6. Abel

I’ve developed quitethe reputation, which seems to have followed me like gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I honestly don’t know who’s running their mouth—probably everyone at this point; I’ve certainly given them enough reason—but even I have to admit, some of the shit they’re saying is quite creative.

I didn’t even know I was capable of such atrocities. I tap my index finger to my bottom lip as I gnaw on the dry skin. I suppose I better step up my game.

With a smile twitching into existence, I readjust the hard, plastic ear bud in my ear, head bopping to the beat of “I Miss You” by blink-182. I tug my backpack higher up on my shoulder, wincing as the strap bites into one of many still-healing bruises.

It’s at that moment, searching my locker for more candy before class starts, that I catch the gaze of one of the cheerleaders in my algebra class a few feet to my right. Sierra, I think her name is. I expect a sneer or even to be ignored, but she smiles brightly before turning back to her conversation.

My face splits into a lopsided smile. Well, that’s a good sign… right?

Maybe that means today’s gonna be a great day—or it would be if I could see Peris for more than two fucking seconds. I haven’t caught more than a passing, stolen glance in days—ever since I woke to the sound of his screams. Screams that were so real, I felt their tenor in my bones.

And I’m jonesing for more. For that acrid taste of familiarity.

It’s like he knows, so he’s fucking avoiding me. I mean, we literally live together, for fuck’s sake. How long can he hold out?

“Too long, apparently,” I grumble to myself as I swipe a few sour, green candies from the shelf in my locker before slamming it closed and heading toward my new in-person English class.

Why I couldn’t continue it online, I don’t fucking know, but Mrs. Garner didn’t give me much choice in the matter—something about dual credit for college and how I should take it in person, blah blah; I tuned her out after that. College credits don’t apply to me in the slightest.

I only took the class because I like English Lit, but whatever.

Cliché whispers echo around me on my way, even as the halls quickly dissipate. Eyes burn into my back, the side of my face. I ensure my spine is straight, my backpack clasped tightly in a fist. I keep my cheap but brand-new earbuds in my ears with my Discman shoved into the large pocket of my new-to-me hoodie. It’s pretty worn with a few stains around the cuffs, but fuck, it’s warm. Warmer than anything I’ve ever had.

I tap my fingers to the beat of the music flooding my ears, focusing on the rhythm to clear my mind, nearly smiling all over as the reality of having music in my ears washes over me again. I really hit the jackpot when I went to the thrift store, finding this Discman and having it work. Then also finding a decent selection of CDs to add to the few I already had.

It’s really one of those little, in-the-back-of-your-mind thoughts you never realize is a dream until you have it, and it’s all just too much. And pathetically sad. I mean, I’m eighteen-years-old with a fucking Discman from the early 2000s while everyone around me has their phone screens shoved up their asses.

But I’m happy to have it. To have this.

Forever living in the now because people like me aren’t allowed the capacity for what-ifs and what-could-bes. Which is just fine by me—I’ve always been content remaining selfishly in the moment.

Always in the moment.

The fact I never had a choice in the matter never much crossed my mind.

By the time I find Mr. Lang’s nameplate and push the door open, the bell is ringing, cutting through my song. I pull out my earbuds and shove them in my front pocket as the teacher greets me with a smile and a small stack of papers.

It’s as the teacher is talking privately with me that I hear a hushed groan. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” My head jerks toward the sound, eyes scanning the room for the familiar face that belongs to that voice.

I catch sight of him in the third, elevated row, closest to the wall. And fuck me if the sight of Peris after a nearly a week of nothing doesn’t make my heart race.

I try to listen to Mr. Lang’s introductory speech, I really do, but ninety percent of my focus is pulled to the feeling of eyes drilling holes into the side of my head.

My fingers find the heavy, stone plugs in my earlobes, tugging absentmindedly as I nod with a fake smile of concentration. “Let me know if you need assistance with anything. It’s odd to have a switch near the end of the semester, but Mrs. Garner said you already completed the first half online, so I don’t think it will be too difficult for you to catch up in person. Feel free to find an empty seat.”

“Great. Awesome. Thanks.” I take the papers, in a rush to turn around. I scan the rows quickly, noticing a barren one next to none other than—“Peri!” I sing, plopping down in the chair beside him.

