2. Abel

My bag weighsnothing draped across my lap, contents spilled across the full-sized mattress below me. The room smells of lavender and laundry detergent. I don’t know if I love it or hate it.

A door slams, and my shoulders hit my earlobes, heart lurching into my throat. My ears strain toward the noise, but as it echoes out, leaving nothing behind, I force my shoulders to drop and breath to expel from my lungs.

You’re safe here. You’re safe…

The mantra I push through over and over sounds unbelievable, even if I feel it to be true. Years of everything opposite will do that, I guess.

I pick at the frayed, yellowed pages of my book, absentmindedly flicking through them, stopping at different parts to read a sentence or two before tossing it to the side. My head hurts too bad to even try to read, let alone focus on anything.

The discernable sound of water spitting from a faucet fills the silence before it changes into a softer, less resounding spray. I try for a deep breath, but when my lungs contract, I wheeze, clutching my jean-clad thighs against the wave of pain-induced nausea.

“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter when the room flickers back with slight clarity. The bedside lamp illuminates enough of the space, thankfully, because I don’t think I could stand the stark overhead light Peris turned on when he showed me the room.

I pick up the discarded Polaroid of me and Lucy, giving it only a cursory glance before placing it back inside the weathered copy of my book, which I then shove back inside my backpack along with my bloody clothes that still need washing. They’re probably ruined, but I can’t afford to just throw them away. The thought alone is appalling.

My eyes catch on my small pile of pink lighters. Some are peeling and rusted, others nearly empty, despite being newer. But they all serve a purpose.

Pressing my tongue against the backs of my teeth, I zip the lighters back inside the pocket before shoving my bag into the corner between the wall and the bedframe, out of sight. I gingerly push to my feet. It takes a gargantuan effort to raise my arms enough to get my shirt off, but after what feels like an hour, my skin is beaded with sweat as I drop the shirt to the floor, leaving my torso bare. After undoing my cracked, silver-studded belt, my jeans pool around my ankles, unable to stay on my hips without the cinching support of a leather strap.

Stepping out from the denim, I leave my clothes where they lie as I crawl beneath the covers, tugging them up to my chin. My boxers are filthy and definitely covered in various fluids, but it’s better than being completely naked—completely vulnerable—in Peris Baxter’s house.

There’s a clear-cut difference between me and Peris—me with my destructive, bratty attitude and small, lithe frame versus his sharp intensity and sinewy body.

Yeah, I wouldn’t stand a chance, and I’m already not at one hundred percent. Not that I think he’d put his hands on me with malicious intent—he clearly isn’t the type, and I’ve pushed him hard—but I’m not taking my chances, either. Especially not after I’ve flipped the script on him.

We’ve created a sort of… conjecture since that first day we met.

But this… this changes everything.

I have all the access to him now—no longer bound by school hours, time between classes or private, personal practices.

He’s going to be around all the time. He won’t be able to walk away. To gain composure. And eventually, the darkness inside will start to slip out for more than just a peek behind the curtain.

Because Peris Baxter is hiding some nasty demons behind the fa?ade he keeps in place. I’ve seen the briefest glimpses in moments where our eyes have connected, golden-green hues swirling with the darkest smoke.

My first glimpse was that night at school, when he watched me. When he wanted what he saw. When he was caught and didn’t turn away, even if he was obviously warring with disgust and fear and blatant arousal.

He trapped me, right then and there. Hook, line, and sinker. I would’ve fallen to my knees before him in that moment just to keep that look in his eyes. But I saw what lies beneath the surface—he knows I did.

And I’m going to do everything in my power to unveil his tenebrosity. I need another taste of the familiarity. Proof I’m not alone in it.

Thankfully, the darkness comes as easy as it’s always wanted to—splitting me in half as it swallows me.

I scrunch my nose,shoving my hand out from beneath the thick blanket to rub it against the tickle of hair. Warmth blows across my face again. More hair flutters. “Ugh,” I groan, curling in on myself against the onslaught of the fan.

“Good—you’re awake.” My eyelids fly open, and my body reacts on years of pure instinct. I’m up and scrambling back into the furthest corner, putting as much distance between me and the voice as I can. My chest heaves, heart slamming against my bruised ribcage, stealing all my breath through potent waves of blinding pain. I curl over, dry heaving as my stomach contracts.

