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My stomach churns as I let myself inside my house. I’ve gone from being cold to too hot. The living room feels stuffy and too small, like it’s closing in on me. I jerk off my hat and coat. I’ve seen enough of Oliver’s happen to know I’m having an anxiety attack.
My kitchen is brighter and more open. It feels less constrictive. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and take sips, concentrating on calming my racing heart and slowing my rapid breaths.
I’m alright. Oliver caught me off guard, that’s all. There’s no reason for me to panic. Of course, it was upsetting, but it’s not true. There’s no reason to freak out. So why am I still feeling this way?
Because the wicked voice of hope never gives up. In the back of my head it whispers,but what if?
No.
They were identical.
No.
They were dressed identically in tuxedos.
No. Fucking no! It’s not true. I know it isn’t, but I need to prove it to myself anyway. Sometimes, hope holds us by the throat.
Oliver steps into the kitchen but doesn’t approach me. My first attempt to speak produces only a squeak. Clearing my throat, I try again. “The last time Alden and I saw each other before I left for college, I told him I was sorry that we were over. He said we weren’t over. He called it something else. What was it?”
A pause. It’s something only we’d know.
Some part of me must’ve thought there was a chance, because the shake of his head feels like it pulls all the life out of me, leaving a heaviness I’ve never experienced. It was so cruel for him to give me even a sliver of hope. How stupid am I? Things like that don’t actually happen.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember everything.”
“Because you weren’t there. Because you’re Oliver. You’re confused. I realize that, and I want to help you, but you can’t say that to me again, do you understand? I can’t take it.”
After a long moment, he nods. His silent stare is intense, and all I can see in his face is Alden. He’s gotten into my head. I can’t do this. Not now.
“You can stay in the guest room and we’ll talk in the morning.”
“I’m sorry, El,” he murmurs when I walk past him, and the pain I hear shreds me even further.
“I’m not angry, but I need some time to get myself together.”
It feels like I’m running away once my bedroom door is shut and I’m safely inside. Maybe I am. Running from him, from the pain of his words, from the split second of ridiculous hope that somehow made its way through all logic. I’m running from this whole fucking year. Life keeps throwing darts at me and the last of my strength has drained from the holes.
I’ve tried to move on. I’ve done my best to be there for Oliver, but how much can one person take?
Bone deep exhaustion weighs me down. I barely have the energy to change clothes before falling into bed, but I pull my curtains open first. With the comforter tucked around me, I watch the snow’s tumbling dance until I fall asleep.
* * *
The sound of my front door closing stirs me from a dream that fades too fast to recall. It’s quickly replaced with the memory of what Oliver said last night. I feel bad for reacting the way I did. It’s understandable, but he asked me to go with him to relive those terrible moments, and when he got confused, I flipped out on him.
Is he leaving? My room feels chilly when I climb out of my warm bed to rush to the window. He drove Alden’s truck here, and it’s still parked in my driveway, half buried in what must be at least eighteen inches of snow. I don’t see him, but footprints in the snow lead off to the right. Where’s he going? He can’t disappear again before we talk. If he still believes he’s Alden, this time I’ll be reasonable about it and convince him he’s mistaken.
A shiver runs over me as I cross the hall to look through the back window. The footprints lead across the yard, and I catch a glimpse of the back of his blue coat before he disappears into the woods. He said he went back to the treehouse before to jog his memory. Maybe he’s trying again.
It isn’t until I return to my room to get dressed that I realize the power is out. That explains why it’s cold in here. It shouldn’t be out for long. I’ll worry about starting a fire and warming the place up after I find Oliver.
Bundled up against the weather, I’m grateful it isn’t windy when I step outside. My breath heats up quickly on my walk across the backyard and into the woods. Walking in deep snow sucks, but he’s paved the way and I step in the footprints he left behind.
What am I going to say to him if he still thinks he’s not Oliver? How do you prove to someone who they are? Especially a twin. Twins don’t have identical fingerprints, do they? Sawyer would probably be able to get a copy of Oliver’s fingerprints.
No, Alden has never been arrested, never printed, and Oliver’s would only be from the recent arrest. That won’t work. Dental records? They both go to the same dentist. It’d be a weird request to walk in with, I’m sure, but if it comes to it, it may be a way to show Oliver that he’s mixed up.
It could prove it to me too. No matter how much I know that Alden is gone, that stubborn, ridiculous tug still resides in the back of my mind.
