Page 153 of Please Hate Me

“I need to show you one more photo.”

“Okay,” I mouthed before snuffing out what remained of my cigarette.

A moment later, he handed me a glossy picture that knocked the air from my lungs. It was a photo of me—more specifically, my back. I was covered in long lacerations, and I had been starved so badly that my ribs were visible through my skin.

My submission to Dale hadn’t been an easy one. In the recesses of my mind, I could still hear the cracking of Dale’s whip. Sometimes, he’d strike me himself, but just as often, he’d force me to self-flagellate. Over and over, the leather cracked against my skin so rapidly that the whip grew hot with momentum and blood. I shivered at the memory, doing everything in my power to stop myself from vomiting.

Dale wanted my allegiance, a face for his cult. That’s why he had to break me physically and mentally; he wanted to own me, and I wanted to be free.

“That is also you… correct?”

I looked up and handed the photo back to him.

“Correct.”

If I’d thought about it, I would have kept the thing just to keep him from using it as evidence, but in that moment I just wanted it away from me. Seb stuffed the photo back into his pocket and took another long drag off his cigarette, watching the ember at the tip flicker. Smoke flowed forth from his mouth, aimed directly at my face. The tobacco stung my eyes, but I maintained my composure. I wasn’t about to let this fucker intimidate me.

I was prepared to stand my ground... so it shocked the hell out of me when Sebastian actually said something intelligent, for once:

“I no longer believe you are a murderer.”

“I, uh… thank you?” Was there something else I should say to that?

“Don’t thank me yet. In exchange for removing you from the prime suspect position… I need a favor.”

Please, for the love of God, don’t ask me to leave Mason alone.

“Shoot.”

He studied me for a moment, as if contemplating whether his request was worth acknowledging my innocence.

“I need you to tell me everything you know about Dale Cooper.”

My mouth ran dry at the sound of his name. But, as desperately as I wanted to ignore Dale’s existence, I knew Sebastian was Mason’s best shot at staying safe. He admitted to killing for her, and I had a feeling he’d do it again. There was so much Seb needed to know, but I needed to get the most important parts out of the way.

“He goes by Dale Cole now,” I began, carefully considering my next words.

“He’s a man who will stop at nothing to get his message across. He’ll hurtanyonethat gets in his way, no matter who it is. And...if he ever finds out that I got Mason pregnant, she and the babywilldie.”

Chapter 42

Mason

When I woke up in Cameron’s bed, it felt like the start of a new day. There had been a silent but undeniable shift in the energy around me like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. Not that my anxiety had completely vanished, but the load was certainly lessened.

That being said, I had a strange, lingering feeling that everyone in the house knew something I didn’t. I was used to Sophia, Cameron, and Sebastian being nice to me, but it felt like they were being unusually attentive.

Sebastian had brought home two bags loaded with alarmingly-blue confections, and let me know there was a box of raspberry popsicles in the freezer too. When I sat down to share some of my treats with the kids, Sophia came home with a new pair of pajamas for me, and after I got comfortable and settled in, Cameron rubbed my shoulders while I read one of the many dust-covered romance novels on Sophia’s shelf.

To top it all off, they all kept asking me if I was okay, and all I could think was: why wouldn’t I be?

After being asked that damned question for the hundredth time, I ran into Lucian’s room to hide, bringing only the bag of sour gummies with me. I would have grabbed my phone too, but I had no idea where the fuck it had run off to, and I didn’t care enough to look. I filled my alone time with Lucian’s guitar, plucking the strings in no particular order. I’d never admit it, but he was a much better guitarist than me… probably because he taught me in the first place.

One of my favorite aspects of music was how it traveled from one person to the next. Leona showed me how to play the clarinet. Lucian taught me guitar and piano. Sophia’s mom, Victoria, schooled me in the art of poetry, and my dad started it all off by giving me my first violin. No matter how out of place I felt, music had always been my home, and not like the broken one I grew up in. Music was the comfort I could always return to when the world no longer made sense.

I had been so lost in that feeling that I didn’t notice Lucian staring at me from the doorway until he cleared his throat. My heart jumped out of my chest, and I almost dropped the guitar.

“You look like I just caught you doing crack.” He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

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