“I don’t know, earlier,” he scoffs. “Why does it matter?”
Itshouldn’tmatter, but I know he’s lying and for some reason, that pisses me off more than him hogging Andrea… who's watching us like we’re bombs on the verge of explosion.
Real nice impression you’re giving her, Seba.
I unwrap my sandwich and sigh, “Whatever. Starve if you want.”
Cade huffs, “So fucking dramatic,” as he fixates on his phone again.
Across the table, Andrea’s dark brown eyes snag mine. Dart to Cade. Back to me. One of her brows lifts in silent question, like,What the fuck is his deal?
My heart skips a beat.
I shake my head, reveling in the little smile curving her lips.
Maybe I have a shot after all…
Eight
CADE
My special delivery arrived today.
Thank fuck Dad never questions my online spending— it's his way of apologizing for everything he overlooked. Kind of ironic, seeing as living in denial was a major part of the problem.
Sprawled on my back across the bed, I spin the package between my pointer fingers, tracking the fan blades on their endless cycle round and round. Circles that’ll never touch the ceiling. Never make progress. Only repeat the same path for eternity.
What a miserable existence.
My stomach growls.
Control, Cade.The distorted voice of her ghost whispers.I know it’s hard, but you can’t let it win. Don’t let it take over.
I sit up and push the ends of the little cardboard box in, lifting the tape. Tearing it off. Crumbling it in my fist until the sharp edges indent my palm.
Distractions help.
Like Andrea.
Initially, my intentions were cruel.
Arguably, they still are.
My nature demands to corrupt— to yank backthe curtain on the lies people like her father feed into. To beckon her into a world of cold truths.
Turns out, I hadn’t needed to.
She met me there on her own.
Verbally sparring with her has become the highlight of these monotonous days. Mornings aren’t as dreaded knowing as soon as I enter the Parish Hall, she’ll be there, waiting to swap quick-witted comebacks, flirtatious one-liners, and unfiltered opinions. Impulses are subdued by stimulating conversations that flow effortlessly between us. She’s an unexpected, refreshing dose of intelligence and complexity that’s severely lacking in this dismal world.
Though my stepbrother doesn't seem to be a fan of our blossoming…friendship.
Sebastian sees what Pastor Sinclair wants him to: An ideal, pure young woman of faith. A symbol of a modern-day Mary, piously serving her God without question.
But I seeher: a girl at war with the mold she’s been forced into, clawing at the painted cellophane mask wrapped tightly around her face, smothering her screams as she thrashes against the wire mesh encasing her.
Released from the chains of religious influence, she’d flourish.
