Gods & Monsters(17)
He’s in the process of plowing his fingers through his rich hair when he stops and makes a fist before letting the strands go. “Then who was it?”
“No one.” I fake-laugh. “It’s nothing.”
“Pixie,” he warns.
“Abel.” I giggle brokenly.
“You can’t lie for shit, you know that, right?” Then something occurs to him. “Is it your fucking mom?”
Yeah, he isn’t a fan of my mom.
I’m ready to deny it but he knows. Gah. How does he know everything?
“What did she do?” He’s shaking.
If I didn’t know him, I’d be scared of him right now. A tall boy barely able to fit inside my treehouse, vibrating with anger, his features all sharp and poky. I know it’s no use lying to him. Might as well tell him and make him see it’s nothing serious.
“It’s just something my mom does when she gets angry. I was talking on the phone with Sky and time got away from me, and she got mad and sort of pinched me. It’s nothing. Doesn’t even hurt.”
“Is that why you’re about to cry? Because it doesn’t hurt?”
“Abel, it’s nothing. Really.”
“That fucking bitch.” His fists are clenched on his thighs. “I’m gonna —”
I cover his hands and stop him. “You’re not gonna do anything. Promise me, okay?”
“No.”
“Please. I can’t lose you,” I plead. “Promise me you won’t do anything. I’m okay.” I know he’s still angry so I play the card that he won’t be able to refuse. “Will you… Will you hug me?”
He releases a deep breath, blinking. He jerks out a nod and that’s all the permission I need. I dive and fit myself in the crevices of his body as he wraps his arms around the subtle dips of mine.
We stay like that for a while, until his anger is drained. He’s clutching me tight like he’ll never let go, caressing my hair, circling my back, kissing my forehead. Gosh, this boy. No wonder I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s amazing. The best guy I’ve ever known.
We’re relaxed now, even though his hold on me hasn’t let up. But then I remember what started all of this.
Phone.
Oh my God. He bought me a phone. How did he even buy it? Where did he get the money? I know his uncle, Peter Adams, gives him a minimal amount of allowance, which more often than not goes to his bought lunches and other supplies.
Peter Adams isn’t a very present guardian, from what I’ve seen. They barely cross paths during the day. He’s left Abel to his own devices, which I totally hate. That’s why I bring him cookies and PB&J sandwiches when Mom’s not looking.
“Abel?” I sit up straight. “How did you buy the phone?”
“The regular way. Went to the store and asked for it.”
“You know what I mean.” I hit his shoulder. “How did you pay for it?”
He rubs the spot. “Damn, you’re bossy. Anyone ever tell you that?”
I huff. “Yes. My boyfriend.” His eyes flare at boyfriend and my heart stutters. But, focus! “Tell me how you paid for it.”
At that, all playfulness vanishes from his face and he sighs. “I can’t lie to you, Pixie. Don’t make me lie to you.”
Now, I’m really worried. My heart’s slamming against my chest, but the rhythm of the beats is different. It’s not excitement but dread. “What did you do?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” I clutch the silver necklace on his chest. “Tell me, Abel. Please. Tell me what you did.”
“I sold my camera.”
I don’t breathe for a second. It’s like something hard crashed into my chest and I’m jarred.
His camera. He sold his camera.
He got that from his mom. That and the silver necklace he wears. Those are the only things he’s left of his parents.
Sometimes I cry myself to sleep thinking about how lonely he is. I pray for him at church. I pray for him to be less lonely. And now, he’s lost one of the two things that matter to him the most.
Because of me.
I regain my strength because I’m angry — at him, at me? I don’t know, but I am. All those prayers, all the times I cried for him and like an idiot, he wasted everything.
God, I hate him. I do.
I don’t.
“Pixie, now listen for a second —”
“I hate you,” I lie on a screech. “I hate you so much, Abel. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” He grits his teeth, anger flashing in his eyes.
I thrash against his hold with a strength and passion I’ve never felt. “I’m so mad at you. So freaking mad. How could you do that? How could you sell it? It was your mom’s and you loved it. Why would you give it up?”
His hold on my body tightens. It tightens to the point of pain, to the point that I can hardly breathe and I’m gasping. But that could also be because I’m crying right now. God, I never thought my heart could break so much. For anything. For him.
I should be the one consoling him but instead, I’m crying like a five-year-old all because I can’t even imagine the pain he must’ve felt while giving up something so precious.