Page 46 of Twins for the Enemy

I close my eyes. When the sun comes up, the Christmas lights won’t be visible. In the morning, I’ll know what’s real and what dims at the slightest scrutiny.

Chapter fifteen

~FARAH~

In those time loop films, the hero figures out how to become a better, happier, more caring person. A person would have to be a fool to not learn after repeating the same action and getting the same result.

Instead of repeating the same day, it’s the same pattern. Kieran hasn’t vanished this time, but he may as well be a phantom. He must be the one who is sending house staff to make sure I always take my pain medications and that I do my physical therapy, and I’ll catch glimpses of him, but I may as well be a wilting wallflower by the way he looks right through me.

It’s the same thing as when we slept together last time. I’ve been used, and I let myself be used.

Multi-layered, tear-causing, and bitter. I’m a sack of onions.

I stride through his hallways, arms crossed in a way that I’d find embarrassingly juvenile, but I’m already so humiliated that I could throw a tantrum and it’d only be a small scrape to my ego.

I need a distraction. Shame and boredom aren’t a great mix, and they’ve both taken over like weeds among a flowerbed of weeds that I haven’t tended to since Kieran and I were at the botanical garden.

I wish I were an arsonist. I’d burn that garden to the ground in the wild hope it’d erase it from my mind too.

I pause in front of Kieran’s personal gym. The mattresses are still stacked underneath the wall. They’re staggered, so it’s easy enough to climb onto.

I’d thought it was a gesture of kindness, but maybe I didn’t understand the joke was on me.

Weak, fragile little Farah.

Can’t be trusted to walk without her crutches, despite the pain only being a small ache now.

Couldn’t possibly climb up a wall without smashing her empty head on the floor.

My thoughts are so razor-sharp, I know they’re irrational, but the anger pushes out all other thoughts—the weeds choking out every rational, nuanced flower with a vengeance.

I step onto one of the mattresses. It bends under my weight, but only enough that I can see an outline forming around my foot. Memory foam. I don’t know if I should be impressed by him spending so much money or if it’s a sign that the conspiracy theory about mattress stores being owned by the mafia is true.

I only nearly stumble once as I get to the top of the mattresses. Unlike other climbing walls, the handholds aren’t bright colors. They’re different shades of brown and gray. They also seem less prominent than other ones I’ve seen, lacking any obvious place to griponto. It must make it more realistic, which includes the unfortunate side effect of making it more difficult.

I grip onto two of the handholds. I move my left foot onto a lower rock. I take a deep breath, pushing up on my left foot to reach higher and grab the next handhold. My right foot presses against one of the footholds. I’m pulling myself up, but my ankle feels like a metal spindle is inside it, pressing against the muscles and nerves in a way that’s difficult to ignore.

But not impossible.

I keep pulling myself up, putting as much strain as I can on my arms and left leg to give my right ankle some relief, but the pain still nauseates me.

I hate feeling helpless, but it’s a feeling that has permeated every day of my life. With a violent father, a drug-addict brother, and now a man who has the power to wring every last drop of freedom from my life, I’ve always been a fallen leaf, floating wherever the river takes me.

Hands grip around me, yanking me downward. But instead of falling, the hands spin me enough that I end up in the crook of Kieran’s arms. Anger creases his features, his mouth twisted into a scowl that’s deep enough to make my heart skip several beats.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands. “You’re pregnant and you have a sprained ankle.”

I lift my chin up, hoping the shivers inside me can’t be felt in his arms. “I didn’t think you cared. You’ve barely said a word to me.”

“Do I need to use words to tell you to not injure yourself? To not risk killing yourself?”

My heart is still beating wildly in my chest, but as I stare up at him and feel his tight grip around me, I’m overwhelmingly certain he’s not going to hit me or turn me in to the police. I know I’m a big enough fool that I should cling to my doubt, but despite knowing that, I start to relax.

“I told you I wanted to do it—” I start.

“That was before you hurt your ankle.”

“Can you just set me down?” I ask, a request that I don’t want.

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