Page 8 of Make Me Scream (Visceral #2)

ABEL

Cigarette ash stains my clothes, and pot smoke clings to the fibers.

“Holy shit, man.” Gabe coughs dramatically and waves his hand in front of his face as I walk past him in the commons room during lunch. I roll my eyes toward him and raise a brow.

“Yes?” I drawl slowly, my tongue feeling like glue in my mouth.

“You stink, dude. Been smokin’ it up, huh?”

“What’s it to you?” I retort, slowing my steps.

Gabriel’s shaggy hair shakes as he laughs, surrounded by his usual group of jock friends. They’re all staring at me, and it must be the heat from the high buzzing in my veins, but I relish in their attention like I would have all those months ago—like the old me would have.

“Oh, just that it’s like a cloud surrounding you,” he says with a chuckle. It’s warm, and it makes me buzz.

“Not a fan of the smell?” I drawl, leaning in close. Gabriel’s eyes widen, his dark irises swallowed by his pupils, which are nearly the same color. Everyone’s conversations slow into a low-lying buzz before eventually drawing to a close.

“Abel…” Gabe starts.

“Yeah, babe?” I hum, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth and biting it. Gabriel’s brown skin glows with a red flush, and I grin widely at the sight. I fucking missed this shit. Fucking with people. Feeling the power I can hold. Seeing the way people react to me.

I needed this.

“Y-you can’t do this,” he stutters, wincing as he looks away. His confidence is gone, and everyone seems to have dispersed into their own conversation, leaving us to ourselves. Boring.

My eye twitches, knowing exactly what the fuck he means by that.

Peris.

I lean forward, close enough to skim my nose along the side of his face as I whisper into his ear, “I can do whatever the fuck I want, Gabriel.” I drag my tongue along the shell of his ear, grinning wildly at his responding shiver.

“If there’s anyone with a fucking leash, it’s Peris with mine around his throat.

” With that, I suck the lobe of his pierced ear into my mouth, grinning around the stud at his resounding shiver and gasp.

Fingers delve into my hair, cinching tight, and for approximately two seconds, I revel in the burn before I’m yanked backward. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, runt?” Peris spits in my face, cheek pressed to mine, skin burning hot as we melt together.

I’m panting—I can’t help it. Peris wraps his arm around my waist, pinning me to his front. I can feel the soft press of his dick against my back, and I push back against him. He grunts, and I hear the squeak of his teeth grinding together in his skull.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he gnashes out and reaches down to still my waist with a tight grip on my left hipbone.

“Well, I’m gonna go now,” Gabriel blurts.

My eyes dart over to him. He’s still flushed, eyes avoiding us readily. Everyone else seems to have dispersed. “Awe, are we turning you on, baby?” I taunt him.

“Shut the fuck up, Abel. Gabe, get the fuck out of here.”

“Right. R-right. I’ll see you both—” At that, his eyes widen when Peris snaps his teeth. “I’ll see you at practice. Yep, all right. Bye.” And then, he slings his bag over his shoulder and is gone, leaving Peris and I alone in the middle of the commons room.

“Damn, that’s too bad.” I pretend to pout. “He’s cute.”

Peris’s arm swings around, and his fingers find my throat in the next second. “Abel, I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

“Why? I find you quite hot like this,” I tease.

“This is fun for you, is it? Pissing me off?” His voice has lost most of its venom.

“You know it is, Peri. This is the game we play.”

“What if I’m done with the games?” Like the crack of a whip, his question shatters the stillness in the air.

“Well, that makes one of us, then.” His grip on me has slackened enough, I’m able to pull away, hating myself a little more the further away from him I get.

Each step weighs more than it should. My body is encumbered considerably—probably from all the weed I smoked, but I have a feeling it’s more than that.

I’m just so fucking tired.

But nope, not thinking about that today—or tomorrow. Or literally until I’m walking into her house and forced to.

Until then, I’m gonna fucking pretend because that’s what I’m good at. Dissimulating and posturing. Impersonating and cheating… because I have no idea who I really am other than who I’ve been forced to be.

The son of a drug addict and a whore, forced to become one of the same. Born to manipulate and seduce, take for gain and do what must be done to live this fucked-up life.

I’m a survivor, and I’ll keep doing what I must to endure it all…

But I’m getting pretty fucking sick of it all.

