Page 7 of Sin With Me

And why do I care so much?

Oli thrusts my cup at me forcefully, and it snaps me from my staring contest with Mary and Isaac’s backs. I watch her take a quick, unmixed gulp of the fiery liquid before returning the flask back to her boot. I hold in a gag, not wanting to think about the boot alcohol now mixed in my tea. A shiver of repulsion dances along my spine but it’s immediately overshadowed by the loud tinkling laughter that I unfortunately recognize.

I grit my teeth at the sound.

“Oh, Evie,” Mary coos loudly. “Come eat.” Her face contorts into a disapproving look as she scans Oli and me sitting ungracefully in the dirt and grass, but quickly masks it. “Bring your friend.” With that, she spins and turns her attention back to my stepfather.

An irritated scoff slips from my lips as I roll my eyes, unable to hide my disdain for her anymore. I shove to my feet, Oli following close behind.

“It bothers you that she’s touching him.” The simple, effortless way she drops such a line has me freezing mid-step. Completely unaware, she runs into my back with a grunt.

“You’re delusional, Oli,” I say, ignoring the way her words pierce my chest.

Oli grabs my cup and lifts it to my mouth with a cocked brow. “Delusion is where success lies,” she says matter-of-factly.

I take a quick, deep pull from my straw, wincing at the burn from the alcohol. “I can’t tell if that’s very Gandhi or very ganja of you.”

She shrugs as her lips curve into a sly grin. She tucks her arm into mine and tugs me toward our friends and families.

“Probably both.”

“Are you sure you have to go?” I ask, pushing a wayward strand of Clover’s hair behind her ear. She looks up at me, anxiety clear in her big onyx eyes, and nods warily. I sigh, tugging the frail girl in for a hug—a hug that’s probably too tight, judging by the huff of air she lets out. “Be careful,” I whisper.

It takes her a moment to slowly sink into me. Before I know it, she’s sucking up my affection like a person starved of water in the desert. It hurts my heart desperately, knowing how rare touch is to her. Her body is warm and clammy, likely from all the long layers she’s wearing, but I don’t pull away.

“I know,” she murmurs.

With one last squeeze, she lets me go and steps back. Awkwardly, she smooths her hands down her oversized, floor-length, long-sleeved dress. The dress doesn’t match the sweltering Georgia summer heat; it’s so outdated, I have no doubt it’s second—or Hell, it may even be third-hand. Either way, she’s still adorable and holds a special place inside my heart.

I tip my lips up in what I hope is a reassuring smile and spin her toward her foster mom’s beat-up gold minivan. It’s too dark out here to see Ms. Willa, but I don’t need light to know that she’s glaring at Clover. And at me.

Shit, she’s probably giving the entire congregation a withering look right now.

Not that it matters.

I’ve learned that what people think of you is of little consequence. They’ll do what they want, say what they want, think what they want. And there’s not a damn thing any of us can do to change it.

As Clover drops her head and climbs into the back of the van, quietly closing the door behind her, I turn away from the party, needing—something.

Space.

Air.

Freedom.

I need freedom.

Three words I’ve never dared to speak—never dared to even think. I have freedom, I remind myself. Even if Isaac and the church are stifling and I dream of so much more, this is my life, and I have to believe I’m free.

It’s nearly nine, and darkness has taken over the fields surrounding us. Colorful quilts dot the grass around Barry’s Pond, only lit by random streaks from sparklers or the glow from people's phones. Families have split off to find places to sit and enjoy the fireworks show beginning soon.

Oli left over an hour ago, saying she had to head home to feed the kids their holiday meal. I chuckled but nodded, knowing her babies are her life. The girls we used to hang out with in school took off, finding guys to cuddle up with for the show, leaving just Clover and me.

But now she’s gone, and it’s just me.

Always just me.

Sighing, I head back to the row of picnic tables and grab my cup and cardigan. I tug it over my shoulders, making sure my phone is still tucked in my dress pocket before skimming the party again. I don’t know why I feel like I’m forgetting something, like something is missing.

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