Page 4 of Make Me Scream (Visceral #2)

PERIS

Me:

You better fucking text me back, pup.

I tap my thumb on the edge of my phone, waiting for a read receipt to pop up, but just like the fifteen other texts I sent to Abel today, this one goes unanswered as well.

It sets my blood on fire because not only did I look for my runt everywhere, but he’s not anywhere he should be—which gives me a good feeling of where he’s been all fucking day—and I’m pissed I didn’t think of it sooner.

My hands clench tightly as I make my way out of the gym, where the cheerleaders are practicing, and up the stairs that lead to the rooftop.

The door isn’t wedged, but it creaks open easily all the same.

A burst of biting wind sluices over my bare arms as I trudge over gravel-littered concrete, and it smells of the faintest traces of weed and bitter cool air.

I stop at the worn concrete corner, noting a small pile of joints smoked nearly gone and black from smoke. My eye twitches knowing that at least a few of those are from Abel. The little fuck has been up here, skipping every single class, ignoring every single text…

God. Just when I think the games might be over with.

But no. I should know better.

Abel Silver was created to manipulate.

Jaw set tight, I pull up our text thread again, and the mere sight of the word delivered staring back at me pisses me off to the point I’m storming back down the stairs, dead set on finding him and wringing his goddamn neck.

The steps blur under tow, pulsing in time with each wave of my erratic heartbeat. “Woah.” Gabriel stops me with a hand to my chest as I round the corner. I pitch to a stop, nearly tripping over my own feet at the sudden standstill.

“Move,” I grit out through my clenched jaw. My ears are ringing, veins pumping with adrenaline, knowing what I’m going to do when I see Abel. I don’t give a fuck what today is or what it means for him—for us, even.

I just care that he’s being a selfish bastard about it, like always. Fuck my feelings. Fuck Ma’s feelings.

No. It’s not okay.

Gabe doesn’t fucking let up. “Where do you think you’re going?” He takes a step toward me, forcing me to step back, away from where I need to be.

“Gabe,” I mutter, grinding my molars and trying really hard not to snap my best friend’s neck. My skin is fraying. I don’t know what this… sensation is crawling beneath my skin, but it’s eating me alive and pissing me the fuck off.

I need to see Abel.

Gabe plants his hands on my shoulders, grounding me.

I can’t meet his gaze, but I feel his eyes on me, regardless.

“He will still be there when practice is over,” he reminds me.

“You can’t throw it all away. You need to be at practice because if you’re not, coach won’t let you play.

And what happens if he doesn’t let you play? ”

He lets his words sit between us for a minute, their meaning echoing off the white, concrete cinderblocks encompassing us. I drop my head back against them with a sigh, everything grating on my nerves. “No game time means no scouts see me,” I finally mutter against my will.

“And that means no scholarship. It doesn’t matter that the most important game already happened.

Yes, you kicked Jordan’s ass,” he says with a smirk that’s hard to miss, and I find my own lips twitching to mirror it.

“And they saw that. But that was just one game. Give them the whole season, Peris.” His sincerity wraps around me like a glove, drawing me back in.

I groan loudly and slam my fists into the wall at my back before pulling up and yanking at my sweaty hair. “Fuck, you’re right.”

Gabe scoffs loudly and obnoxiously. “Of course, I am.”

“Fuck off. Let’s go before I change my mind.” I glance behind me toward the end of the hall, more tempted than I should be. “Because I just fucking might.”

“Peris, stay a minute,” Coach Johnson calls after practice comes to an end. I glance over at him bent over his clipboard, feigning nonchalance, and I know what he wants to talk about immediately.

Today’s the fucking day, it seems.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” I huff and sink my teeth into the fleshiest part of my tongue to stave off the rest of what I want to reply.

“What’s up?” Gabe inquires, dark brow raised in question as he shoulders me.

I leave my gaze on the floor as I say, “He wants to talk to me about Abel.” I flick my eyes upward quickly to gauge Gabriel’s reaction.

“Abel?” Gabe’s brows hit the ceiling. I roll my eyes.

