by M. S. Parker
I climbed off the bed and headed into the bathroom. I'd been sleeping so sporadically that only the clock let me know whether it was night or day. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and grimaced. My hair was a wild nest of tangles and the bags under my eyes looked like bruises. I tentatively sniffed myself and made a face. I had no idea how long it had been since I'd showered or changed my clothes. I didn't even want to try to figure it out.
I needed to shower and put on something fresh. No one would see me except the people who'd been bringing me room service – not that I'd managed to eat much of anything this week anyway – but it would at least make me feel semi-human. Without a heart, I didn't think I could ever feel completely human again.
A pang went through me as I thought about what Livie would say to me if this had been a normal break-up and not me dumping my sister's husband so they could work things out. She would've accused me of being melodramatic, I knew that much. And she'd be right. It still didn't change what I felt.
I didn't even know how many hours she and I had spent watching movies and tv shows where we'd laugh about how the heroines reacted to break-ups. I may have been a hopeless romantic, but I'd never understood the depression that could follow a break-up. For me, it had always been about moving on to the next man, trying to find my prince.
Tears burned in my eyes as I stepped into the shower. I'd thought I found my happy ending. It had even been twisted enough to be a legitimate fairy-tale happy ever after. But, in the end, my love for my sister had been stronger. And now I didn't know if she'd ever speak to me again.
Not that I had any clue what I would say if she did finally answer her phone. “Sorry for fucking your husband, but I dumped him so that should make it all better” didn't really feel appropriate. I'd just wanted to protect her, but attempting to convince her of my honest intentions felt like I was making excuses, trying to justify what I'd done. No matter how noble my intentions had been at the beginning, I'd still fallen in love with Blayne and continued a relationship with him behind my sister's back. I didn't deserve to offer an explanation that gave me any sort of reason, no matter how valid.
When I stepped out of the shower nearly thirty minutes later, I didn't exactly feel better, but I at least didn't feel worse, so I considered it a win. I was in the process of digging through my clothes and trying to find something to wear when someone knocked on the door. I frowned, pulling the hotel robe more tightly around me. I hadn't ordered anything to eat this morning, though I supposed they could be coming to check if I still wanted to refuse maid service.
I looked through the peephole and my stomach flipped.
Blayne knocked again. “I know you're in there. Please, I need to talk to you.”
“Go away, Blayne,” I called. I rested my forehead on the door, fighting back tears. “It is over between us.”
“Please.” He sounded so broken that I couldn't refuse again.
I opened the door and stood back. I couldn't let him close to me. If I did, I wouldn't be able to stay strong. If he touched me, I would give myself to him and damn the consequences.
“You said you needed to talk.” I crossed my arms over my chest, all too aware of that I was naked under the soft cotton. I felt my body responding to his presence and cursed it for its betrayal.
“You're going to want to sit down,” he said.
Panic spiked as a horrible thought occurred to me. “Is my sister all right?”
A pained expression crossed his face and he gestured towards the sofa sitting against the far wall. “Please, sit.”
I did, clasping my hands on my lap and trying not to look like I was about ready to burst into tears. He paced for a moment, seeming to struggle with whatever it was he had to say. I knew then that Livie couldn't be hurt. He would've told me to get dressed and come with him. It couldn't be worse than that because he wouldn't have been even the least little bit composed.
“How much do you remember about your family?”
I blinked. That was a strange question. I'd always assumed that Livie had told him what had happened. We didn't like to talk about it or even think about it. On the anniversary, we rarely spoke to each other at all, as if talking about it would somehow break something fragile between us.
He crouched down in front of me, but didn't touch me. “What do you remember about the day your parents died?”
I swallowed hard and my heart began to pound. “I do not like talking about it, Blayne. Why are you here?”
“I need you to trust me,” he said gently. “Please.”
I took a good look at him this time. He looked almost as haggard as I did. His usually messy sandy brown hair was even wilder than usual, like he'd forgotten to get a haircut recently, or how to use a comb. His skin was pale. His eyes, however, were calm. A steady dark gray without a hint of a storm. No matter what had happened, he was still the man I loved and I did trust him.
I nodded. “All right.” I thought for a moment, taking slow, deep breaths to try to calm myself as I let my mind travel back to that day. “The four of us were watching television. I do not remember what. I was playing with my dolls. A man burst into the house. He killed my parents, shot them because they did not have enough money. My father first. Then my mother. Our neighbor stopped him before the man could hurt us.”
“After the man killed your mother, but before your neighbor came in,” Blayne spoke slowly. “What happened?”
I couldn't breathe. My chest was tight, my pulse racing. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. I shook my head. “Nothing. Nothing happened.”
He reached out and took my hands. His eyes glistened with tears as he spoke again, “Yes, something did happen. You know it did. You have to remember...Livie.”
Chapter 4
Livie
I frowned. What was Blayne doing here? Why was he crouching in front of me, holding my hands and looking like he was about to cry? It happened sometimes, moments where I found myself somewhere I didn't remember going, but I'd always had so much going on in my head that I'd chalked it up to not paying enough attention to my surroundings. The fact that it generally happened when I was working made sense.