His fingers tighten around the arms of his seat, knuckles blanching. His hair is still slightly damp from his shower this morning, making his locks appear darker. It hangs in front of his face, long enough to be tucked behind his ear.

He leans forward, pulling his chair closer to the table. His back curves as he leans over the top, dropping his chin into his awaiting hands, clasped tightly, in a folded prayer pose. I watch him keenly, waiting for the question poised on the tip of his tongue. But surprising us both, he keeps it inside.

He’s really committed to ignoring me. It grates on my nerves. “Just ask,” I spit, pulling my own chair forward.

“What are you doing in here?” His words are soft-spoken but annoyed.

I lean back as I tear the wrapper on a piece of candy and pop it into my mouth, where it clanks loudly against my teeth. “Uh, English?” I pose it like a question through a lisp, trying to feign ignorance to his real intent, but I can’t stop the twitch to my mouth.

Peris glares at me out of the corner of his eyes, his sneer particularly nasty this morning. “This is AP English,” he hisses.

“You don’t say?” I snark, before adding, “Damn, did you not sleep well?” I ask, a little loud. Then, I lean in, close enough to smell his body wash—the same one I’ve been cleaning my own body with. I inhale deeply, ensuring he hears my deliberate sniff. “‘Cause you kinda look like shit,” I rasp, then pull away, dragging my backpack into my lap.

Peeking over my shoulder, I murmur, “But don’t worry, I still find you unbelievably hot. Which is beyond annoying, believe me. But ugly is kinda my thing.” I flash him my fucked up teeth, reveling in his heated glare, the curl to his upper lip, the tremble to his clenched fists.

Yeah, hit me, baby. Just do it.

I drop my head into my hands, shaking it back and forth with a sigh. Truly, I’m exasperated—with him and myself. “Did you have another nightmare?”

If I thought Peris was tense before, that was nothing on his rigidity now. He’s competing with rigor mortis.

“Excuse me?” he drawls slowly, each syllable enunciated deliberately.

I make a soft sound in the back of my throat as I let my bag slip between my legs and to the floor, notebook and pen in hand. I flip the cover and start doodling in the margins as Mr. Lang talks over the room, marker squeaking on the board.

“I’m not pretending it didn’t happen. Unlike you.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Peris snaps harshly, drawing a few startled looks from the people in the row in front of us. They turn in their chairs, eyes flicking between us. Peris’s glare is enough to dispel their curiosity, and they turn back around.

“Well, I do know what it’s like to wake soaked with sweat and sick from—” I cut off sharply. Nope, not going there. He doesn’t need details. “And I heard you puking. So, yeah, I made assumptions, but only based on what I know.” My tongue is tingling from the sour of the candy, making me smack my lips.

Peris sneers every time the noise emits from my mouth, which, of course, only encourages me to do it more often, switching between licking my lips, slurping, and clacking it against my teeth, but through it all, he stays quiet—writing his own notes in a small but neat script atop the blue lines.

It goes on so long that I think the conversation is just over, but then, he says something completely unexpected. “Don’t tell my mom.”

I lean back in my rolling chair. It creaks as it dips, making me dart a handout to clutch the edge of the table for support. “Pretty sure she already knows, dude.” Elise’s face from the past few mornings at breakfast flashes through my mind. Her usual soft, unblemished features have been pinched with worry, eyes continuously darting to the empty chair where Peris always sits.

I’m curious as to what she knows…

His pen slips from his fingers as his back shoots ramrod straight. “What the fuck do you mean?” After a second, he picks up his Redbull, fingers sinking into the aluminum sides from his tight grip.

I shrug. “That she’s worried about you for some reason. I mean, seriously, you gotta work on your poker face and outbursts. The staying out late, leaving early every morning? That’s so obvious, I’m embarrassed for you.”

Peris’s pinched face is truly a work of art. That particular expression does not suit my face well, that much I know, but on Peris?

Vexation looks good on him.

With a soft sigh, I murmur, “Fuck, I still remember the first time you saw me after…” I glance up. “You know…” I waggle my brows, making him splutter his Redbull over the table. “You were so angry. And curious. I could feel your eyes on me that entire lunch period.”

“Excuse me?” he blurts, incredulous and too loud. Heads turn again. Peris’s face heats marginally, but he doesn’t lose his nervous sneer.

I arch a brow while tugging on the barbell through the bridge of my nose. Honestly, out of all my wonky, self-done piercings, I’m still quite pleased with how well this one turned out.