“Yeah. Apparently, the bastard isn’t unobservant.”

“Well, no shit, Peris. He’s a coach,” Gabe drawls teasingly.

“Don’t start with me,” I snap as I bend down and throw my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll let you know how it goes, I guess,” I mutter before turning around and making my way toward Coach Johnson.

“What’s up, Coach?”

“Hey, Peris.” He finally looks up, big eyes downturned as he tries to appear serious. I barely manage to hold out on rolling my eyes. “I, uh, I just wanted to have that conversation about your foster brother…”

“Look. No offense, but it’s none of your fucking business,” I snap.

“Sorry,” I add dryly when he narrows his eyes.

“But it’s not. There’s nothing to talk about because there’s nothing going on.

And he’s not my foster brother anymore, anyway—or he won’t be after today, so you don’t have anything to worry about.

Does that clear things up for you?” I lift my brow, trying to ignore the way my chest is heaving a bit uncontrollably because I can’t catch my breath, and my stomach is curdling and twisting in a way that feels a bit like a tornado that’s flipped upside down.

When Coach simply nods, seemingly dumbfounded, I turn around as fast as I can and hightail it out of the gym and across the parking lot. When I finally make it to my car, I crank the engine and blast music in hopes I can drown out some of these vicious thoughts that won’t shut the fuck up.

The dash glows. It’s nearly six-thirty, which means Abel’s dumb-fuck mother will be there soon, so he’ll be there. Waiting. Just like I’ve been waiting for him.

All fucking day.

The heels of my palms slam into the steering wheel with such force, it sends pins and needles shooting up to my elbows, jarring me. “Fuck!” My head falls forward, throbbing in beat with my heart.

Thwumpthwumpthwump.

Gonelostgone.

Thwumpthwumpthwump .

The tell-tale prickling sensation coats my eyes, traveling down the bridge of my nose and into my nostrils.

I sniffle against the sensation repeatedly, adamantly refusing to succumb to it.

If I didn’t fucking cry because of Luke, I’m sure as hell not going to let some little runt ruin it all for me…

even if it does feel like it’s all falling apart just like it was back then…

I jolt right out of my skin as my phone’s vibration splinters the thin air around me. I yank my phone out of my pocket, ignoring the way my chest is heaving in my peripheral as I press it to my ear.

Seeing Mom’s name flash across the front brings some clarity back to the forefront of my mind, and I steal some air back into my lungs one short inhale at a time. “Yeah, Ma?” I say when I feel like I can finally open my mouth without choking on words.

“How was practice, honey?”

“Was fine.” My grip tightens on the wheel.

“Peris…”

“Is he there?” Fuck. I shouldn’t have asked. But I need to know.

“Who? Abel?” Ma asks, sounding confused. “Yes, why wouldn’t he be?”

“Because he skipped practice, that’s why,” I snap.

“Well, all things considered, I think that’s reasonable, don’t you?” Mom retorts back just as quickly.

I harumph. When she puts it like that… “Yeah.”

“Are you coming home? It’s… almost time,” she says slowly and softly, like she’s trying not to draw attention to what’s about to happen.

Like everything’s not about to change again.

For better… for worse.

Ah, who the fuck am I kidding. It’s always for the worse when Abel’s involved.

“Yeah, Ma.” I sigh loudly into the receiver.

“I’ll be home. Love you. Bye.” I hang up before she can respond and reverse out of the lot.

I crank the volume on an Eminem song, fingers tapping the beat as I drive aimlessly, drowning every thought, feeling, and sensation into the music until the clock ticks closer and I pull into the drive, and the weight of inevitably sits on my chest with surprising heaviness.

I don’t fucking like it.

I don’t like any of this.

How quickly it’s all changed. How he’s changed Ma, our home, our lives.

Me.

I want to go back to before, when I was living in denial and hate and bitter resentment… But I guess a part of me still is. It just doesn’t feel as unbearable anymore.

My feet stop mid-step up the front stairs to the house at the realization. The front door opens, and there’s my runt, looking back at me. As ugly and as pretty as ever.

What the fuck is happening to me?