Page 7 of Make Me Scream (Visceral #2)

PERIS

“How is he?”

“How should I know?” I mutter, flipping aimlessly through the channels. I can’t really see the T.V. through the blurry sheen of my unfocused eyes.

Ma’s hand on my arm nearly makes me jolt out of my skin.

“What’s going on, Peris?” she asks softly.

Her eyes, nearly the same color as mine, are narrowed in sadness and despair.

They look so similar to how they did back when she found out about Luke, and my stomach curdles with the reminder while simultaneously filling with venom knowing she’s feeling the same for Abel as she does for me.

I look away. I can’t fucking stand the sight—the sorrow, the pity. “You know more about that than I do, Ma,” I finally answer, swallowing the lump of bile lodged in my throat.

“You heard the same as I did.”

“Exactly.”

“But the way he was…”

I pull in a deep breath and release it slowly. “Yeah.” Part of me understands why the little runt is acting the way he is. He’s going back to his roots—deception and aloofness and cruelty that’s bitter and strange.

But the other part of me—the biggest part—is mostly just pissed the fuck off.

Because he has to know what’s happening with Lucy doesn’t have to change much of anything.

Sure, he’ll have to move out, but maybe that’s for the best. We won’t be foster brothers, and that’s one less obstacle for us to worry about…

and what the actual fuck am I even thinking right now?

I’m talking about obstacles between me and Abel like it’s an actual possibility for us to ever be together… like that’s something that could happen, or that I even want to happen.

My body loses tension, and I drop back into the cushions, heat filling my face as sickness swarms my gut at the realization.

I want Abel. And I want him to myself.

I don’t want to share him, and I don’t want him to leave.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuck.

“Oh, what are we watching?” Abel strides into the room, red-eyed and pale and as confident as ever. My heart chugs heavily.

Mom and I exchange a look before she says, “Not sure. What are you in the mood for?” She scooches over to give him room between us, and I glare at the screen in front of me as Abel plops down deliberately on the cushion to my left, jostling me.

“Something funny,” he says easily, reaching for the remote in my hand.

I jerk back. “I am not watching SpongeBob, ” I grit through clenched teeth and scroll past the channel with a sick sort of glee when I catch Abel’s pout in the corner of my eye.

“Awe, Peris, c’mon,” Mom tries.

“Yeah, Peri…” Abel chimes in as he leans over, voice dropping all sultry and shit. My muscles tighten, groin coiling. “Come on. ”

My breathing kicks up as Abel’s breath fans across the side of my neck. It’s hot, and it smells like sex and candy.

“Fine,” I snap and scroll up, slamming my thumb on the button. The grating voice plays through the speakers, and Abel’s own follows suit. “Thanks, baby,” he rumbles beside me, barely loud enough to be heard over the television.

I’m panting now, and I can’t help it. It’s fucking hot, and I can’t breathe, and it’s all too much—and then, Abel drops his head onto my shoulder, and the chaos comes to a standstill for the time being as we watch his favorite T.V. show together in mutual silence.

Ma hangs out on the couch with us, none of us saying a word as the minutes pass, eventually slipping into hours.

Darkness falls, and eventually, Mom heads off to bed, leaving us to fall into a mutual, restless sleep on the couch in a tangle of limbs and nightmares we both know were once—and are yet again—our reality.

I wake before the sun to the pressure of his body against mine.

It’s warm and solid, and I hate every second of it—only because I know I shouldn’t like it, shouldn’t find comfort in it.

I’m confused, the way it’s all changed, so much, so quickly.

How none of this makes sense. Hating him and not being able to stand the very fucking sight of him, yet needing him in the same breath.

Knowing, deep down, I loathe who I am and what I need. Who Abel sees and what he’s forced me to acknowledge.

And now, he’s leaving me.

“I fucking hate you.” I murmur the words to the top of his head as I breathe in the cherry scent of his hair.

“I know,” Abel responds in the next breath, fingers tracing along the pattern on my shirt, startling me. “I hate you too, you know.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“Better this way.”

“Yep.” He sighs.

“Mhm.”

“So why are you still touching me then?” I can hear the smile in his words.

“Why are you?” I retort, just as quickly, not moving my hand from his hair, instead tugging sharply at his locks and earning a hiss.

“Because I can do whatever the fuck I want, Peris.”

“So can I, runt. ”

“Guess that settles that then, huh.”

“Guess it does.”

“Why are we doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“ This. ” He enunciates by tracing his finger along my muscles, causing my skin to prickle with awareness. I snatch his finger before he can trail it down my abdomen, his goal clear in mind.

“ We’re not doing anything. I’m just lying here.”

“With a gay boy in your arms,” he retorts, then gasps dramatically. “Who’s your foster brother!”

“Not for long,” I mutter. That seems to piss him off.

“Yeah, Peris. I fucking know.” He tries to pull away, a frown marring his crooked face, but I tighten my grip, amused.

“No need to be so dramatic, pup.” Abel starts to struggle in my hold, so I cinch my arms tighter, relishing in each sharp jab of his lanky limbs. He runs out of breath quickly, and we lie there in the rising light of the sun, panting quietly and sweating slightly on a stretch of the couch.

