Page 38 of Please Open Me
Sophia’s face twisted into a skeptical knot, but she didn’t press. At least, not in the way I expected.
“You know I hate liars.”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
“And I wouldn’t lie to you, Sugar.”
Her baby blues pinned me like a butterfly under glass, dissecting every inch of my face with surgical precision. Then she reached out and placed her hand over my heart. Warmth from her palm soaked through the cotton of my shirt, and I silently begged the universe not to let her feel the thudding panic hammering in my chest.
Sophia exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving mine. Then, without warning, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed me.
I was too stunned to kiss her back. Not because I didn’t want to—but because I didn’t know if I deserved it. If she noticed,she didn’t say.
When she stepped away, she cleared her throat and adjusted her top like the moment hadn’t just knocked the breath out of me.
“Mason’s in her room, by the way,” she said, nodding toward the basement steps.
I thanked her and turned, heading downstairs.
It was no secret I fucking hated the basement. And I hated it even more that Mae insisted on making it her bedroom.
Back when I first moved in, I had a damn good reason to avoid the space. It was unfinished, smelled like mildew, and was covered in cobwebs so thick they could’ve passed for insulation. But Mason? She didn’t care.
She paid a contractor to overhaul the whole thing—and now, it looked better than the rest of the house. Plush carpets. Whitewashed walls. Tasteful, modern decorations that made it feel more like a designer loft than a former cellar.
She even had a bathroom built on the far side. I’d never been in it, so I couldn’t speak to the finish, but knowing Mason, it was probably cleaner and nicer than my own damn room.
Hell, I’d never even been inside her room, not properly. I knew it was tucked in the back corner, just past the couch, but placed far enough away from the main area to give her privacy.
I reached the bottom of the steps, headed toward the black door in the corner, and knocked three times.
At first, I heard nothing and assumed she’d fallen asleep. Mason had gone from sleeping maybe four hours a night to these midday cat naps about three weeks ago, and that was when I first suspected something might be wrong.
I steeled myself to walk in and leave the tests somewhere, and then my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Come in, Sophia thinks I’m asleep.
My chest hollowed with an exhale as I opened the door. The scent of lavender and vanilla flooded out, and I squinted to see through the darkness.
There were no windows in this room, and the only light came from a butterfly-shaped lamp perched atop a packed bookshelf. The stained glass of its wings cast technicolor patterns across the room.
At first, I didn’t see Mason. Just the collection of preserved bugs and pretty rocks sporadically placed on shelves throughout the room. Then I noticed the gentle rocking coming from a purple... cloth swing? Maybe that’s what it was, I couldn’t really tell, but knowing my Sweetpea, it had a purpose.
I headed toward the hammock-style nest with careful steps and gently pulled back one of the sides. She’d hung a booklight near the top, causing light to spill out.
Mason looked up at me, curled up like a hibernating animal during the winter. In her hands was a rather large paperback, and I knew better than to ask what she was reading. Probably some type of alien or monster smut.
I also realized this was potentially something to do with her autism, and while I did my best to understand, it was hard. So, instead of wondering why Mae acted the way she did, I just accepted it all as something else to love about her.
“Your room is nice,” I said, trying to break the tension.
She smiled softly. “I have a foam mattress.”
She extended her foot in the direction of the king-sized bed in the corner.
The black comforter looked soft enough to sink into, but I didn’t have a great track record when it came to sleeping in basements.
“It comfortable?” I asked, nodding toward the bed.