The shorts adorning my bare legs bring a genuine smile to my lips for the first time in days. I glance down at myself and run my fingers over the hairs slowly growing back. They are short, fuzzy, and blonde—and they do nothing to hide the multitude of scars littering the expanse of my thighs.

I smile down at the scars smiling up at me, some more deformed than others. I trace one with thicker scar tissue, hating the way water wells in my eyes before I quickly blink it away like it never happened.

“Ready?” Sierra asks from just beside me.

“Absolutely,” I drawl, tightening my hair in my pigtails and digging the toe of my Converse into the floor, twisting it around.

My green shirt is cropped and baggy, showing just a sliver of my abdomen, and my shorts are tight and black, perfect for Peris to have the best view of my ass while he’s trying to score his baskets.

Ha, the fucker.

When we enter the gym, I sway my hips a little extra, knowing the extra sets of eyes I have on me—always gotta give ‘em a show.

Part of me… maybe even a big part, wishes I was wearing my skirt, but that’s reserved for games, and I don’t have an excuse to wear one for any other reason. And… I’m just not comfortable enough to wear one without that justification.

Fuck. I grit my crooked teeth as a sting assaults my eyes, and I’m forced to rapidly blink away the liquid threatening to spill over.

“Hey.” Sierra elbows me in the side as we line up. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I mutter as I straighten up, preparing myself for the next hour and a half of shouting mindless cheers. “I’m good.”

“Not too high to focus?” she asks, perfectly manicured brow arched beautifully.

I snort loudly, drawing Ms. B’s attention. She stares at me for a moment before looking away, and Sierra and I giggle for a moment before practice commences.

By the time it’s over, I’m sweating profusely and barely remember a fucking thing, but I surprisingly feel lighter.

Sierra and a few of the other girls gather around. “Good practice. Feeling ready for the game tomorrow, guys?”

Oh, shit.

“Don’t tell me you forgot?” she says accusingly.

“Got a lot of shit goin’ on,” I say defensively, rubbing the back of my sweaty neck.

Fingers curl into the back of my shirt and jerk me backward.

I stumble into a hard, hot, sweaty fucking body and about lose my mind.

My eyes roll back as Peris drags me backward.

“We’ve gotta go,” he mutters in my hair.

“Grab your shit.” And then, he shoves me forward.

I’m jerked around so fast, I can barely get my footing.

I’m in a daze as I grab my bag—still barely holding on by a thread—and follow Peris. Whispers follow us out through the double doors, but they only ensure that Peris tightens his hold on the door he opens for me, then slams for extra measure.

“What the fuck is going on?” I ask the moment we step out into the frigid evening air. I shiver, definitely not dressed for the weather. My shorts and crop top do nothing to block the chill.

“Where’s your coat?”

“I don’t fucking have one,” I snap, wrapping my arms around myself.

I don’t tell him my jacket is in my bag because that would defeat the whole purpose.

I watch in the yellow light of the streetlamps as the muscles in Peris’s jaw jumps before he yanks his hoodie out of his gym bag and throws it in my face.

“Put it on,” he demands.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t fucking start with me, runt,” he says as he stares at me over the roof of his car. Arms resting on the roof, he leans over it. “Put the fucking hoodie on.” And then, he waits, eyes never leaving me.

I don’t last more than five seconds—and I know it’s less than five because I count, slowly.

My body is burning as I drag his sweatshirt over my head, eyes rolling into the back of my head as his smell assaults my senses.

“Good boy,” he purrs, thick lips pursed. My dick jumps. “Now get in the fucking car.”

The door slams, jolting me out of my reverie. I blink a few times, staring across the darkened lot, seeing my chest heaving in my peripheral and my breath pluming out in small clouds.

Peris honks, and I shriek, hands slamming down on the metal. “Jesus!” I scream. I yank open the door and drop into the seat, slamming the door extra hard. “Was that fucking necessary?” I demand, heart still pounding from both him and the horn.

“It’s freezing. You didn’t need to be standing out there,” is all he says before he backs out and takes us home.

Home…

It won’t be home for long, I think bitterly, my upper lip curling as I drop my head against the cool, fogged over glass as the houses pass us by.

And that’s when it hits me…

When did it become home?

When did they become my home?...