Page 24 of Make Me Bleed
Each footstep is leadenas I make my way back into the hotel. We won—but barely. I don’t even know how we managed to pull it out of our asses, but we fucking did, and that’s all I can be grateful for right now.
Well, that, and booze.
“Are you?—”
“Back the fuck off,” I snap as I beeline for the bar and drop my ass into one of their nice, comfy chairs. Every muscle aches, I feel like shit, and I just want to not feel anything for a little while. Is that too fucking much to ask for?
“What can I get for you?”
“Vodka cranberry, hold the cranberry,” I retort, making the bartender snort. They pour my drink and slide it across the bar. I yank out my wallet and pull out my credit card. “Start a tab, would you?”
“Sure thing.” They take my card, and I’m left to my own devices. I lift the glass and inhale the burning scent of the vodka, and with a deep breath, I down it in one gulp.
“Another. And let’s make it a triple this time,” I say and watch as it’s poured from the small silver spout and into a fresh clear glass.
This time, as I bring the glass to my lips and start the resolute, burning chug, a flash of pink catches in my peripheral. I startle and nearly drop my glass. Instead, it clatters to the bar top, splashing liquid over the top and across my knuckles.
I follow the flash of pink as my heart beats an erratic rhythm in my chest. Each muscle in my neck protests greatly to the movement, and then, it all falls away at the sight of…
Of him.
There’s no fucking way…
It can’t be…
My brain refuses to comprehend what I’m seeing.
It’s been nearly two years, and he looks so different, but he also looks exactly the fucking same.
His body hasn’t changed at all from what I can see, but he’s got some muscle on his lean frame for the first time, and it looks good on him. His legs are bare because he’s wearing a fuckingskirtand a black crop top, and Jesus fucking Christ,I can’t think.
There’s no way this is happening right now.
My mind is fuzzy, and I wish it were from the alcohol.
He’s not really here.
He doesn’t really have bright pink hair. He doesn’t have a fucking belly piercing. He’s not still wearing the shoes I got him, and he’s sure asfucknot wearing my goddamn necklace.
It’sthatthought that has me downing my glass in one swallow and shoving to my feet and stomping over to him before I can think twice. I stare down at his crooked face, seeing it for the first time in nearly two years, and I suddenly can’t breathe.
I reach out before I realize what I’m doing, and my fingers trace the shell of his ear, over all of his piercings, and the stone plugs in his earlobes.
“What the fuck!” he shrieks, startled as he jerks away from the touch, and that’s when I notice the eyebrow piercing.
He looks so different.
He’s grown up.
Moved on.
Without me.
And here I am, still lost.
“Abel,” I choke on his name.
“What…” he croaks out, beautiful, wide gray eyes enlarging when he finally looks up at me for the first time in so long, and I can’t…
