Page 15 of Make Me Scream (Visceral #2)

ABEL

“Well, I guess that could be worse,” I mutter as Bill pulls up in front of Lucy’s shitty apartment building. It’s old and rundown with some cracked windows and broken lights, but it’s only fifteen minutes across town—which is better than I was expecting.

“What is?”

“I thought I would have to switch schools again, is all,” I say as I watch my birth mother get out of her car and glance over at us. I look away.

“Nope. You get to graduate from Ardent High, kid.” Bill taps his fingers on the wheel, clearly waiting for me to make the first move, like I want any of this.

“Lucky me,” I deadpan and push open the door. Lucy’s fake, bright smile makes my stomach churn as I slowly make my way toward her, the toes of my shoes scraping the concrete with every step.

“Hey, baby. It’s good to see you!” she chimes, reaching toward me. The sight of her extended arms has my eyes shooting wide. I back up, avoiding her touch readily. Her arms fall, and her face drops, wounded. My lips curl in disgust as deep wrinkles form around her mouth.

“Well, let’s head inside, then,” she says with feigned cheerfulness and makes her way to the entrance, huge purse dangling from her elbow.

The door is propped open with a rock, so we walk right inside the building.

I roll my eyes because of course. We take the rickety stairs up two flights and down a long hall to number 232.

Lucy pulls out her vast array of keys— who the fuck even needs that many keys? —and unlocks the door.

The first thing that hits me is the overwhelming scent of cigarette smoke. It’s pungent, and it clings to the yellow walls it coats, but surprisingly enough, I can see the floors and the place looks clean enough, if not a little cluttered.

“Well, come on in,” she says, pushing the door open and ushering Bill and I through before following and shutting it behind us. The resounding snick of the latch makes goosebumps rise along my arms and up my nape, and I can’t fight the shiver that wracks me.

“Cold?” Lucy asks from directly behind me. I jump and whirl around, shaking my head.

“Nope.”

“If you are, just let me know, and I can turn up the heat. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Oh, there’s heat? That’s a fucking first,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest, needing something between us.

“Abel…” Bill drawls slowly, eyebrow raised in admonishment.

I open my mouth to argue, but Lucy raises her hand. “No, it’s okay. I deserve that.”

“And a lot more,” I spit.

“Now that’s enough, Abel,” Lucy bites back, cold as ice, and I freeze, legs frozen to the spot as a face aged but too similar to mine stares back at me. “I understand you don’t want to be here. That I am changing things that you would rather not have changed, but I am your mother?—”

“You are not my fucking mother!” I shout, voice cracking toward the end. “Don’t you dare even try to say that.”

“I am,” she argues like a fucking child. “You can’t deny our similarities.”

I huff a laugh. It’s cold and humorless.

“You think because we share some looks that makes us family? That because we share some fucking blood, it means something? Let me tell you, Lucy. That doesn’t mean shit.

” I take a step closer, relishing in the way her dull, gray eyes widen.

“Elise has been more of a mother to me this last month than you have ever and will ever be to me.

“I might have to be here legally, but I will never listen to you, and you will never be my goddamn mom.” I take a step back, chest heaving with a force I fear will make me sick. “And you don’t even know my fucking birthday,” I add, spitting venom even as my eyes burn.

I’ve never hated the old Polaroid I have kept all these years more.

“It’s February eighth, Abel, for fucks sake,” is all she says, voice clipped, wrinkled lips pinched.

And I laugh. For so long that it isn’t until Bill clamps his hand on my shoulder that it stutters to a stop and my chuckles dissolve into sobs.

They’re dry and tearless, but they wrack my entire body with a force that makes me sick.

I dry heave, throat burning for endless moments, eyes burning from the force of my body retching.

Bill ushers me into the shabby bathroom and eases the door closed behind me, giving me privacy to get my shit together, but Jesus fucking Christ, how am I supposed to do that when this is my life now?

In just two weeks, I’m supposed to be here… alone with her.

