Page 79 of Please Hate Me

So instead of apologizing, I yelled:

“Sebastian ain’tnothin’! He’s just some bootlickin’ creep you’re settlin’ for!”

My booming voice startled Mason, and she instinctively curled into herself to hide from the noise. Silence fell, broken only by Mason’s shallow, ragged breaths. I bit my lip and prepared to apologize. But just as I’d collected myself, Mason pulled her hands away from her face. Her eyes blazed with blind fury.

“Don’t youdaretalk about Sebastian like that!”

This snap was the loudest I’d ever heard her speak. Part of me was proud that she felt safe enough to show this much confidence around me, even if shewasbeing a bitch for no reason. Why was she so hell-bent on defending that asshole? I’d encountered my fair share of sketchy people, but I’d never met anyone that made my skin crawl the way Sebastian did.

“I can talk about that slimy bastard however I want. There’s something wrong with that boy, and I don’t like him being around you.”

“Who the hell areyouto tell me who I can’t be around?” She laughed spitefully.

“The father of your child? You’re the one who was so damn adamant about sleeping with me last night.” If she didn’t want more from our relationship, why would she have forced that?

Mason froze for a moment, then quickly moved her hand to try and unbuckle her seatbelt. I jolted forward, my hand engulfing hers just before she pressed the button.

Wrinkles formed on her forehead as her brows raised.

“Let go of me,” she warned, her gaze darting to my hand.

I tightened my grip, wrapping my fingers around her wrist like a bracelet.

“No. I ain’t letting you pitch a fit and walk away just because—”

“You need to let go,now.”

Fear overtook her voice as she struggled to get away from me. Did she actually think I was going to hurt her?

Quick, gasping breaths began to rock Mason’s entire body, but she continued to tug against me. My grip stayed rigid, mostly because I didn’t know what the hell to do. If I let go, would she run? We weren’t on Sophia’s land—if she got lost in the woods out here, we might never find her.

Mason’s skin paled as a tremble infected her hands.

“Let go of my wrist.” Her voice was shaky.

Tears bubbled in her eyes, but still, I remained frozen.

“Cameron, youneedto let go. I need you to let go of me,” she pleaded. “Don’t touch my wrist. I don’t like my wrist being touched.”

While I was busy trying to comprehend the scene in front of me, Mason was working herself into a tizzy. Her eyes were wide with a mix of panic and horror, and her shallow gasps grewinto full-blown hyperventilation. By the time I could rein in my thoughts enough to drop her wrist, Mason had melted down into a sobbing mess. A garbled stream of apologies flowed from beneath her tears:

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Cameron. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” She kept going like that, holding her arms to her chest like she was afraid I’d grab them again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Mason, what are you sorry for?”

“I-I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry. Cameron, I’m sorry.”

“No, you shoulda yelled, and I shoulda listened.” I cleared my throat. “I’msorry.”

Still, she carried on as if she hadn’t heard me. Listening to her wailing, chest-heaving sobs, I was genuinely afraid I had hurt her, so I unbuckled her seatbelt and scooped her into my lap. She clutched at my shirt, apologizing constantly while crying into my chest. I rubbed her quivering back, trying to soothe her.

“Shh, it’s okay,” I cooed. “Everything’s fine. We’re good. It’s okay.”

The poor girl was damn near impossible to get calmed down. She still had her arms pressed against herself, crossed over her chest in a defensive position. Slowly, gently, I caressed her fingertips with my own, sliding them between her palm and her surprisingly prominent collarbone. She shook like an earthquake as I rolled her arm over, and what I saw had me seeing red once more.

Hidden under her tattoos were more scars than someone like Mason should’ve ever had. Most of them were thin, clean lines, and I was fairly certain she’d used some kind of razor to self-inflict them. But there was also a cluster of small round scars that were fuzzier around the edges, almost like burns. Way back when I lived in Kingsbury, my buddy Greg tazed himself just to see what it felt like, and that’s what these scars reminded me of.

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