Page 34 of Please Hate Me

Sophia vanished behind the door to grab a pink pitcher filled with some sort of milky liquid. The color of the plastic made it hard to tell exactly what it was. She set the mystery drink on the island beside me before turning and bending over to grab something out of the oven. I couldn’t help but stare at her ass, which probably made me no better than a man.

She grabbed a pan without using oven mitts and brought what remained of the cinnamon rolls to the island. There was so much icing on them, I wouldn’t have known what they were if she hadn’t told me. My mouth watered at the sight.

“Cam made these?”

“Mhm!”

She left me one final time to grab two cups and one plate.

When she returned, she filled both glasses with the contents of the pitcher. It looked like iced coffee with some sort of cream.

“He’s really into baking, and honestly, I’m not going to complain.” She laughed, using the spatula in the baking dishto pull out a cinnamon roll. Once it was securely on the bubblegum-colored plate, she slid it my way.

It looked soft and sweet, and something in my gut told me it would taste better than the one I had at the airport. But a little voice in my head told me I had no right to be eating it. It was probably a thousand calories, and I hadn’t worked out in almost two days.

“This is really kind, but I feel like I’m overstepping,” I explained, looking for any reason not to eat the pastry… even though Ireallywanted to.

“It’s no bother at all.” She beamed, scooting the plate toward me again. “After all, you’re pregnant. This is the one time you’re supposed to let someone else take care of you.”

Hearing her say that eased my nerves just a little. I hated the feeling of sticky or greasy fingers, but I didn’t want to ask for a fork. So, instead of asking her, I lifted the plate slightly before licking the icing. The cream cheese was tangy and perfectly sweet. Saliva pooled in my mouth, and I swallowed it down with a drink of coffee. Unfortunately, it was also good enough to make me want to down the glass in one go. I sat up straight before pushing them both away slightly.

“I’m trying, but I really like being independent… you know that.”

Sophia nodded at my words, running a well-polished nail around the rim of her glass. God, she was pretty. She studied me, her sapphire eyes displaying an emotion I couldn’t read. I cleared my throat as the need to please her bubbled up.

“But, I guess you are speaking from experience, since you were pregnant with twins.”

Sophia choked on a laugh. “God no. I love Lucian’s kids, but I didn’t give birth to them. I got my tubes tied as a twenty-first birthday present.”

“I’m sure Lucian wasn’t happy about that.” The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them. But, he had always been very open about wanting to be married with a kid on the way by twenty-three.

Part of me expected Sophia to snap or lecture me about how it was her body and her choice. I would have agreed with her if she had—it didn’t take a genius to figure out I had overstepped. But instead, she reached over, covering my hand with hers. Her palm rested on my knuckles, and I had come to know that this was a friendly gesture for Sophia, not a romantic one.

“I don’t exist to please anyone other than me, just like you don’t exist to please anyone other than you.” She tapped the tip of my nose with her pointer finger as she finished her sentence.

I wiggle my nose in response, trying to get rid of the lingering feeling of her skin on mine.

There was one problem with her logic. Everyone loved Sophia White for being Sophia White. She was intelligent, kind, beautiful, and driven. No one other than Sebastian liked me for me.

Mason Albright, the musician, had millions of fans, but Mason Albright, the person, had no friends.

The public loved the persona my father had lovingly crafted, and I liked the acceptance that fake Mason received. I held my hair back and licked the frosting again—only then did I realize how silly I must look to Sophia.

“Shoot, I forgot about your… texture thing.” Her nose wrinkled. “Do you want a fork?”

I quickly nodded. I knew if I let the idea linger much longer, I’d force myself to be uncomfortable to make her life easier. But I didn’t want to deal with another bout of sensory overload. She dashed across the kitchen, then rummaged through a drawer before returning to me.

“You realize you can ask for things… right?”

She passed the silverware to me, and my face went hot. I tried to look away and focus on the breakfast I shouldn’t be eating.

As I pressed the side of the fork into the cinnamon roll, the entire plate tipped forward. Time seemed to slow down as the pastry landed icing-first in my lap, splattering sticky white goop all over my legs and stomach. The plate bounced off my thigh and shattered as it hit the floor, littering the gorgeous hardwood with shards of broken bubblegum-pink glass.

I flinched and covered my ears as tears pricked my eyes. Oxygen filled my lungs in shallow gasps, and I made the mistake of looking back at Sophia. Her jaw had dropped, and her eyes were wide, looking at me as though she were staring at a monster.

I can fix this. I need to fix this.

I sat the cinnamon roll on a nearby napkin before lowering myself to the ground to pick up what remained of the plate. The weathered wood floor was cold and hurt my knees; still, I diligently worked, piling the broken porcelain onto the largest remaining chunk of the plate. It felt like I was breathing through a straw as voices, only audible in my memories, filled my mind.

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