“What’s wrong with him?” I hear Lucy ask on the other side of the accordion fold door after I’ve finished vomiting my pain.

“This is a lot for him. You have to understand that.”

“Of course, I do,” Lucy huffs.

“I’m not sure you do. He was finally in a good home, and he’s being pulled out of it. It’s a lot for him to take in.”

“A good home,” she mutters as if it’s a fucking joke, then she adds a moment later, “What do you mean ‘finally’?”

I stiffen—and I think Bill probably does, too. “That’s not for me to share with you.”

“But I’m his mother,” she argues.

“Be that as it may, that’s Abel’s business.”

“I have a right?—”

“You actually don’t. And if you don’t mind, I’d like a minute alone to check on Abel—because this visit is about him and ensuring this transition is as smooth as possible for him. ”

“Of course,” Lucy says, and her footsteps retreat, the floorboards creaking obnoxiously.

“Is she gone?” I choke out.

“Yeah, kid.”

At his response, I slide open the door and lean against the frame, wiping sweat from my temple with a wince. My stomach is curdling, and I just feel like ass. “Well, this has been exciting, hasn’t it?”

“It’s gone about as I expected it to, honestly.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad.”

“A bit of both,” Bill admits honestly.

“I guess there’s that.” I blow out a breath, which makes Bill chuckle, his large body taking up most of the small hallway space—and blocking any view Lucy may have, which I’m grateful for.

After a few long minutes of us just standing there, my eyes wandering the cracks in the moldy drywall, I ask, “What do I do, Bill?” The question hangs in the air, potent and tangible. “I was almost out. Just over two months. Two fucking months, ” I mutter. It’s so close, I can almost taste it.

“Survive, kid. Just like you have been.”

I frown. “That’s not what I want anymore,” I tell him honestly, not realizing how true it is until I say it out loud.

Bill turns and gives me the saddest smile. “I know.”

“I almost made it,” I whisper, chin quivering uncontrollably all over again.

“Yeah, Abel. You almost did.”

“I made tater tot casserole! I hope you like it,” Lucy exclaims as she plops the food on the table in front of me.

She clearly just bought the oven mitts, and judging by the stains on the dish, I’d say she just picked it up from the thrift store.

Matter of fact, I think I remember seeing that exact one, one of the many times I’ve been there.

The thought makes me laugh, which confuses Lucy.

“What’s funny?”

I shake my head, and my hair flops in front of my eyes. “This whole fucking situation. You thinking you’re actually trying. Like any of this matters.”

“It matters to me, Abel,” she says softly. I rear back because no. Fuck that.

“What gives you the right?” I ask, voice merely a whisper. Bill fucked off somewhere in the living room to give Lucy and I some “privacy”, but now, I’m cursing his stupid, bald-headed ass because where the fuck is he when I need him?

“I’m your mother.” Her voice cracks, and I loathe the way it makes my heart feel so heavy.

“You say that like it means something.” Stay cold, Abel. Don’t fucking give in to it.

“It does to me.”

“But it doesn’t to me, Lucy.” I grit my teeth.

“That’s what you don’t seem to understand,” I argue, voice slowly getting louder.

“I have no idea who the hell you are. All I know of you are faded memories that I think I confuse with the dreams and nightmares. The only reason I recognized you is because of some Polaroid I’ve managed to keep a hold of through all the houses I’ve passed through. ”

“A Polaroid?”

“Really?” I chuckle, pushing my chair back and standing. “That’s what you get from that?”

Her eyes widen, stringy, white hair framing her gaunt face—a face I hate to see look so much like me. “No. No, ” she repeats vehemently. “Please, Abel. Sit.”

I narrow my gaze, eyeing her warily as I slowly lower myself back down, unsure of what I’m even doing. “Alright,” I concede.

“I don’t really know what you want me to say.”

“The truth would be a good start,” I mutter.

“You being a smartass certainly doesn’t help,” she snaps, and for some reason, it makes me flinch.

