Oblivion Read Online Free Page A

Oblivion
Book: Oblivion Read Online Free
Author: Sasha Dawn
Pages:
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but I assume it’s acceptable for biological sisters, so why not for us?
    Once I release my grip on her arm, she begins to move her feet back and forth beneath the covers. This is something very decidedly Lindsey. In even cadence, she brushes her feet against the Waverly sheets until she feels secure enough to sleep. She says she’s been doing it since babyhood. Ittook some getting used to, but now it’s a comfort to me, too. Sometimes, when she’s asleep down the hall or if she’s closed her door, I can’t hear the swishing, and I feel sort of lost.
    “What time is it?” I ask.
    “A little after three. And after that mess, there’s no fucking way I’m going back to sleep without a little medication.” She crawls over me and traipses toward her closet, where she keeps her stash hidden—along with her contraband birth control pills, which she and half the girls in the junior class buy from some mysterious supplier—in the sleeve of The Little Mermaid DVD. “Come on, let’s hit the shed.”
    A lime-green hoodie and a pair of pink-and-green argyle knee socks hit me in the chest when I sit up. I yawn, don the extra clothes, and concentrate on the scent of the lake in my dream. Is it a real place? Or a figment of a wild imagination?
    I follow her quietly down the back staircase and to the back door, where she punches in a code on the alarm pad. Every key beeps, but the senior Hutches don’t sleep as much as hibernate, thanks to regular doses of Ambien for each of them. Once Lindsey and I couldn’t silence the alarm—she drunkenly pushed the wrong buttons—but neither of her parents responded to either the whir of the siren, or the follow-up phone calls from the security firm, ensuring our safety. But tonight we have our faculties about us, and we exit smoothly into the night.
    My backpack, always slung over my shoulder in the likely event I need to write something, contains Lindsey’s weed. I’m well aware that if we’re caught on our way out to the shed, everyone and Lindsey’s mother will assume the drugs are mine. Lindsey would try to set the record straight—at least I think she would—but I’d rather take the hit for my pseudo sister than watch her throw her future away.
    Solar-powered lights illuminate the flagstone path with a blue-tinted glow from the orbs that pop up at evenly spaced intervals along the way. When he isn’t litigating, Mr. Hutch makes a hobby of landscape design, and the sprawling two acres of their estate are meticulously manicured with gardens and water features that would put average—and some above-average—lawns to shame. Mrs. Hutch does not share his passion, but she takes advantage of it. In the six months I’ve lived here, Mrs. Hutch has hosted tented, catered, orchestra-music charity events on the property, most supporting the Children’s Hospital, where she used to work. Lindsey says her mother is obsessed with charity, which, incidentally, works out pretty well for me, seeing as I’m relying on the kindness of strangers for survival these days.
    The Hutches’ back gardens remind me of my father’s only semi-realized vision for the grounds of his church—mini waterfalls, a koi pond, idyllic swings surrounded by lush perennials and blooms. Yet for all the serenity here, Ifeel anxious walking the paths, and not because my backpack contains a nickel bag.
    “I think my father’s dead,” I say.
    “You can’t know that.” Lindsey doesn’t know that my father’s death wouldn’t devastate me. She views the situation through her own lens, and because she’d be lost without her dad—or rather without that which he provides for her—she assumes everyone would be. She’s too sheltered to know that some men deserve to die, and for all the hell my father put Mom and me through—and for whatever purpose he took Hannah, if he took Hannah—my father is one of them.
    My father, Reverend Palmer Prescott, founded the Church of the Holy Promise. I spent hours of my
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