze. Questions burn in the depths of gray.

The doorknob is slippery against my palm as I twist it to stumble my way out of the bathroom. The wave of fresh, cool air licks across my damp skin, making me shiver as I stagger toward my bedroom.

Once the door is shut and locked behind me, a thin, but imperative barrier between us, I feel I can finally take a breath that doesn’t ache.

Pretending is good. Easy, even—until it’s not when I’m fucking reminded of all the things far outside my realm of control. How I’ve never been able to grasp my feelings with any certainty, and Abel just… found a fucking way to manipulate the very things that are unmanageable.

And there is this… thing inside me that craves what Abel and I have. This warped, disturbing twist on connection. What touching him allows. Like, as long as it’s depraved, it’s okay to have.

But can I accept that?

“This is okay. It’s okay. Shh, don’t cry.”

I grab the first thing I see and hurl it against the wall, feeling absolutely nothing as I watch it explode, even as a sound I didn’t know I could make rips from my vocal cords. It leaves me choking, nails digging into my neck.

Even with my eyes wide open, staring blankly at the sharp dent in my wall, the nightmares that plague my dreams begin to morph into reality.

My fingers dive into my hair, yanking until strands rip from my scalp, but the sting is nothing compared to the gnawing in my chest—a slow sludge that creeps up my throat and buries itself right behind my eyes, growing sharp the longer it sits. But I am not going to fucking cry. I haven’t since the night, and I’m sure as shit not about to now.

If I could choke it down every time with him, I’m sure as fuck not going to let Abel Silver rip it out of me.