“Right.” Lucy nods sharply, looking satisfied, and I cower further into my chair, arms crossed and feeling chilled to the bone. She dishes us each a plate of food, the plastic clattering on the rickety table when she sets it back down.

“So, I’ve been sober for a while now—nearly a year. I was in treatment, rehab, whatever you want to call it for a few months at first, and then, after I got out, I started NA meetings and have been going to those five days a week in between my shifts at a diner in the next town over.”

She takes her chair across from me and takes a bite of her food. When she opens her mouth, I notice broken and rotted teeth—most likely a result of drugs, but it still makes me shiver.

“And that’s pretty much been my life—for the last year anyway. Anything before that is not worth repeating,” she says coldly, not leaving room for argument, and I stiffen.

“So, you take me out of my home and expect me not to ask questions as to where you’ve been my entire life?” I stare at the plate of mush in front of me.

“I don’t want to talk of the past, Abel. We’re trying to move on.”

“ You’re trying to move on,” I tell her. “ I’m trying to get the fuck away from you, but you won’t let me.” Her hands slam down on the table, making the silverware jump—and me along with it.

“What’s going on?” Bill comes rushing into the room. My heart is pulsing at the base of my throat, choking me so I can’t speak. Lucy’s eyes are wide, but her face creaks into a weathered smile.

“The casserole dish slipped when I was trying to pick it up,” she says easily, moving to stand and pick up the food. The moment she turns her back on us, Bill turns to me.

“Time’s about up anyway, kid. You ready?”

“About ready to kill myself,” I mutter as I stumble to my feet, my heart still racing from the way Lucy reacted. The quick flash of anger. The way it was second nature to her.

I know it all too well, and even though I’ve lived it my entire life, in this last month, I’ve let my guard down without even realizing it.

Elise and Peris have made me soft.

I’m so fucked.

“Well, Lucy, it’s time for us to head out. We’ll see you again in a few days for the next visit.”

Lucy turns around, fake smile plastered on. “Oh, is it that time already?”

“It is.” Bill nods.

“And it will be you accompanying us next time, as well?” she asks, wiping her wrinkled hands on a towel.

“It’ll be someone else in your fucking dreams, bitch,” I grumble.

“Abel,” Bill hisses over his shoulder before turning to Lucy with a smile. “Yes, most likely. It’s been so busy, and it’s easier if I just handle it myself so I don’t have to worry about delegating, but I will, of course, keep you updated, if anything changes.”

“Yes, please do. I’ll walk you both out.” She drops the towel onto the counter and follows me and Bill to the front door. On the way, my eyes trail over the apartment, hating that this will be where I’m forced to stay soon enough.

The furniture is mismatched, stained with God-knows-what. The carpet is dark blue and worn down threadbare, reminding me of things I’d rather forget. The drywall is cracked and stained, and I just know the yellow would drip at the first sign of any cleaning agent.

I don’t realize how rapid my heartrate has gotten until Bill’s large hand clamps on my shoulder when we reach the front door. He opens it and gently pushes me over the threshold, blocking me from view with his large frame.

“Thank you, Lucy. We will see you soon.” And with that, he’s guiding me down to his car while I’m in a daze, the walls around me obscured with the water coating my sclera.

The drive back home is a blur of cloudy skies and autumn leaves.

I don’t even realize we’ve made it back until Bill taps my shoulder, jolting me from my reverie. That’s when I notice the red, white, and blue neighboring houses. The lilac purple of home.

Home.

Damn it all to hell.

I grip the handle tightly, hating how sweaty my palms are as it slips in my hold.

“Abel…” Bill drawls, making me pause.

“Yeah, Bill?”

“I’m sorry.”

I laugh humorlessly as I step out into the crisp autumn air, relishing in the bite of the wind as it seeps through my threadbare clothes. “Yeah.” I turn to look at him. His dark eyes are soft and wide and genuinely apologetic. It makes me fucking sick.

“Everyone’s so fucking sorry.”