Page 82 of Dead to Me

“So you took that from me too.”

“I was trying to protect her.”

“From me?”

China stayed silent. I got up. She grabbed my ankle.

“Milan.”

I glanced down at her.

“Please.”

I remembered Warren saying the same thing. Malcolm did too. It was strange how everyone remembered that word when they were the ones hurt.

China tightened her fingers around my ankle.

“We can still fix this.”

“No we can't.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You don’t want to kill me.”

I stared at her. She sounded so sure. Maybe she still thought some part of her sister was left in me. The Milan who forgave Andre. The Milan who shared clothes. The Milan who held her during storms. The Milan who would have picked China over anyone. That person was real once. China destroyed her six years ago.

I knelt next to my sister. She reached out and touched my face. I let her.

Her fingers, sticky with blood, brushed my cheek.

“We’re twins,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“You can’t kill me.”

I met her eyes and smiled.

“You killed me first.”

I pushed the knife into her chest. China gasped. Her hand slipped away from my face. I pulled the knife out. Blood spread over the white lace.

China stared at me. I stabbed her again. She made a small sound. I hated that sound. I hated that some part of me recognized it as my sister. I pushed the feeling away.

China reached out. I took her hand. For a moment, our fingers laced together, just like when we were kids. Then I stabbed her again. Her body jerked. I held her hand as she died. I didn’t know why.

Maybe it was because she was my sister. Maybe it was because I hated her. Maybe both were true. China's breathing slowed.

Her eyes remained on mine. A tear slid from the corner of her eye. Then she stopped breathing. I stayed by her side.

The suite was quiet now. Broken glass covered the floor. Roses lay scattered around us. Blood soaked the front of China's wedding dress. My maid-of-honor dress was covered in blood too. I looked just like the woman everyone already thought I was: a murderer.

I let out a quiet laugh and let go of China's hand. Then I saw Mama's necklace. The diamond pendant lay against China's bloody chest. I reached for it, but my hand paused. I looked at her face. The thought that came to me was so awful that it made me smile.

China had taught me something important: people believe what they see. Half the wedding guests hadn’t seen me in six years. The police already thought Milan Hart was dangerous. China was the grieving bride. Milan was the convicted killer.