Page 15 of Worthy

He sounds almost…hesitant to ask. It makes my lip curl in disdain. Just another ploy. Swallowing the bile sitting just below my uvula, threatening to make an appearance any second, I push myself off the vanity. The shift puts me inches from his bare skin, his little hole disappearing from sight.

The relief is instant. Memories are too close, too vivid.

My fingers strum over his tailbone with newfound assurance as tendrils of my nightmares dissipate from my consciousness, shoved back where they belong. I let my eyes close for a moment.

His slick, cool skin. Knobs of bone. Lean muscle wrapped around them. Microscopic hairs tickling my fingers.

Pressing my chest to his back, my face falls next to Abel’s. He’s breathing rapidly, unsteadily, body tense and vibrating. Our eyes connect, his steel grays penetrating me, always seeing things they shouldn’t.

I look away, hating the feeling more than the one of him against me. What it means. WhatImean.

Sinking my teeth into my tongue, I let the sharp sting remind me of what’s right in front of me. The past affects us wholly—in more than one way. It’s the foundation of all we are. Influencing every moment, every decision, until we become the very product of our pain.

I’m tired of living my pain, but it’s the only way I knowhowto live at all.

But Abel…the way he’s distorted my comprehension of what I always knew… it’s as enlightening as it is infuriating.

I was perfectly content living in the fog I produced, that I entwined around my very core, hardened and dense. It kept me detached, disconnected while still wholly emersed in my solitary torture.

“Get off me,” Abel snaps, wriggling out of my hold. Or, at least he tries. His head scrapes against the wall in his struggle against me. I tighten my arms, keeping him pinned easily.

He lets out a high-pitched wail, bucking wildly. “Get your fucking handsoff me!” His scream makes me smile, all traces of attainable revelation disappearing.

Abel has fucked me up for months—and damn, does it feel good to give the little runt a taste of his own medicine.

It heats my blood, treating him the way I do.

I don’t want to stop…I muse.And I don’t have to.

With a hiss, I yank Abel against my torso. A yelp rips from his throat as I shove him into the wall, my hand splayed across the back of his head.

“Your pussy is as ugly as I thought it’d be,” I tell him in a hushed whisper of honesty. My words cease all bouts of defiance. He goes stock-still. Not quite limp but relatively close.

I chuckle, skimming my lips over his clavicle in the same rhythm that I scrape the edge of the lighter over his concave stomach. “It’s okay, runt. I’ll still fuck it. After all, how bad can it be when it’s been torn up as many times as it has.” I grab his shoulders and twist him around.

Abel’s sharp jaw is tense, the odd angle of the bone more prominent than ever. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so…irate before. He’s always casting this air of blasé confidence.

Seems I’ve burrowed deeper than he meant for me to.

“Well?” I prompt. His teeth creak under pressure. “Don’t pretend you’re not a slut, babe. I’ve seen you. Heard the rumors.”

“You don’t know anything.” I’m sure he intends for his words to come out sharp and piercing, but they’re barely audible over the deep scratch in his voice. Like he’s choked up and ready to cry.

Fuck. I wanna see those tears again.

I flip the lighter between my fingers. Pink flashes intermittently in the corner of my eye. Abel’s gaze is drawn to it immediately. “I know you’re a cum dump. You’re horny for it—any way you can have it. The way you salivated for just a taste of mine was proof of that.” I scrape my nail over the metal teeth of the spark wheel.

“But that’s okay. Not many people look as good as you covered in jizz.” I drag a finger over his thick, bottom lip, pulling it down until his crooked teeth are exposed. I suck on my tongue, wishing it was his.

I snatch my hand away in revulsion. “But we already know this. What I don’t…” I push the lighter into his face until the smooth plastic bumps his nose. Abel’s eyes cross as he stares right at it. “Is why you burn yourself.” I pull back so I can watch the shift in his expression.

All the blood drains, leaving him ghastly in appearance. His eyes downturn along with his lips. My eyes catch on the silver bar in his nose for a moment too long.

I take a step back, resting against the vanity again. Even without my hands on him, Abel stays flat against the wall, unabashedly nude. My eyes fall to the red welts at the crease of his thigh. I count each one, three times over.

Nine, all placed close together but far enough apart to be distinctive all on their own. The marks are swollen, but layered beneath and all around are hauntingly similar blemishes. Some are pale and silver, a shade lighter than his skin tone; others are purple. Newer, but healed.

And they’re all in the shape of a distorted smiley face.

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