Page 106 of Make Me Bleed

“Doesn’t take much to make you hard, Abel.”

He lifts a brow and smirks. “Maybe not. But maybe this will convince you.” And then, he’s snapping a picture. I blink in surprise.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I balk.

“Getting other people’s opinions,” he says easily, fingers tapping away on the screen. I lunge forward and snatch his phone from his hands.

“Don’t you fucking dare, runt. I’ll beat your ass.”

“Oh, fun. You’re not doing a very good job convincing me.”

I look down at the picture he was about to send to Gabriel and his friends, Meredith and Stella. “I don’t fucking think so.”

“But—”

“Okay… Yeah, no.” I cancel the thread and shove his phone in the pocket of my slacks. “You’re crazy.” Ignoring the way the jewels move with me when I walk, I hobble toward the bed and grab my shirt and pull it on over the… article of clothing and button it up, hiding it from view, all while Abel watches me with greedy eyes.

“Do you mind?”

“No,” he says easily, and I roll my eyes.

“Of course not,” I snap and tug my jacket on.

“You look fuckinggood.”

“I know.”

Abel scoffs. “Yeah.” And then, he walks up beside me and wraps his arm around my waist. “We look good together,” he says as we stand in front of the mirror, and I can’t help but agree as I look at our reflection.

His pink hair has faded into a light cotton candy color over the last two months, and I think I like it more this shade. His eyes are lined in kohl eyeliner and black mascara, which really brings out his mercury irises. He comes to my shoulder as he stands against me, clad in a tight black t-shirt and baggy, ripped jeans with his two studded belts and his pink Converse I bought him two years ago.

I’m in the same black suit I wore a few months ago, but it fits me much better now. The only difference is I have a black boot on my right foot from when they took my cast off a few days ago. I still can’t play, but I’m going to the game tonight to show my support, and I’m not bitter about it.

I’m… surprisingly content about everything.

Maybe it’s because it’s all working out.

Nothing really even happened. Once the cops got the details of who Luke really was and what he was doing, it was kind of a no-brainier, and within a week, Abel’s charges were dropped. Which was the biggest relief for all of us.

We go and visit Mo at least once a week together, but Abel usually goes more. And Abel… surprisingly enough has a fucking job at the local diner we all went to the morning he got out of jail.

He works as a bus boy, and I can tell he doesn’t like it very much, but he’s made it clear that he knows he has to start somewhere, and he’s intent on doing it. And it makes me fuckingproudof him. To see how hard he’s trying.

Me on the other hand… I’ve just been following my runt around like a lost puppy, ironically enough. I haven’t been able to play because of my injury, so whenever I’m not at school, I’ve been at Abel’s apartment with him, or he’s been at my place.

I can’t seem to get enough of him, and I know I never will.

“How’ve the urges been?” Abel asks, face pressed against my side, and I lean down to press a kiss to the top of his head. It hurts a bit, him having to ask, but that was part of the deal.

Raw honesty.

We can’t do this without it.

“I haven’t drank in months, you know that,” I tell him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

His eyes narrow for a spit second at my evasion, and I wince. “That’s not what I asked.”

“I know.”