Page 80 of Please Hate Me

I needed to know who hurt her, because I was gonna make damn sure they never did it again.

“Sweetpea, who did this to you?”

Stifled sobs echoed through the truck as Mason fought to catch her breath. She tried to force a smile, but it instantly fell. So, she took a deep, shuddering breath before wiping her eyes.

I offered her a cautious smile, something just to let her know I wasn’t mad at her. But the second I did; it was like something in her broke. She buried her face in her hands and bawled, somehow even louder than before. Once she started, she couldn’t stop, and I wondered just how long she’d been holding these tears.

“Do you need a few minutes before we talk?” I tried to keep my voice non-threatening.

Wait, would she even be able to talk about something that upset her this much? Was I wrong for asking her to?

She hiccupped through her tears, swatting them off her face like they physically pained her.

“This—isn’t y-your problem,” she choked.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes as I made peace with what I was about to do. So far, I’d done my best to keep Mason at arm’s length, though I was clearly doing a shit job. But if I wanted to give her the type of help she needed, I was gonna have to stop treating her like a stranger.

“Sweetpea, anything that makes you cry is my problem.”

Mason looked up at me, shocked. Her wide, dichromatic eyes bore into my soul as she searched for any trace of a lie. Breaking our gaze, she swallowed her sadness with a shuddering breath.

“Can we wait to talk about this until we get home? I don’t feel safe talking somewhere I can’t run.”

Being in Sebastian’s apartment was bad enough, but stepping into his bedroom felt outright wrong. Yet, that’s where Mason wanted to be. As soon as we were inside, she raced around the bed to grab a navy hoodie that was far too large to be hers. She brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply, hugging it to her chest. Common sense told me it was Sebastian’s, but I hoped I was wrong.

“How long y’all been together?” I asked, hoping to break the tension.

She wandered over to the bed before sitting down. “The second I found out I was pregnant.”

Something about that specific timeline didn’t sit right with me, but if he made her happy, it’d be wrong for me to take that from her... even if hewasa creep.

I sat beside Mason on the bed, and the mattress caved under my weight, pulling her closer.

“Is this alright, or do you need me further away?”

Mason looked up at me, then down at the fabric in her arms. Before I even realized what she was doing, she’d flipped herself around and crammed her feet into the space next to me. She was essentially standing on my thigh to keep from falling into the crevice I’d created. I could see more scars on her ankles, poor girl.

“I’m not a victim,” she stated as if responding to my thoughts.

“Never said you were.” I rested a hand on her calf, rubbing soft circles over her leggings.

Silence fell between us as she studied me. Something in her gaze made me think she didn’t trust me the same way she did last night, and that hurt like hell to see. I was nervous, but I needed to get something off my chest before she got in her head.

“I know we’re here to talk about you... but can I show you something first?”

She looked away as she nodded, and I was glad she did.

I held my breath as I started popping apart the buttons of my flannel. It was one thing to get naked in front of her when she was ten feet away in low light; it was another thing to bear myself to her fully. Lucian and Sophia didn’t even know about this until we’d been together for over a year.

My hands shook as I pulled open my shirt, but I’d like to blame that on nicotine withdrawal rather than nerves. I looked down at my hair-covered chest, running my fingers over the scars left by the flagellation I was forced to take part in as a teen. They were all over my back too, but those ones didn’t matter as much since I couldn’t normally see them. If I looked hard enough, I could find the symbol Dale carved into my chest right after he ‘adopted’ me. He tied me down, marked me as his property, and told me nobody could ever save me from him. Even now, as an adult, it left me feeling small.

“You can look,” I told her.

Her eyes slowly glided up to meet mine. After approximately two decades, the scars had faded—most of them were barely noticeable anymore. I wasn’t sure she could see them if I didn’t show her, which made this whole ordeal even harder.

“Can I have your hand?” I whispered. “I promise I won’t touch your wrist.”

She nodded, and I took her palm, running her fingers across the raised lines before turning my back to her. They were a little more visible there—she may have even noticed them last night. But as her fingertips whispered across my skin, I knew she could see them now.

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