Page 82 of Your Masked Haunting

She leads herself on a self-guided tour, past the gift bags and unwrapped presents to the two monitors, the screens filled with static where the usual camera feed of the house would be. But in case of this very moment happening, I didn’t want her to see any of it, so I paused them all from my app.

Her head whips back around at me, her mouth forming a word she doesn’t believe she’s asking. “We? You said we.”

Well, I knew this time was coming. “There’s a few … Craft Club members. We help each other out sometimes, making cards, enacting plans. We’re a little family.”

Humor lifts her features—the curve of her mouth, and the bruises still forming on her cheeks. “So, they know about all of this?” She gestures between us.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I sigh. “Yeah, not the details of our relationship, but the overall aspects. The mask. The cards.”

“Am I the first?” she murmurs, a hesitancy in her voice that draws me near her.

“The first what?” I close the distance between us, trailing my finger across the top of her shoulder.

Her eyes dart around before finally landing on mine. “The first girl you’ve pursued with all of these bells and whistles.”

“Yes. You are one hundred percent the only one. You were the only outcome, or I would’ve been single forever.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure.”

Tipping her chin up, I hold her stare. “You are it for me, Mona Greer. You have been since you cursed me out at Moore’s Crafts.”

Her cheeks redden, and she smirks, playfully shoving my chest, striding past me and stopping at the table full of gifts I have yet to give her. “Did you rob Santa?”

“Santa wishes he had presents this good,” I scoff, grabbing a bag I know contains panties that she’s probably going to want after our shower. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.”

Taking her hand in mine, I lead us back to the master bath, turning on the hot water. I peel my T-shirt off, kicking my sweats to the floor.

She’s quiet—too quiet—and I turn to her, finding her staring in the mirror with tears welling in her eyes.

“I-I hadn’t seen these yet.” Her fingers hover over the bruises on her neck, traveling up to the marks on her face.

“Hey, hey, hey.” I walk behind her, sliding my hands over her hips and slowly spinning her around, away from the mirror. She peers up at me, a cutting vulnerability in her gaze. “They’ll fade. They just need a little time.”

I can’t imagine what’s going through her mind, what’s haunting her thoughts. Facing that man alone must’ve been horrifying, but she fought, and she survived. That's what matters most.

She nods slowly, swallowing her tears back down. She’s strong. I know she’ll get through this. As for the guy, I want to fill her in on everything I know so far, but I want to wait until tomorrow, until it’s not four a.m. and she’s gotten some sleep.

“Shower?” I ask simply, and after a beat, she nods.

Slipping my fingers under the hem of her shirt, I lift it up, easing it off her head and arms with her help. The bralette is next, and I unclasp it at the back.

As I lean down, hooking my thumbs in her leggings, she uses my shoulders for balance as I slide them down her legs, her panties right along with them, tugging her socks off in the process.

I quickly strip my boxers off before taking her hand in mine and pulling her toward the massive shower, pulling the steamed-up door open and letting her lead the way inside.

The overhead showerhead and the one on the side wall rainwater down her body. A shiver runs through her as she sticks her palm up, feeling the water, and I reach for the shampoo bottle I bought on the occasion she stays here.

Squeezing the bottle, I squirt a good amount into my hand as she turns to face me. I tip her head back and saturate her hair. I walk around her, my back cold in the absence of water. But I don’t care.

Rubbing my hands together, I shift my body, blocking the few streams from hitting her hair so I can massage this in.

“You know I can do that myself⁠—”

“Shh,” I hush her, sinking my fingers into her hair and massaging her scalp. “Remember that crippling independence of yours? You don’t have to do everything yourself. That’s what I’m here for.”

The tightness in her neck relaxes, her head moving freely with my hands as I continue to work the soap in. “It feels really nice.”

“Good,” I hum, shifting out of the stream so the water starts to wash the soap away. Taking the excess, I run my fingers through my blond locks.