“I think you heard me just fine. Unless you have a hearing problem? Because if so, you should get that checked out.” I crunch the candy between my molars, grinding the hard bits loudly. “Oh, but I think even better than that was the first practice I ever… how should I say it…” I click my tongue. “I’m going with joined, because let’s be honest, I was just as much involved that day as anyone else. Though, I will say, you played like shit the entire time. Surprising for a team captain.” I tap my index finger to my cupid’s bow. “Couldn’t stay focused, I think.” I snicker.

And Peris falls for it like he always does. So easy. “Because you were eating someone’s face the whole time. Practically humping his fucking leg,” he snaps, quieter but still just as venomous.

“Mmm, yeah. I was.” I release a soft sigh, feigning reminiscence.

Golden-green eyes snap to mine, heating into liquid gold. “Shut the fuck up.”

My own widen in pleasant surprise. Well, well. “Now why would I do that when you love my mouth wide fucking open?”

Chase’s tongue is too much as it slides against mine—too thick and with way too much spit—but I swallow it down, allowing his venture into my mouth—if only to keep Peris’s gaze on me.

He loses his hold on the ball, and I watch as the defense steals it easily, diving across the court and shooting a two. Hands grapple at the tops of my arms, too gentle, too needy. I breathe a sigh, ignoring the fact that my nose is starting to get stuffed up.

Peris stares to his left, nearly peering over his shoulder to where I lean against the farthest wall of the gymnasium. I’m nearly out of sight, hidden almost entirely by the extended bleachers. But I know Peris can see me. It was the point, after all. I could do this literally anywhere, but what’s the fun in that when I have such a loud voyeur in my vicinity?

Besides that, I love Peris’s eyes on me. The way I garner every ounce of his attention. First cautious and confused, slowly morphing into anger and exasperation as the weeks passed. He can’t help it, the poor thing. I really do bring out the nasty in everyone I touch.

“Hello,” I enunciate softly to Peris when Chase pulls his head away to mouth at my throat. I tilt my head back, giving him easier access, eyes never leaving Peris’s potent stare. Chase’s excess saliva is easier to handle when it’s on my skin versus in my fucking mouth.

I nearly roll my eyes, thinking of the time I’m wasting. But I still have time to make it before Jason gives up and leaves. He knows me well enough by now to know I don’t particularly like following set boundaries.

He’s one of the nice ones—and he always gives me more than I ask for.

And he likes my ass enough to not care about my blatant defiance. It makes the chase that much more fun, after all.

“How is that shit even happening right now?” Peris shouts loudly in the direction of an obviously unobservant teacher, who is supposed to be keeping an eye on everyone during the unsanctioned practice. The dude balks at Peris, clearly confused, before he follows the unsteady jerk of Peris’s arm, leading straight to me.

Before he can even open his mouth, I push Chase away with a sigh. “Play time’s over, babe. I gotta go.”

His blue eyes blink down at me, still reeling. I puff out my bottom lip. Poor thing, I barely even touched him.

I pat his shoulder, extracting myself from his vicinity to swipe up my backpack, discarded by my feet—never far away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” he says excitedly. My eyes crinkle wearily. For fucks sake, are there really no other out-of-the-closet queer kids in this school? I mean, it’s not huge, but it’s not that small either. I’ve known about Ardent High long before I was put in a new home and started coming here last month.

Mainly because of their varsity basketball team always going to state, but still.

I give Chase a small, genuine smile. He may be too eager and definitely not my type, but he’s cute, and he wants to kiss me. And I like being kissed. “Sure thing, babe.” I press a kiss to his cheek, purposely darting my gaze to the right, and… yep. Peris is back to glaring, sinewy forearms crossed. The teacher is stomping over, face comically red. I can practically see the word “detention” poised on his lips.

Before Chase can respond, I’m slipping out the door, letting it clang shut behind me.

It’s hot and humid as all hell as I trek across town to the rundown motel a few blocks off Main Street. It’s only a twenty-minute walk, but by the time I’m pushing open the door to the usual motel room, my shirt is plastered to my skin, and I reek of sweat.

“Hey, baby boy,” Jason says from his usual spot on the bed. I give him a smile and drop my bag to the floor, heart kicking up at the prospect of what’s to come.

