Page 11 of Toxic Wishes

“I don’t think the sunken-in cheekbones are the most attractive look. I like my chics to look alive and healthy, not like death,” I say, hoping to make Ahad feel like a dumbass.

“I’m going to go get a drink and use the restroom. I’ll be right back.” Abigail gets up and passes by me. Her knee grazes mine. These were her family’s boyfriends? How could they let those scumbags talk to Abigail that way? That’s not sticking up for your family, that’s utter fucking bullshit. Why are they even with these guys? They are complete douchebags. How could they allow those guys to talk to her like that? She’s younger than them, sure, but that should make them want to defend her even more. Jerks. My knee starts bouncing up and down. I don’t get up right away, but after a few minutes, when everyone is lost in conversation, I get up from the couch and search for Abigail.

I go to the guest bathroom because I’m confident she didn’t get a drink on her way there. When I reach the door, I stand beside it. The toilet flushes and shortly after I hear the faucet running. After about a minute, I whip my phone out to see how much time has passed. The water continues to run, when I finally realize she’s probably in there crying.

What assholes. I ought to go back there and punch them in their faces. And drag her prissy ass family out by their hair. I can’t believe those guys said everything in front of her like she didn’t even exist. Abigail may appear nerdy on the outside with her frizzy, curly hair, but to me, she doesn’t give herself any love and attention, not the kind her sisters and cousins do. Anyone can look good if they groom themselves for hours a day. I wait for what feels like forever, and finally, I hear her turn the faucet off.

A few seconds pass, and she swings the door open the sme time I lift myself off the wall.

“Jesus,” she whisper-shouts, placing a hand on her chest. “Blake, you scared me.” Her eyes were wide, “Aren’t there three other bathrooms you could use?” She says with a shaky voice.

I want to ease her tension so I grab her hand and say, “C’mon, I want to show you something.”

Abigail has been to my house before but never in my room. We usually hang out in the garage, and the guys order pizza. I bring water for everyone from the fridge. Since my dad’s girlfriend is an ER doctor, she’s rarely ever home at night, and my dad typically goes out when she’s gone at night and comes back smelling like alcohol. My brother came home every other weekend, sometimes less since Oklahoma University was over a two-hour drive from the city.

This new girlfriend of my dad's had kids, but they were living with their dad full-time or doing extracurricular activities. My dad hasn’t told me much about the kids. Even if he did, I wouldn't pay much attention. I thought it was bullshit. He had kids; why did he want to be with a woman with kids when he barely took care of his own?

“You’re room?” Abigail asks, breaking my train of thought as we approach my door.

“Ya, and it’s not to seduce you, even though you admitted I am quite the seductress the first day we met.” I wink at her, and her prominent cheeks turn a darker shade of pink. But she plays it off, rolling her eyes at me. “I said Scorpios do, specifically Scorpio 2’s.”

“There are different categories of each zodiac?” I ask, my hand frozen in place on the knob.

“You could say that.”

“Wow, you like to complicate things, don’t you?” When I opened the door, Abigail nearly gasped. My room was more of a museum of old rock' n' roll than an ordinary bedroom. I had old records that my mom used to keep stacked along my bed with my super expensive guitar collection along side the bottom of my wall.. I had posters of all the classic legends: Elvis Presley, The Rolling Stones, Nirvana, Elton Johns, Les Zeppelin, and many more.

“Oh my God, is that a real record player?” Abigail strides over to my nightstand. I can’t believe she’s in my room right now, standing next to my bed. Not that I haven’t had girls in my room before, but Abigail Asher was different.

“It’s the real deal, baby,” I say, closing the door behind me.

She touches the tall mountain of records like a delicate child. Not an eminent object.

“My mom told me Dad used to come into the music shop where she worked in the 1970s. Her parents owned the music shop, so my grandparents let her work there to help out. My dad used to come in and buy records and give them to her. He wanted her to have her own music to take home, which was how they started talking.

“That’s so sweet. What did she like to listen to?” She runs a hand along the base of the record player.

“She loved the Beatles, Queen, Elton John, Fleetwood Mac, and Pink Floyd. Guess that’s where I get it from. I grew up listening to it until…” I trail off, and turn my gaze to the floor, remembering the song playing in her room when I found my mom passed out. I wasn’t old enough to register what was wrong with her right then and there since I was only eight, but now that I’m older, I know exactly why my mom wasn’t waking up when I shook her repeatedly.

I watch Abigail walk over to me. She places a hand on my shoulder. Forcing me to look into those jungle eyes.

“You aren’t her,” she says as our eyes flicker back and forth when mine naturally drop down to her perfectly shaped lips. I stare back at her and take in her luscious, dark curly mane. She stands out in such a way it’s hard not to notice her beauty. I don't know why she doesn’t think she’s pretty. I mean, how is it possible that this sweet, innocent girl gets bullied by her own family? I take another step closer, and her eyes go wide.

“And you aren’t your family. You’re better than them.”

She parts her mouth slightly, and I’m not sure what is happening between us since we’ve been nothing but friends this whole time, but I want to kiss her. I feel my dick twitch which shocks me since that rarely happens, since it takes a whole lot more than a pair of pretty lips to make it wake up. I place a hand on her waist, and I’m about to pull her into me when my bedroom door swings open.

4

Abigail

“Where words fail, music speaks”-Hans Christian Anderson

“There ya are, B–” Duke stops mid-sentence, looking back and forth between us.

“What do we have here? Going for the easy ones these days, huh? Don’t blame ya. Insecure chicks love to prove they are pretty on their backs with their legs open wide.”

“Shut the fuck up, D.” Blake barks.

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