Page 38 of Rules

I nod in understanding but keep observing her for a while longer. Looking for signs. Any kind of sign I might have missed the first time around, but I come up empty-handed.

She looks fine, but she looked fine before, when she was anything but.

Am I missing it again?

I swallow hard; the relief that I felt only seconds ago is now gone.

Are we so damaged that I can’t see her pain?

* * *

That night I couldn’t sleep for shit. My brain was playing games with me. Every time I’d close my eyes I’d see Jeanette’s face. Memories of what happened mixing with all the possible scenarios of what is happening now. What I could be missing because the fact is, Jeanette and I, we aren’t the same kids we were before.

As twins, we shared a bond stronger than most siblings, but that bond was shaken so badly it’s barely holding on by a thread. And no matter what I do, it doesn’t seem like enough to repair the damage that was caused.

When the first rays of sun started to peek through my window, I gave up on sleeping altogether and get up.

It’s Saturday morning, and although I could have probably indulged in an additional couple of hours of sleep, I didn’t have it in me. After the wake-up call I got from the coach about my grades, I sat down and rearranged my schedule, including weekends. A tight, organized schedule is key in the upcoming months if I don’t want to fuck anything up.

Groaning, I got up and went about my business. Bathroom, protein shake, gym. That’s how I spent the first couple of hours every morning.

As soon as I got to the basement, I cranked up the music and hopped on the treadmill.

Exercising always helped me clear my mind and direct all the energy running through my body at something productive, which showed.

Five miles later, I was a sweaty mess. My heartbeat was elevated, breathing labored. The pressure in my chest I was feeling the night before was gone along with the restless dreams that have been haunting me.

Taking off my shirt, I dry my face before throwing it away and starting with weights. Arms, core and finally, legs. I was a sucker for routine, especially when it came to my workout. In here, I didn’t lift as much as I did at school simply because there wasn’t anybody to look out for my ass when my muscles turned to jelly, but the gym was functional and helped me keep up with my workouts without the hassle of going to an actual gym.

When I was finally done, my body so tired I could barely move to wipe the sweat rolling down my face, I went to take a quick shower. Clean and finally feeling like a human being, I decided to have breakfast before starting on my homework.

Unplugging my phone from the charger on my way to the kitchen, I unlock it and absentmindedly look at my notifications. People congratulating the Wolves on the win, a bunch of drunk-ass messages from the guys, tags in stupid videos, photos from the party last night… All regular shit that doesn’t interest me. Scratching the nape of my neck, I’m just about to call it quits when a specific story catches my attention.

There is nothing particularly special about it, a couple making out. Just another photo from another high school party. If I had any interest to keep scrolling I’d find a dozen or more of them, but I don’t. Still, there is something about it...

The quality of the photo is for shit, dark and kind of blurry, but the bright blue name written on the white jersey is unmistakable.

Hill.

Now that I look back, I don’t remember seeing him. I knew he was there; it was his house after all. But apart from guys mentioning he’s in one of his moods, something that was clear in the edgy way he was playing yesterday, I don’t remember actually seeing him last night.

My eyes narrow into tight slits as I observe the picture carefully. His back takes most of the photo, but parts of the girl he’s kissing are visible. His hands cradle her face, fingers digging into her hair and holding her close.

Unmistakably short, dark hair.

“Son of a bitch.” With my jaw set in a tight line, my hand grips the phone so tightly I’m surprised it doesn’t crack in my hand.

I’m going to kill the bastard.

He’s a dead man.

Furious, I run back up the stairs, and the only thing I can see is red.

She better have a damn good explanation for this. Of all the people, she had to mess with Andrew-fucking-Hill?

Not giving a shit about the time of day or anything else, I burst into Jeanette’s room. The door swings open with force, crashing into the wall, the sound so loud it jolts her awake.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I bark before I’m even fully inside.

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