This past week, I'd had a hard time concentrating on work. Being stuck in the hotel room while I waited for my sister to accept my calls had made me lose all sense of time. I'd found myself pacing, then laying on the bed. Staring at the ceiling or suddenly in the middle of a television show I didn't remember starting. The whole thing was miserably surreal.
Now though, I felt like something was wrong. Like I'd been jerked awake in the middle of a dream or a nightmare. And there was my husband, those familiar eyes fixed on my face. But I didn't know why he was here or how he'd gotten into the room.
“Livie?” he said my name tentatively.
“How are you here?” I could feel the answer trying to work its way through the fog and the thought of learning it sent a strange stab of panic through me. “What is going on?”
“Do you remember what I just said?” he asked.
I swallowed hard and shook my head. “Blayne, what is happening?”
He stood, releasing my hands, and then moved to sit next to me, close but not touching. “I asked about your family.”
“I told you what happened to them,” I said, still confused.
“And then I asked what happened between the time your mother died and your neighbor came in.”
“Nothing happened,” I answered automatically. The panic grew. “Why are you asking about something so painful?” My voice was sharp. I pressed my hands together to keep them from shaking.
“Something did happen, Livie.” His voice caught on my name.
“No.” I shook my head emphatically. “The man shot my mother and then the neighbor came in and stopped him. That is all.”
“No,” he said gently. “That's not all.”
I kept shaking my head, noticing for the first time that my hair was wet. Had I taken a shower? I was in a robe too, so I must've.
But how could I have taken a shower and not remember doing it? The worst part wasn't the lost time though. The worst part was the feeling in the pit of my stomach, like whatever was happening was going to change my life in ways I didn't want.
“Liv.” He reached out and cupped the side of my face, stopping me so that I had to look at him.
I wanted to tell him not to shorten my name, that no one called me Liv. I wanted to tell him not to say whatever he was going to say, but I suddenly couldn't speak.
“When you left me.” A pained expression crossed his face. “I looked for you and couldn't find you.”
I was confused. Why had he been looking for me? That didn't make any sense. And why was he telling me this now, when only moments ago he had been talking about my family?
“I hired a private investigator and he found some things that led his search back to the Czech Republic. He found out some things.”
I felt my throat start to close up.
His thumb brushed my bottom lip, sending heat across my mouth. I could tell that he didn't want to tell me what came next and I really didn't want him to. But there was a stubbornness in his eyes, and I knew I was going to hear it, no matter how miserable we felt about it.
“That night, your neighbor heard four shots before he managed to get into your house. Two hit your father in the chest. One hit your mother in the head.”
I remembered those. Even after all these years, I could still see their bodies jerking with the force of the bullets, hear the deafening bangs. My mother had fallen right in front of me. She'd been trying to protect us. Us. Katka and me.
“The last one...” The muscles in his jaw clenched. “The last one hit your sister in the stomach. Katka died that night.”
I slapped him before I realized that's what I was going to do. I was on my feet and moving away a moment later. “You are a bastard, Blayne Westmore!” Tears burned in my eyes. “How can you say this? You have been fucking my sister since we returned from our honeymoon? Did you think I would not figure it out? I left so you could be together and this is what you do? You come up with this horrible story to hurt me?”
His hands grasped my shoulders and he gave me a firm shake. “I would never do that!” His eyes were blazing with myriad emotions. “I would never hurt you like that!”
I shoved against his chest, but he didn't let me go.
“Please, Liv. Listen to me.”
“How can you say she is dead?” My hands curled into fists in his shirt. “You love her!”
He winced at the words and opened my fingers. Instead of releasing me though, he kept his hands wrapped around mine. He led me over to the full length mirror on the wall, then turned me so that both of us were standing in front of the mirror.
“Livie, you're Katka.”
I stared at his reflection. “Excuse me?”
“Since that day, you've been living as both yourself and your sister. You couldn't accept what happened and so your mind tried to protect you from it.”
He was crazy. He had to be. “That is impossible,” I said, shaking my head. “My sister and I were sent to an orphanage after our parents died.”
“The only name they have is yours.”
“They must have lost her records,” I said. “Perhaps in a fire or some sort of computer problem.”
“They didn't.”
“We applied for citizenship,” I kept going.
“Livie,” he interrupted. “I've spent the past two days doing my own research and having my PI use his contacts too. I have a copy of the death certificate. Coroner's report.” His voice softened. “Katka Duseková died in the Czech Republic at the age of seven.”
“No.” The word didn't come out as strong as I'd wanted it to. If anything, it sounded almost like a half-sob. “I don't believe you.” I could feel the walls I'd built cracking. My hands were shaking.
“The tattoo,” he said suddenly. “The tattoo on your hip.”
“I do not have a tattoo.” My hand went to my hip automatically. “Katka does.”
“That's how we settle it,” he said. “I've seen the tattoo. I know it exists. So if it's not there, all of my information is wrong.”
