Page 43 of Make Me Bleed
Either way, I’m looking at Ma, and I finally see her. What she’s done for me and how selfish I’ve been.
“I’m so sorry, Ma,” I choke out, sniffling the words through a sob that gets stuck in my throat.
“Oh, Peris. Please don’t be sorry. I just miss you. I want to see you. To know you’re okay…”
“I know. I’ve been selfish and fucked up and?—”
“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it right now.” She runs her fingers through my hair, hushing me as sobs wrack through me, and I just let myself feel it all, the burden of guilt and selfishness as my mother releases me from it.
It doesn’t go away, even after the tears have dried and I’m pulling away slowly, heat now filling my face because I’ve just cried in my mom’s arms, but I know she doesn’t care, and I shouldn’t either.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp, hating how pathetic I sound.
“I know,” she says softly, brushing her fingers over my cheekbone before pulling away. My body aches from beinghunched over the center console, but I deserve that and so much more.
“Why are you here?”
She lifts a brow, and I wince.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant it’s early.”
“I’ve been in town since your game, Peri.”
“Peri…” I repeat the nickname, trailing off…Jesus.What a day for reminders.
“What?”
“Abel used to call me that,” I say.
“I know,” she says softly, and my eye twitches.
“So, why did you call me that just now?” I twist my fingers together. The air in the car has cooled considerably, leaving my flushed skin covered in a trail of goosebumps that prickle painfully.
“I’m not sure. It sorta just came out…” she trails off, looking confused, and I believe her—of course, I do. But fuck. I don’t need any more reminders of Abel.
“I saw him.”
“What?” she bursts out, jerking in her seat, and I flinch, every muscle locking tight. I don’t want to hurt her anymore, but I know I can’t lie to her either.
“Last night. I saw him at the hotel.”
“You did?” she says, her pitch increasing in volume, eyes widening in shock.
“Yeah.”
“Did you talk to him?” she rushes out.
“Yes.”
“How is he? Is he doing okay? God, I miss him so much. I’ve been so worried. Do you think he’s been doing all right? What if he’s?—”
“Ma.” I cut off her ramblings by placing my hand on her arm.
“What?” she huffs out breathlessly, and when my eyes meet her glassy ones, my heart constricts painfully.
I blow out a breath and decide not to lie but to definitely not tell her the full truth. “He seemed good—happy. He looked healthy and content. We… talked for a bit.” I stumble over the words and hope she doesn’t notice.
“You did? What did he say?”
