Page 22 of Make Me Scream (Visceral #2)
A deep sigh of impatience draws me from the graphic depiction of my brains spilling across the concrete. And what a sight that would be.
“Why, of course, I am,” I reply easily.
She fucking tsks. “Why, Abel?”
“Why not, Lucy? You don’t even want me; you just want power over me and my life.”
“That’s not true?—”
“Yes, it is,” I snap, leaving no room for argument as I delve into my bag for my discman and headphones. The bottle of pink spray paint clanks against it, and I smile at the memory of tagging Peris’s parking spot.
Just as I draw my headphones over my ears, Lucy says, “I’ll prove it to you.”
“Mmm, no thanks,” I respond with a grimace. “I’d rather fucking choke.” And with that, I press play on my Eminem CD and skip to track four—“Cleanin’ Out My Closet.”
Her apartment is just as shitty as I remember—and the stench of cigarettes is repugnant.
“It fucking stinks in here,” I mutter as I walk over the threshold.
“Yes, please, make yourself at home,” she mutters, clearly over my shit.
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do, dear mother?
” I mock as I take a look around. I’ve had three visits since the dreaded Thanksgiving fiasco, and each one has been just as bad as the last. I’ve spent the entire time in the kitchen since then, refusing to look around, even as Lucy—and even Bill—have tried to convince me to look around at what would eventually be my home.
But now’s the time, I guess.
“Would you like me to show you to your room?”
“I guess I need to know where I’m going to sleep,” I mutter as I grab my bags, struggling to pick up Peris’s black one with the weight of it.
“Do you want me?—”
“No,” I snap. “Don’t ever touch my shit.”
She raises her hands in mock defense. “All right, I won’t.”
“Good,” I mutter and pathetically drag my bag behind me, down the small hallway.
Lucy opens the accordion fold door and flicks on the light, illuminating a small bedroom with a twin-sized mattress on a bare frame.
The rest of the room is completely bare with one small window, and the walls are stained yellow, but it doesn’t smell as bad as the rest of the house, if a little musty, but it’s my own space, and it has a bed, so who am I to complain?
“Thanks,” I mutter as I push past her and drop my bag to the bed, leaving the other on the worn carpet. “I don’t need to worry about bed bugs or anything, do I?” I ask as I eye the bare bed I’m sitting on, the thought making my skin crawl.
Lucy scoffs. “No. All good on that front.”
“Thank fuck. Those are a bitch.” I shudder involuntarily.
It’s awkward for a few moments as I stare out the small, frosty window, aching for a bit of fresh air.
“Dinner will be in an hour,” she announces.
I scoff and roll my eyes. “No, thanks.”
“Abel,” she drawls with a long sigh. “You need to eat.”
“Not any of your fucking food, I don’t.”
“Are we really going to keep doing this?”
“Do what, exactly?” I ask, turning away from the window to meet a face that has haunted me, yet kept me going for years.
“This back and forth, spewing venom. It’s exhausting.”
“You shouldn’t have torn me from my family, then,” I tell her bluntly, not having realized what I said until the words had fallen from my lips.
My family…
Damnit.
I watch her wrinkled face twist. “They weren’t your family. I’m your family.”
“Blood doesn’t make you family, Lucy.”
“Then what does?”
“Loyalty,” I say easily. “Loyalty and—and love,” I choke out, barely able to say the word but meaning it with everything inside of me once it comes out.
“I lo?—”
My eyes flash. “Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence,” I spit through clenched teeth.
“Fine,” she huffs out, throwing her arms up. She spins around and leaves my new room. I stand on shaky legs and shut the door. It doesn’t latch correctly, with a gap at the bottom where it’s starting to detach, but it’s better than nothing.
I drop back on the bed with a sigh and fight back the tears as I pull out my phone and pull up my text thread with Peris. There’s nothing waiting for me, but that doesn’t surprise me with what I knew he was going to walk into.
Me:
Did Elise kill you?
I quite literally twiddle my fucking thumbs for five minutes, watching my text bubble sit there unanswered before I huff out a sigh and grab my discman, needing something to calm the screaming inside my mind.
Eminem seems to be the best in times like this, so I play the same album on repeat, bobbing my head to the beat as I stare up at the water-stained popcorn ceiling, waiting for a reply.
After what seems like forever, my phone vibrates against my chest, and I scramble to pick it up, nearly dropping it on my nose as Eminem raps in my ear.
Peri boy:
You’re currently talking to a ghost.
I laugh loudly, face splitting into a grin.
Me:
Damn, I always knew I could talk to apparitions. I could make bank.
And as Peris types, I go into his contact and change his name because as much as I love him being my Peri boy, he’s my baby boy, now and forever.
Baby boy:
Funny.
Me:
That’s dry.
The three bubbles pop up, then disappear for a minute before the text comes through.
Baby boy:
Unlike you.
Me:
Awe, thanks, baby.
His,
“Fuck off.”
, is immediate. My smile is so wide, my cheeks ache. But then, reality creeps back in.
Me:
Seriously… how did she take it? …
I worry my bottom lip as Peris types. Knowing I disappointed Elise makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Baby boy:
She’s fucking pissed. I’m grounded for the rest of my life?
Me:
Is that a question?
Baby boy:
I guess. I don’t even know. There was a lot of yelling.
I don’t think I’ve seen Ma so mad.
Or so hurt.
I feel like shit.
It’s his third and fourth texts sent a few seconds later that has me hitting the video call button. It rings for a few moments, and they drag out, causing my heart to thump loudly in my ears.
“Hey.” It’s dark in his room. I can barely make out his face.
“I’m surprised you still have your phone,” I tell him, squinting my eyes.
He laughs dryly. “Yeah, me too, I guess.” He reaches back from where he lies on his bed and grips the back of his neck. His bicep bulges in the frame, and I fucking drool.
“Is it bad timing to ask for phone sex?” I blurt.
Peris chokes on nothing. He shoots up in bed, hacking and smacking his chest. I watch in amusement as the phone shakes as he gains control of his breathing. “Jesus fucking Christ, runt.”
“What?” I ask, blinking innocently, even as my face flames.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says bluntly, and that sobers me instantly.
If he only knew.