He was right, I knew. It was the best way to prove to him that my sister was alive and well. But the thought of showing him my hip filled me with an inexplicable dread. I set my jaw and reminded myself that I didn't have anything to worry about. I knew my sister, and she was alive.
I untied the belt of my robe, then realized that I wasn't wearing anything underneath. I glanced at his face in the mirror, but it was a mask. The only thing I could see was the pain in his eyes. I shifted my hands so that I could still keep part of the robe over my more private parts and then, biting my bottom lip, I pulled the fold of the robe aside, exposing my hip.
“See,” I said. “Nothing.”
His breath caught and I watched a tear slide down his cheek. But it didn't look like a tear of happiness. He reached around me and, before I could stop him, his fingers were on my hip. He wasn't trying for anything inappropriate, but my skin still burned as his finger traced across my skin.
“L and K,” he said softly. “In script, right here.”
I opened my mouth to tell him that I knew where my sister's tattoo was, but then I saw what I hadn't seen before. What I hadn't let myself see. There, as his finger made the pattern again, I saw it. The ink. The script. The letters.
My knees buckled and if he hadn't caught me around the waist, I would've fallen to the floor.
The memories hit me all at once, and I pressed my face against Blayne's chest as he picked me up.
He screamed for more money, said that what we had wasn't enough. His eyes were wide and wild, his hair stringy. Even from where I was sitting on the floor, I could smell him. He smelled like a toilet.
My sister was next to me, clutching her doll to her chest. Papa and Mama were standing off to the side and Mama kept looking over at us, like she wanted to get between us and the crazy man who'd interrupted our evening.
The second shot followed the first, loud bangs that made me jump. Katka screamed as Papa fell down, blood going everywhere. The man swung the gun towards us and Mama jumped even as he fired. Her head snapped back and I saw a hole where no hole had been.
I couldn't move, couldn't even scream. My parents had just been shot and the man who'd done it was now pointing his gun at me and my sister. I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could and reached for Katka's hand. I flinched when I heard the bang and waited for the pain.
Then I heard the door slam open and someone yelling. Another few bangs. Still, no pain.
Then the fingers wrapped in mine went limp and my entire world came crashing down.
Blood was everywhere, soaking into her pretty white dress. Her face was white, eyes open. I clung to her hand, crying and calling her name. I could hear other people around me, but none of that mattered because my little Kat wasn't answering. I was a child, but I knew she was gone. I was alone, and we'd promised each other that we'd never be alone. I begged her not to leave me.
Then arms were around me, pulling me away from her. I kicked and fought, screaming for my sister. It wasn't until much later, after all the tears had been spent and my insides were hollow, that I told myself a lie. Just a little lie. One little lie. It couldn't hurt anything. And, for a little while, it could make the pain less.
My sister was still alive.
I took a shuddering breath as a sob ripped out of me. It was true, all true. My little Kat, my baby sister, my twin...she was dead. I was aware I was crying out for her, English and Czech mixing. My eyes were shut, my entire body shaking with the force of my sobs. The pain was too much. I was being torn apart and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. I knew that something had happened to me and that, eventually, I'd need to process that, but at the moment, the only thing I could feel was the agony of loss.
I had no sense of time passing or anything other than what I was feeling. Little by little, however,
my tears slowed and my breathing calmed. Only as that happened did I become aware that I wasn't alone. I remembered that Blayne had picked me up, but I hadn't paid attention to what had come next. If I'd have thought about it, I supposed I would've thought he put me on the couch or bed and left me there to mourn. What I wouldn't have guessed was what he'd actually done.
I was sitting on his lap, his arms wrapped around me and my face pressed against his chest. The scent of him was familiar even if this intimacy was not. It should have freaked me out, being held like this, but I let myself be comforted by it. If anyone could understand even a fraction of what I was feeling, it was Blayne. He'd loved Katka.
A hand squeezed my heart. He'd loved a lie. A wave of guilt joined with my sorrow.
I tilted my head up, intent on apologizing for everything I'd done. My eyes met his and I saw a glimpse of my own pain reflected back at me. Pain, and something else. Before I could try to figure it out, his mouth came down on mine.
Chapter 5
Blayne
I hadn't realized I'd been holding on to a faint sliver of hope until the moment Livie had exposed the tattoo on her hip. The instant I'd seen those letters, my heart had broken all over again. Then I'd heard her speak and knew she still wasn't seeing it. My eyes were burning as I reached down and traced the tattoo with my fingers. I could still remember how it felt beneath my tongue.
I watched as the truth broke across her face and caught her just before she hit the floor. Her cries were like salt in my wounds as I picked her up and carried her over to the sofa. I could hear Katka's name with a mix of languages, but I didn't need to speak Czech to know that it was all the same thing.
As I held her on my lap, I couldn't help but feel guilty. She'd been fine before I'd come into her life. If I'd never walked into Frankie's, never met her, none of this would've happened. She would've kept on with her life, believing her sister was still alive. And would that have really been such a bad thing? She wasn't hurting anyone by keeping Katka alive.
