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They never will.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I push away from my desk and inhale a few sharp intakes of air, but it’s like I’m breathing smoke, thick and foggy and fucking asphyxiating.
It’s not Sandra Bell’s words that play in my head like a distorted record anymore, it’s not her voice that I’m hearing.
It’s mine and my twin sister’s.
And they’re more haunting than hers, more fucking deranged and raw. I can still smell the rotten stench of our hellhole. The pungent smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and disgusting male musk.
It was twenty years ago, but it feels like only twenty minutes.
The twenty minutes Sandra spent telling me her story.
I can listen to tales of murder all day long and not blink an eye. I should’ve been desensitized to child abuse by now, too.
I’ve come a long way from when it all happened. I didn’t stand there, waiting for the hit.
I fucking punched back and rose above the shadows and their bloody rotten smell. I grabbed my sister’s hand and ran away without a look back, so why the fuck are those shadows dragging me under again?
My phone vibrates and I’m about to hit Ignore. The last thing I should do in my state is talk to people. They wouldn’t recognize me when I’m like this. I’m not the charming, fun-loving Knox they know, I’m the Knox from that hellhole.
A kid in an adult’s body.
A man who still sees his demons.
The picture that flashes on the screen makes me pause.
Teal. My twin sister.
In it, she’s in the middle while both her husband and son kiss each of her cheeks. But that’s not all, she’s smiling.
No, laughing.
When we were growing up, she never had any of these joyful expressions. She also barely spoke for years and only when it was absolutely necessary.
But look at her now. A wife, a mother, and a successful businesswoman.
My finger hovers over the Ignore button, but I don’t press it. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t reply, but Teal is different. Teal is my other half.
Falling back onto my seat, I accept the video call, plastering a smile on my face. “Hey, T.”
My sister and I obviously aren’t identical twins, so she doesn’t look much like me. Her eyes are darker, bigger, and used to be sadder. Not now, though. There’s a light in them, a spark.
Life.
That’s what she lacked until she met her husband during our senior year in secondary school.
She’s not smiling back, though, a deep frown etching between her brows.
“Where’s my nephew?” I search behind her. “How dare you video call and not show me Remi?”
“He’s having a bath with his father.” She inches forward to the screen and her black hair follows the motion, framing her face. “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I just got a weird feeling. You know, twin hunch.”