Peris’s hand shoots out,tanned fingers wrapping tightly around my covered forearm, clamping until I wheeze out a painful huff of air. My voice is lost, and I only have eyes for him.

Fuck, he’s hot.

“You don’t know what I like—which is nothing where you’re involved.” His voice is low, nothing more than a harsh whisper leeching into our shared air.

I can’t take my eyes off his hand on me, heavy with the promise of new bruises. He hasn’t dared come close enough to touch me. As many times as I thought I had finally breached hisbreaking point, low and behold, Peris would hold back by the skin of his teeth.

He’s so different than the rest.

What am I supposed to do with that?

“You’re still touching me,” I say after a very, very long minute. Peris jerks away as if burned, causing a snort to rip from my throat. He pins me with a glare of disgust that I return with a crooked smile. “Wanna tell me to shut up again?”

His dark eyebrows furrow for a minute before he scoffs and drags a hand through his hair, slicking it back. “You just never give it a rest. I’ve told you?—”

“Why should I?” I ask, genuinely curious as I prop my head in my palm, one hundred percent of my attention on Peris with Mr. Lang’s voice nothing but staticky background noise. I already know I’m going to fall behind if I don’t pull myself out of this… this vortex. But Peris is so consuming, and it feels… well, not good, but it’s something.

“Because you don’t know shit, Abel. I’m going to—” he cuts himself off so sharply, the room sluices into silence.

“Is everything all right up there, Mr. Baxter? Mr. Silver?” Mr. Lang’s voice carries easily across the quiet room.

“Peachy,” I grin. He only lifts his eyebrows, unamused.

“Sorry, Mr. Lang,” Peris mumbles, turning away from me and dragging his pen across his spiral notebook, scribbling notes to catch up. On what, I couldn’t exactly fucking say.

After a resolute nod, the teacher turns back to the board to finish his diagram of some character’s trait analysis.

I drag my own notebook closer and copy what’s on the board, but my focus remains on Peris’s heat, so close. Too far.

The minutes are long, filled with vigorous discussions. Of breaking down and analyzing certain character personalities based on specific decision making, an entirely different approach to the online version, so I’m struggling to follow along in this new format.

As I twist my pencil between my knobby fingers, choosing to listen rather than participate, I catch sight of Peris watching me out of the corner of his eye. I tap my pencil to my paper, not sparing him a cursory glance. “Might wanna pay attention. This class is hard.”

“How the hell would you even?—”

“And to respond to your earlier statement—I do, in fact, know quite a bit. Probably more than you wish I did, I’d wager. That’s why you can’t stand me. And why you’re now avoiding me.”

It’s the most I’ve ever said to him about… whatever this is between us. If it even is anything. I’m not really sure anymore. It’s been weeks—months—of this intense back and forth, and I’m starting to lose the plot. More entertained with the mere prospect of Peris than anything else. I’ve never been more invested in a singular person.

“No, Abel. You don’t know. You only fucking think.” His pen looks near its snapping point, cracking under the pressure of his fingers. “Which is an anomaly in and of itself.”

Cheeky.

“So, you’re not attracted to me, the obviously gay twink?” I smirk before continuing in a hushed drawl as students break off to start a project that’s apparently been discussed, but fuck if I know what it is. Probably in the papers the teacher gave me.

“You’re not drowning in your own internalized homophobia? You don’t hate everything I am, what you saw, because it’s something you can’t have? Can’t even imagine yourself having. I am curious as to why your animosity is so strong. I mean…” I tap my pencil eraser to my chin. “There has to be a reason—there always is, you know.” I flip him a look.

“Porn exists. A thousand times more graphic than a meager hand job in a high school choir room. And I guarantee you’ve seen more—and worse. So what was it about that night?” I think aloud, dropping my chin into my palm. The hum of the voices are lost amongst the echoes in my mind.

He ignores everything I said. “None of your goddamn business,” he snaps harshly, nostrils flared. For a moment, I imagine smoke pouring from the opened passageways, like he’s breathing fire through his indignation.

The thought makes me chuckle. “Doesn’t it get tiring, Peris?”

“What?” he grumbles, eyes fixed forward, glassy and vacant. The fire has left, leaving nothing but ruined ashes in its wake.

“Being so pissed off all the time.”

A pause the length of the beat of my heart stretches between us.

“You have no idea.”