“That’s an overreaction if I’ve ever seen one,” Peris deadpans, perfectly still, ass poised on the edge of the mattress. Inches away from where I was just sleeping.

He could’ve done anything… and you didn’t wake up.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

“What the fuck?” I hiss the partial thought aloud. “I locked the goddamn door.”

He glances back at said door, now perfectly ajar. “Yeah, about that. The locks are shit.”

“I can fucking see that,” I snap, throwing an arm out in his direction.

“Practically useless,” he continues.

I tug my knees as close to my chest as I can—which isn’t much, staring at him through one bleary eye, sleep still clinging on. “Yep.”

His hands clench at his sides. “Why are you here, Abel?”

I sigh, dropping my head back against the wall. This again?

My heart rate has returned to a normal rhythm, making the process of thinking a tad easier. I should be grateful he’s at least finally talking to me instead of ignoring my ministrations and stomping away in a huff, but I’m not.

“What are you doing in here, Peris? It’s the middle of the night.” I look down my nose to where he’s seated, tense from head to toe. “Wouldn’t want your mommy to think you want to fuck me or something, sneaking into my room in the middle of the night… That goes against all the rules of foster siblings.” I waggle my brows, feigning a gasp.

My words have their desired effect. Peris jerks back as if I slapped him, mouth agape before he snaps it closed almost as quickly. “Mom’s not home. It’s the only time I could talk to you without risking her overhearing. I want to know what the hell is going on.”

My strength drains from me, and I slump back against the wall, eyelids fluttering as the cold seeps into my skin. “There’s not much to say.”

“But there is something, so…”

Just tell him a version of the truth. Maybe it will help. “Was in the ER. Your mom was my nurse. Bill came, and he told me your mom offered placement for me since some shit happened at the place I was at. So, it was here or a group home, and well…” I finally glance up, meeting his gaze through the shadows. The hall light illuminates behind him, bathing the darkened room in a yellow hue.

“I’m sure even someone like you knows what group homes are like.”

I’ll give Peris credit; his expression doesn’t shift once as he listens to my rundown explanation. “Who’s Bill?” he finally asks, drawing a short laugh from me.

“That’s what you want to ask?” He shrugs, sliding his hand through his hair. “Bill is my social worker,” I answer.

“Oh.”

“I assume you know what those are.”

Easy. Talking to him is easy.

“Yeah. Mom’s fostered before. What happened to you?” he asks, tone stilted.

“Okay. Is that all?” I bite out through clenched teeth, ignoring his question like he never uttered it. My skin’s prickling with unease, each pulse of my heart twinging.

“Yeah. I guess. Just—” His fingers curl into his palms as he wars with what to say next.

“Just what, Peris?” I don’t bother hiding my sigh of exasperation as I meet his gaze, my large, crooked nose largely in my peripheral. “Look—I’m fucking tired. My head hurts—amongst many other things—and frankly, I’m not in the mood. I hear you and everything you’re not really saying because you’re too nice, huh, to threaten the new foster kid. But I don’t fucking care. So, either do something or get the hell out.”

He blinks, wide-eyed, jaw muscle fluttering. “I wasn’t?—”

I faux yawn. “Sure you weren’t. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m about to get completely naked, so unless you wanna…” I trail off, making a clicking noise. Peering through my lashes, I flip the blanket off my torso. I know my skin is mottled with bruises, but something tells me Peris might like that type of thing. A risk, sure. But as I watch his throat roll, eyes devouring my bared skin, I know my instincts didn’t lead me astray.

He shoves to his feet, exhaling something close to a pained groan as he turns his bare back on me—all muscles and tanned skin. I expect him to slam the door, but he shuts it with a surprising softness.

Once his door clicks shut on the other side of mine, I slide back over the bed, eyes trained on the ceiling, even as they burn. Sleep is now so far from the recesses of my mind, it’s not even funny.

Peris is… so different from all the rest. They’re all a blur now. A part of who I am, who I’ve had to be to survive. I’ll never be able to move on from it—I can’t—but it’s nice to be something other than all that. Someone that’s just… me.