Page 34 of Make Me Scream (Visceral #2)

PERIS

A loud, incessant buzzing pulls me from the deepest depths of unconsciousness.

“Ugh, fuck,” I groan loudly, head pounding as I smack my lips.

My mouth tastes like ass, and I wince, wrinkling my nose.

The vibration sounds again, and I finally manage to crack open an eyelid, grimacing at the sunlight that peaks through the curtains.

“Jesus Christ.” I try to move my right hand and cry out when my fingers flex and a blinding pain shoots up my right hand. My eyes shoot open wide, and I come face to face with a black and blue hand, bones swollen and misplaced.

“Shit, that’s definitely broken,” I mutter to myself, wincing as I rub my thumb over my knuckles. What did I do? This could ruin my career. If my hand is broken, I can’t play. And if I can’t play, they can revoke my scholarship…

Fuckfuckfuck.

And then, it all comes swinging back.

Abel.

My AbelAbelAbel.

“Runt…” I whisper to myself, and tears fill my eyes unwillingly as the memories of last night come rushing back. The way he held onto that man, the way he talked of sucking him off, the way he said I was no one…

I sniffle, dragging the back of my good hand over my nose, fighting back the burn of tears that threaten to spill. I can’t believe this happening… that it did happen, that it is still happening.

My phone vibrates beneath me, and I startle at the sensation, rolling onto my side as I try to reach for it with my good hand.

I don’t recognize the number on the front, but it’s nearly ten in the morning, which tells me I slept for at least a few hours, give or take how long it took me to finally pass out.

My eyes flick toward the empty bottle lying on the floor, and I wince. No wonder I feel so fucking shitty. I’ve never drank so much in my life. Not my brightest moment, but fuck, I didn’t know what to do.

I still don’t. I don’t know how to handle this or what any of it means. For me or for us.

I can’t be with someone that doesn’t respect me or our relationship, but I also can’t let him go.

He’s mine. Now and always.

I swipe my thumb across the screen to answer the call, scrunching my eyes shut to avoid the bright light. My phone’s almost dead, so hopefully, the battery lasts through the call. “Hello?”

There’s a weird pause of static, and then, a monotone computer voice states, “This is a call from—" and then another pause, and my stomach falls right out my body and through the floor—"Luke Baxter.” His voice rings through my ears for the first time in years, and I stop breathing.

The phone slips from my fingers and falls to the bed.

“An inmate at Oak River Penitentiary.” I stare at the ceiling, not really seeing anything at all.

“All phone calls are subject to recording and monitoring. To decline this call, press nine. To accept this call, press one now.” The recording has stopped, and all I can hear is static on the line, along with the heavy chugging of my heart in my ears, along with every choking breath I take—and for some reason I don’t understand, I reach down and press one.

“Thank you. Your call has been accepted.”

“Fuck.”

There’s a click, and then, my world flips all over again.

“Peris, son.”

Oh, no. Nonono, what did I do? Sweat clings to my skin, breaking out along my body and making me itch and squirm. I’m burning from the inside, and vomit crawls up my throat.

“It’s good you answered.”

“Luke,” I choke out in punctured breaths. Peris, breathe. All I have to do is make it through. “What the hell do you want?”

His deep chuckle makes my skin crawl, and the urge to run away nearly overtakes me. I squeeze my phone in my hand so hard it creaks. He then sighs and says, “I missed you, boy.”

I gag. “Get to the fucking point,” I snap, choking on the bile burning my tongue.

“I’m getting out. You will probably hear soon enough, but I’m meeting with the parole board, and it’s looking promising. I’ve been a model prisoner, and I wanted you to hear it from me first.” And he sounds so fucking proud of it, too.

I lose my will-power over my gag reflex and upchuck all over the floor, phone falling to the bed. The echo of Luke’s laugh is nothing but a background inflection to the sound of my vomiting permeating the room.

“Oh, God,” I groan, clutching my stomach as my vision whites out.

I think I hear a resounding, “I will see you soon,” before there’s a click, and then, I’m left even more alone than I have ever been.

“What the fuck…” I choke out, swiping my hand over my mouth, swallowing down the excess salvia dripping from my mouth. Sweat clings to my clammy skin, and I clutch at my stomach as I force myself to sit up, vision swimming.

I cling to the sheets as I clamber to my feet, swaying.

The rooms spins around me, walls blurring and morphing together.

I reach down and grab my phone, clutching to it for dear life as I cling to the wall for support.

I use it to guide me to the door, not knowing what else to do other than needing to move. Needing to find him.

I brush along the wall, skimming and bumping along the way, one eye shut tight, the other squeezed against the blurry film coating it. My right hand is clutched to my chest, and it throbs painfully but not as painfully as my chest, or my stomach, or my head.

But surprisingly, I also feel kind of numb.

It’s strange, the way it’s all blurring together into a tunnel—and at the end of it is Abel.

I just need Abel.

I finally make my way out the door and to my car, shivering as the cold, winter air burns my exposed, damp skin.

