Page 64 of Please Open Me
The look he shot me made me want to lock him in a cage and forget about it. But it wasmyhouse, so it wasn’t up to him.
The girl’s eyes widened.
“I—sorry, what?”
“Come visit Mason. She’s a little under the weather. I’m sure she’d love to see you.” I folded my hands behind my back.
The brash woman suddenly seemed a little uncomfortable at my offer.
“Are you sure?”
“Mhm! We’re kind of into free love and being one big happy family, so if you’reherpartner, you might as well get to know the rest of us.” I beamed before extending a hand. “By the way, what’s your name?”
She looked up at Sebastian before swallowing hard. Slowly, she took my hand, allowing me to feel just how shaky the poor thing was.
Why was she so nervous?
Her tongue swiped over her lips as she stood as tall as she could.
“Mattie.”
Chapter 16
Sebastian
I paced the dimly lit space in front of Dale’s desk, bracing myself for service today.
Thursdays were always terrible, but I had an excuse, therapy. Imaginary therapy. I veiled my cult duties behind a believable façade of mental health maintenance.
But Sundays?
Sundays felt like I was one wrong move away from blowing my fucking cover. It was a miracle no one had connected my weekly two-to-three-hour “run” with the service at Saint Samael’s.
But today was going to be worse than normal. Because after service, I couldn’t just shove the guilt down and pretend I wasn’t part of the cult that destroyed Cameron’s life and was now slowly devouring mine.
Nope.
Today, I got to stand at the back of the altar like some fucking holy relic and then immediately go home and deal with Mattie.
At family dinner.
I pressed my palms into my eyes so hard that colors exploded behind my lids. How the hell was I supposed to tell Mason her girlfriend was in a cult without admitting I wasalsoin that cult?
Trick question. I couldn’t.
My stomach twisted into a knot: a tight, relentless, overcomplicated thing. Like a rope in the hands of an overzealous Boy Scout trying to tie a bowline.
Which is to say: it twisted in on itself a thousand times, and all I could do was clutch the edge of Dale’s desk and try not to hurl.
Bitter bile crept up the back of my throat. I clapped a hand over my mouth, eyes squeezed shut.
Every week was a test.
A trial.
How long can I juggle this lie?
And every week, I felt closer and closer to time running out.
