Page 29 of Make Me Pretty

My hand raises of its own volition, fingertips grabbing at that crooked fucking chin. Abel hisses, jerking away. I tighten my grip, digging in until his eyes crease with a wince.

Fuck, that’s nice.

Not so tough now, are you, runt?

My brain freezes for a second, lagging to catch up to the moment.

Hmm, yeah. Runt. I like that.

“Not me,” I reply, lifting his head until Abel’s eyes are forced to meet mine. He scoffs, big lips pursing and twisting into an ugly smirk.

“‘Not you?’” he mocks. “You are absolutely no exception.” My lips twitch with their own smile. Something just as ugly.

It’s been impossible to resist his endless torment. Weeks of teasing glances and taunting comments. The sly remarks, nearly… I swallow the burn of vomit creeping up my throat.

There’s nothing about me toexpose. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

I have this—and him—under control now. I can do this and… and not fuck everything up like he’stryingto accomplish.

And now that Ifinallyhave my hands on him, I see right through it—all the confidence and attitude. All of his prose and pushing.

He’s just as fucked up as I am.

I lift his chin until the cords of muscles and tendons must be aching under the tension. His throat rolls, sharp cartilage bobbing.

I think I want to sink my teeth into it, just to see how hard it is.

“Then tell me why you can’t seem to leave me alone,” I rasp softly, lips inches from his. His breath coasts over mine—hot, wet. It’s coming out faster, labored. Smelling of sweet candy.

My mouth fills with saliva, wanting to know how they’d taste as I lick their flavor from his tongue.

“Because.” He licks his lips, sharp, gray eyes peering at me through heavy lids. “I like seeing homophobic jocks like you break.”

I rear back, and my stunned reaction is more than enough to let Abel escape my hold. He walks away and quietly shuts his door as if the last two minutes never happened. Like I didn’t just have his bony little body pressed against mine, his breath fanning directly into my mouth.

Like his tongue wasn’t stained rainbow, and I couldn’tnotsee it.

“Fuck!” I shout, fist slamming into the drywall directly where Abel’s head just was. I pull back, chest heaving as I stare at the hole I just made.

White dust speckles my hand. Chunks of drywall litter the floor and hang from the vacancy I created.

“Fuck,” I sigh, quieter this time as I drag said throbbing fingers through my disheveled hair. I tug at the roots, but eventhat pain is dull in comparison. My hand drops to the back of my neck, and that’s where I leave it as I pull my phone out and hit call on Ma’s number, blinking through the sting in my eyes.

Better to get it over with while she’s not home.

“Peris, is everything okay?” she asks hurriedly.

“Yeah, Ma.” I clear my throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you, I just…” I wince and turn away from the mess I made to grab the vacuum.

“What’s going on?” It’s quieter now, like she stepped into a different room.

Just get it over with.“Put a hole in the wall, in the hallway. I’m cleaning it up. I’m sorry,” I spit the words out fast. It’s not the first time I’ve made this call. And it’s definitely not the first time I’ve put my fist through the wall, but itisthe first time in years—since I “got better.”

Except I never fucking did. I just got good at pretending.

“Are you okay?” she says after a moment. My feet stop, inches away from the vacuum.

My throat is closed so tightly, I can barely rasp out a harsh, “Yeah.”