The Secrets We Keep(15)

I could hear the offer in his voice, the hope that I would change my mind and retreat to my hospital room and the promise of more mind-numbing drugs.

“I’m fine,” I said as I got up and willed myself to take that first step and then another until I stood next to the steel bed, staring down at the impossibly still form.

“You ready?” the nurse asked.

I nodded and she reached for the corner of the sheet, easing it down to where my sister’s shoulders met her neck. Even staring at the floor, I could feel her there, as if she was calling to me, daring me to look at her. My hands started shaking, my entire body drenched in a sweat that contradicted the chilled air of the room. I steeled my resolve, had to count to five three times before I found the courage to look up.

“Where are her clothes?” I don’t know why I asked that. I knew her clothes were probably bloodstained and covered in glass. But I thought perhaps seeing them—the color, the brand, something as simple as whether she wore tank tops or bras would jar my memory and connect me to her in some way.

Alex shrugged. “Don’t know. I guess they probably gave them to your parents.”

“Do you know what she was wearing? Did you see her when they brought us in?”

“No,” he said, and looked away. His answer was curt and filled with an anxious quality I hadn’t heard from him before. I briefly wondered what he was hiding, what he was afraid to tell me. “Your clothes were gone by the time I got here. They’d cut everything off to get to your injuries.”

I nodded. It made sense, I guess.

“She had one of her shoes on. Blue sneakers, I think, if that helps.”

It did, actually. I could picture them. They were light blue with gray laces. There was writing on the side, like somebody had signed them with a black Sharpie. And comfortable. “What was I wearing?”

“Nothing. You left your shoes at my house. I found them on the lawn next to a chair. Why?”

“No reason,” I said, and stared down at my sister. Her eyes were closed, the skin surrounding them a dusty blue. Maybe it was bruising from the accident. More likely that’s the way dead eyes looked.

Her lips were parted as if she were trying to say something, but no sound came out—not a whisper, not a weak breath. I could see her wounds, where her head had met with the shattered windshield, where a stray piece of glass had embedded itself in her shoulder. She was pale, ashen white, and her tangled hair was splayed across the steel, parts of it streaked with blood. But even like this, bruised and smeared with death, she looked exactly like me.

“I … me … we’re the same.” I choked out the words, and Alex hurried to my side. His entire frame shook next to mine as he looked down at the same dark reality. That could’ve been me. That should’ve been me.

“Of course,” Alex said. “You’re twins.”

She didn’t just look like me; I had a distinct feeling she was me. I ran my hand across the gash outlining her cheek. It cut across the bone, a jagged mark stretching to her ear. I tucked a darkened strand of hair behind her ear and bent down to kiss her cheek, to beg for forgiveness and promise that I’d keep her memory alive. That’s when I saw them … the two tiny dots marring her right ear.

Without thinking, I reached for my own ear, running my finger across the earlobe, knowing what I’d find: One hole, one minuscule depression.

“What’s wrong, Maddy?” Alex asked. When I didn’t answer, when I didn’t so much as blink, he grabbed my hand and pushed me toward the door. He could drag me out of here, he could remove me from this room, from this hospital, from this world, and it still wouldn’t stop the memories from flooding my mind.

My sister and I were thirteen and away at summer camp. It was the last year we went, the last year I remembered spending hours at night talking about anything and everything until the batteries of our flashlights died. The girl in the cabin next to ours was evil; in seventh grade she already was what Jenna would become in high school.

She’d been making fun of us for days. Apparently, one-piece bathing suits were for losers who chose to take art classes over sailing and volleyball. Didn’t bother me—the total influence that girl had on my life would last two weeks, then I’d never have to see her again. But Maddy … she was peeved and wanted to prove that she was as good as, if not better than, that girl. Somehow, Maddy decided a second piercing in each of her ears was the way to do it.

Maddy handed me a needle from the sewing kit Mom had stashed in her trunks and an ice pack she’d snagged from the nurse’s office. Everybody else in our cabin was asleep, had drifted off hours ago. We hadn’t told them about our plan. This was our secret … a secret sisters would keep.

Maddy squinted, her eyes shut so tightly that her face scrunched up, making her look painfully amusing. I told her to relax, but she didn’t. She grunted for me to get it over with, then dug her nails into the wooden frame of our bunk bed.

We were na?ve back then and assumed five minutes with an ice pack would numb her ear enough for there to be no pain. I never did get to pierce the other ear; she swore and jumped the second I jabbed the needle through her skin.

“Jesus, Ella. That hurt,” she yelled, and shoved me away.

Maddy made me swear to never tell Mom, and only wore an extra earring when we were at school. She stopped wearing the extra one altogether a few years back. The hole was nearly closed now, the pinprick-sized mark almost invisible.