Page 23 of Worthy

Actually, I don’t think anyone—aside from previous kids I’ve been in a home with—have ever asked me personal questions. Mo asked a lot…

I wince. “Uh…technically February,” I tell her with a wave of hesitance. She stops what she’s doing and turns around, wiping her hands on a towel.

“Technically?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Peris blurts. My gaze flicks to him. I arch a brow, as if to say,what do you care?His lip curls in disdain.

Squinting, I tell Elise, “My real birthday is October eleventh.” I drag my bag out from between my feet and rifle around inside until I find the polaroid. My eyes catch on the yellowed plastic with unease.

My mother sits, holding me in her arms in a twin-sized bed, dirty blankets swaddled around me. Her smile is weak, showcasing yellowed teeth. Her pupils are blown so wide, her eyes look black. Blotchy skin with knots and bruises.

The date written at the bottom says,“Abel. October 11th.”

Elise takes it and studies it. Her face softens in empathy. I hate the way it makes my heart ache. “She gave birth to me at home, high out of her mind, I’m sure. Or, I guess, maybe it was some dealer’s house. I honestly couldn’t tell you because she never told me. But after, it took her a few months to register my existence to the fucking government.” I spit the words out, hating that I still sound so bitter over it.

“But when that point came, she couldn’t be bothered to remember the exact day I was born, so she wrote down the day she went in. And so, that is why I am technically eighteen and yet, there is no proof, no paper trail to back it up.” And I’m still stuck in this vicious fucking cycle.

I swallow against the constriction in my throat, hating the way it’s closed up, almost making me choke on my truth.

“Wow,” Elise breathes, handing it back to me. I take it, avoiding her gaze as I shove it back in my bag before letting it fall to the floor with a dull thud.

Peris scoffs and shoves away from the table, the legs of his chair screeching obnoxiously across the tile. “That’s a fucking bullshit woven story if I’ve ever heard one. I’m not hungry.”

“Maybe. But don’t pretend you don’t love knowing the truth,” I murmur as he brushes past me. He stiffens, hands flexing into fists at his sides as he glares down at me out of the corner of his eye, dark lashes fanning.

He leans down, caging me in his arm as he places one against the tabletop and the other on the back of my chair. “Keep your mouth shut and stay the fuck away from me, runt.” I feel the intent behind his words. The panic. The all-consuming wrath.

I smile. “We’ve been dancing this particular tango for three months now, Peri boy. Why would we stop now when we’ve already synchronized each other’s moves?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, a smile tugging on his lips. It’s leery, a bit manic, making my skin crawl pleasantly.

Fuck, I really love getting under his skin.

***

As unstable as Peris feels at times, it’s the kind of danger I crave. One of my own making.

And honestly, it wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be picking at all his little bits and pieces. He’s always been an enigma, but this is the first time I’m seeing a deep glimpse into what’s at his core. A truly raw part of him.

The anger, the lashing out, it’s all a mask.

This. This nightmare. The sweat coupled with his trembling, rigid body. The whimpered pleas falling from his lips, his hard dick straining against the fabric of his briefs.

This is who he is. And I think he’s just as ugly as me. Just as rotten and ruined.

Through all the insults Peris throws at me, hehasalways been right about one thing. Something he has said to me countless times over the months.

I am a whore.

And I fucking love it.

The power, the control you feel coursing through your veins…it’s heady. And addictive.

After a short while, I stopped thinking about my overactive proclivities. I wanted—so I took. And I’m not daft. I’m well aware what I’ve been through has shaped who I am and what I do. What I like and how I take it.

I could’ve been born this way. Maybe I was, but I was too young to figure that out for myself before it all started. So, the truth of it all is lost somewhere in the abyss of the past.

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