Abel’s body against mine burns so hot, it makes me sick.

The graze of bare flesh, soft and thick with scar tissue, has my fingers gravitating toward the inner part of his arms, near the junction of his biceps.

The skin is soft, but the closer I get to his wrists, the texture changes, becoming rough and uneven, much like him.

By the time I reach his hand, Abel’s breathing is uneven and haggard, causing my own heart to ricochet into my throat as I twine our fingers together. The voices in my head are deafening, screeching their obscenities and profanities.

I’m sick. Wrongwrongwrong.

I can’t do this, be like him.

He did this to me.

I hate this. I hate him.

Get off me. GET THE FUCK OFF ME!

Fingers graze my cheekbone, and I gasp. My eyelids flutter open, and I meet two orbs of molten steel, soft and… still.

“Hey,” is all he says, but it’s…

It’s enough.

“Hey,” I rasp, hating how closed up my throat is. It’s clogged with unshed tears and burning with years of suppressed bullshit.

Like a switch is flipped, Abel shoves away from me and is on his feet in the next moment. I blink up at him, brows furrowed. He won’t even meet my eyes.

“Runt—” With a flash of silver hair, Abel’s gone, and I’m left alone on the couch, the missing heat of his weight against me leaving me cold and oddly heavy.

Clenching my jaw, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, wallowing in the slow inferno making its way through my chest and down my spine. It’s a slow-licking flame, set to burn me alive if I let it—and I just might.

It’s gotta feel better than … whatever the hell this is.

“Fuck!” I rasp, yanking on my hair until my scalp screams in agony and strands rip from their place. I don’t understand any of this shit. Why it’s easy one minute and disgustingly brutal the next.

“Morning, buddy.” Ma reaches down and wraps her fingers through my hair, overlapping mine. I freeze at her touch, heart galloping. Our eyes meet, and for a sharp second, she sees more than she should, and then, I blink.

“Morning, Ma,” I rasp as I squeeze her hand back before removing it and sitting up. She drops it easily and leans back over the couch, tucking her robe tighter around her body. It’s quiet in the house, only the faintest sounds of birds chirping and water running—Abel must be taking a shower…

My eyes close unwittingly at the images that brings forth in my mind. Flashes of his pale, naked flesh. Raised scars, curved and smiling back at me. Crooked teeth and mismatched piercings, begging to be licked and tugged and bit.

His ugly?—

“What’s for breakfast?” I blurt, shooting to my feet. Mom startles, and I nearly sway as blood rushes to my head—but it’s better than my dick, which is well on its way to half-hard at this point.

When Abel steps into the kitchen with a slight limp, my eyes narrow. I track his eyes step, noting the way he ensures his thighs don’t touch when he walks—which can only mean one thing.

That little fuck was burning himself.

Breakfast is an awkward affair, reminiscent of our very first one, and it feels so suffocating, I nearly choke on the food I force down my throat so Ma doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

She probably thinks it’s what’s going on with Abel’s custody arrangement—and that’s partly to blame—but she has no idea the boy she thinks is so fucking good is really just a manipulative little shit.

“I hope you both have a good day at school,” she says as we grab our shit to leave. As I swing my gym bag over my shoulder, she grabs onto Abel and pulls him into a hug. He stumbles into her, his eyes going wide, but his arms wrap around her all the same.

“I’ll, of course, let you know if I hear anything today, but try not to worry, my love. We’ll always be here for you, and this will always be your home, okay?” She pulls back to look into his eyes—which he avoids readily. He nods stiffly and purses his lips.

Ma smiles sadly, eyes crinkling. “All right, then. I’ll see you both after school… practice?” She corrects, glancing back and forth between us.

“Yeah, last practice for me before break,” I let her know.

“Think for me, too,” Abel mutters.

“Good. I’ll have dinner done before I leave for work. I love you both so much,” she says softly as she pulls us both into a tight group hug. We all stumble together with surprised grunts, but I wrap my arms around them both because it’s Mom—and I’ll do anything to make her happy.

“Love you too, Ma.”

“Yeah, uh… Ditto, doc,” Abel whispers so softly, I wonder if I heard him right. But Mom’s sniffles tell me I guessed right, and then, he pulls away sharply, and we split apart.

“Get in, runt,” I say once we’re outside. The breeze this morning is bitter. The cool, late autumn wind is particularly biting as it seeps through my hoodie.

“I’ll walk,” Abel mutters as he strides right past me, his sharp, lopsided chin tilted into the air like he’s fuckin’ something.

“Excuse me?” I snap. I reach out, grab his arm, and yank him back. Abel whirls around, crooked teeth bared into a snarl.

“ Don’t fucking touch me.”

“ Don’t fucking walk away from me!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” he retorts.

“Yes, I fucking do.”

“Since when, Peris? Since fucking when? Since you stuck your dick in my ass and called me yours?”

His words bring me up short—which makes Abel laugh. “You’re lying to me and to yourself if you think I’m anybody’s.” And with that, he strides away like he didn’t just fuck everything up inside me all over again.