Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Not knowing what to say, he focused on Abaddon instead and used the excuse of studying a tattoo to trail his finger over the angel’s wrist. A strange round symbol had been etched there. Triangles, an arrow, and what seemed like an anchor.
“What does it mean?”
Abaddon hummed, glancing at it too. “It’s the infernal seal announcing to the world who I am.”
Gabriel chewed his lip, but it wasn’t appropriate to keep stroking this being any longer, so he pulled away. “I stink of bleach. There’s some large sweatpants and sweaters that should fit you in the wardrobe.”
Abaddon didn’t respond, and since Gabriel’s cock was starting to grow despite his best intentions, he didn’t look back and stormed straight into the bathroom, which greeted him with a tropical atmosphere and the scent of the vanilla cookie soap Mrs. Knight had gotten him for Christmas.
A sinful part of him, the one he kept hidden, imagined what might happen if Abaddon weren’t an angel but just a man, and decided to follow Gabriel in here. But the truth was that he’d never feel comfortable naked with someone else around, so he locked the door and pushed down his pants to offer his growing erection more freedom.
A normal person would have used a cold shower to get rid of the problem, but that would have triggered the fake memories he still relived in his nightmares. His sick brain made him believe that Mrs. Benson, the angel of a woman who funded the orphanage and gave him a home when no one wanted him, had repeatedly pushed his head underwater while the other demons took turns pouring buckets of icy water over his naked, shivering body. He must have lost consciousness several times during the ordeal.
Or rather, he would have, had it been real.
Gabriel couldn’t say he knew the orphanage’s main beneficiary well, but she had visited him in the hospital as he recovered from the injuries he’d inflicted on himself during that first, tragic strike of madness. Back then, her very presence had scared him to the bone, but she’d been understanding and kind even when he recoiled and refused to look at her. Just remembering it made shame burn in Gabriel’s throat, especially that nothing had changed, and despite years of therapy his mind remained broken, convinced that those terrible things had happened, regardless of the evidence to the contrary.
Most people implicitly knew that if there was anyone they could trust, it was themselves, but Gabriel did not have that luxury, and the pain of not knowing what was true sometimes pushed him down a pit of despair, so maybe he shouldn’t have been that surprised that he eventually met Abaddon at its very bottom.
But this time, he wanted to believe, no matter how unreal it was, that an angel handsome as if he’d been carved in renaissance Florence had come to life here in Pennsylvania to punish the demons of Gabriel’s past.
The bathroom was a small space with a flimsy shower curtain and a few cracked tiles, but it was Gabriel’s own. He kept it clean, liked the colorful accessories he’d gotten during rare trips to the nearest town, and the warm air felt like an embrace as he stepped into the wet basin, relaxing despite the unusual nature of his current situation.
His gaze drifted to the razor resting on a little plastic shelf close to the curtain. When nightmares got too much to handle, physical pain was always a good distraction—a secret his doctor didn’t need to know about. But would it be the test of reality he needed? If he cut himself, would Abaddon disappear?
The desire for relief rose in him like a hot wave, but first, he needed to feel warm water cascading over him like it had down Abaddon’s body only moments ago. He switched on the shower and exhaled as it caressed him with its wet palms. The sensation settling in his lower stomach and streaming heat all over was no less confusing as it had been in his teenagehood.
St. John’s Home for Orphaned Children was not connected to the Internet, and he was never allowed to leave its vast grounds without a guardian, so his access to information about sexuality was very limited. He wouldn’t have known what the word gay meant if it wasn’t for Mrs. Knight offering him a short booklet about sex education at some point, but it had been quite limited in its information about homosexuality, and what he knew about sex between men made him reluctant to ever try it.
But his body still worked against him and reacted to the male presence in his space. How was he to cope if Abaddon noticed his arousal? Just thinking of the way Abaddon had grabbed his hand back in the kitchen, how he’d petted his chin, as if touching a man in such a way were the most natural thing on the planet, had him pressing on his cock.