I stare out of my windshield, at the snowflakes that cling to the cold, cracked glass.

I’m shivering as I start it, and by the time I’m down the road and pulling up to the stop sign, my teeth are chattering.

My body feels the cold, but I don’t.

I’m deadened, like one’s frost-bit fingers. Cold and black and paralyzed.

My tires spin on black ice as I pull into the parking lot to Lucy’s apartment building, and my heart thuds painfully as I turn the wheel to correct it.

Thankfully, the wheels straighten out, and I’m able to park close to the propped-open front door, my tires only jerking against the sidewalk in front of me as I slide on the snow.

I stare out of the cracked glass, seeing absolutely nothing in front of me before pushing my door open and getting out.

My strides are long and quick as I make my way inside the shitty hallway and up the rickety steps.

Each one creaks under my feet, making my eye twitch, but it doesn’t matter. Not really.

Not when I just need Abel.

That’s all that matters right now.

Not these shitty steps and even shittier lights. Not this ratty, torn carpet, busted doors, and moldy walls. Not the screaming babies and drug deals happening in between floors.

Just Abel.

I need my runt.

My footsteps move quicker, and by the time I make it to apartment 232, I hammer my hand on the door before howling in pain, not even realizing I’ve used the wrong fucking hand to do it—too caught up in needing him.

“Fuck!” I scream, cradling my hand against my chest, gritting my teeth against the throbbing radiating from the tips of my fingers all the way down to my elbow. “Jesus fucking Christ. ”

The door swings open to some creepy, greasy-looking dude, and I swear to God, I can’t take anymore. “Can I help you?” he says, a grimace on his nasty face.

“Where’s Abel?” I ask, lip curled in a snarl. This must be the fucking boyfriend. I should punch his fucking face in… or not right yet, I think as I look down at my pathetic excuse of a hand at the moment.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“None of your goddamn business, bitch. Where the fuck is Abel?” I step forward with a snarl and grip the door with my good hand, pushing it open a bit to get his attention. He’s scrawny, and well, I could take him with one hand, I’m sure of it.

“Look, whoever you are?—”

“Move!” I shout, and shove the door open, barreling past him. “Abel!” I scream, sweat beading along my hairline as I rush past the creep and into the living room. It’s empty, save for Lucy’s scrawny ass sprawled across the couch.

“Hey, you can’t just?—”

“Oh, fuck you, too, bitch,” I seethe, narrowing my eyes as I stomp past her toward the narrow hallway, where I assume the bedrooms to be. The first I come across must be hers, which I keep moving past with my nose upturned because yuck.

The next, the gap in the bottom part of the door looks familiar.

My heart shoots into my throat, and I yank it open, uncaring that I’m ripping it even more.

“Runt!” I shout, stepping into the dark room.

I reach around, sliding my hand up and down the wall in search of a light switch, and when it finally flicks on and his room is brightened at last, my entire world shatters into pieces.

Everything is gone.

His piece of shit, ratty backpack—and I wish, as painful as it is to admit, that it was because he was still with his client—but no, his duffle isn’t here, either. Which means he took all of his clothes. And his CDs. His earrings and the necklace and shoes I gave him.

It’s all gone.

Everything except his fucking phone.

I walk over to it slowly, my hand shaking at my side. I lean down and watch as a bead of sweat drips from my forehead and onto the screen. I reach down to swipe it away from the screen, only to illuminate it.

The screen lights up to a picture of me and Abel at the park—one Gabe took.

Abel was sitting in my lap. My hands are on his ass and his arms are wrapped around my neck. His head is tossed back in a laugh, and my face is buried in his neck, sucking marks into his skin.

I remember he was whispering the dirtiest fucking things into my ear, and he made me so hard, I was so tempted to fuck him right then and there, but no. He was being the worst little cock tease.

My stomach clenches at the sight of the photo—it’s one even I don’t have.

Tears burn their way down my face before I even realize what’s happening, and they splash across my hands and on the screen. “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck, ” I swear over and over as I bring his phone up to my face with trembling hands, trying to blink the tears away so I can see what I’m doing.

I’m able to swipe the screen open without a passcode, and that’s… that can’t be good.

“Oh, God…” Voices scream and shout in the background, but I pay them no mind as the screen pops up, and I read the words that have shown up in front of me.

No…

Abel, baby, no…

You didn’t…

Whores like me never win, Peris. We just survive. This is goodbye.

I fall to my knees on the dirty carpet below, a wail escaping my lips without my permission.

“What the fuck is going on?” Lucy comes running into the room.

I whip around and swing the phone in her direction.

It sails right past her face and sinks into the soft drywall just to the right of her face.

She jerks back with a bellow that nearly rivals mine as I drop back onto my haunches and toss my head back, tearing my hair out as another scream tears through my throat.

Just when I needed someone—needed him…

He ran.

He fucking ran away.

…from me.

I dig my nails into my chest until I feel warm, bloodied flesh beneath, and then I rip, hoping to yank out the useless chunk of muscle inside.

What fucking good is it now, anyway?

TO BE CONTINUED…