11 The wrong twin

Date = 31 October

Place = San Francisco (Reaper venue)

POV - Damion

I swing her playfully onto the dance floor, turn, and come face-to-face with the 5-foot-4, heart-stopping, stubborn-as-hell beauty as we wait for the music to start.

You hurt me you did … Several times

It hurts to admit that we’re no different … I find it hard to commit

But you don’t even try

Still, I’m better with than without you

I pull her tight. She closes her eyes, sucks in a breath, and leans into me — as if it’s an extremely difficult thing to do. Her breasts brush against my chest, her thighs to mine, and everything in between connects, as we slide over the floor.

“Culture Code,” she says. “Did you choose the song?” A loose long blonde strand of her hair gets stuck to my stubble.

“Yes.” I feel odd. And a fuckload of other things — breathless, anxious, hot, frightened, excited, arrhythmic, drunk, restless — but talkative is not one of them. As we dance, the tight black dress offers peek-a-boo hints of some red lace beneath.

“Because of what I said.” Her breath fans into my neck, and my everything-in-between hardens.

“Yes.” This one comes out in a meek hoarse pitch. My dick is so hard I swear it can hammer through a wall.

Oh, I, I’m on it, I want it

But why do you seem to call in your eyes?

I can’t tell if you’re here or you’re out there … Do you wanna be out there?

Her eyes nearly bug right out of her head. Yeah, it’s not easy to dance so close and hide the world’s biggest boner. She definitely felt it.

“Damion.”

“Right here.” Leaning even closer I dip my head.

“I think you have a unique little problem,” she whispers in a bedroom voice that raises the problem.

“Yeah, young celibate male … easily excitable,” I lower my head, leaving my lips a millimeter from the soft skin of her shoulder. “But there’s nothing little about it.”

She makes a sucking sound like a lamb latching on to a tit. And I nearly blow off in my pants like a nerdy virgin at a strip show. Fuck.

You don’t need to be Prince Charming to me … I just need this to be real …

I don’t need no fairy tale

You don’t need to kill a dragon for me … ooh, ooh … I don’t need no fairy tale

“You know it’s just a weird chemical reaction because your hypothalamus floods your body with, in your case, testosterone. It’s natural.” There’s nothing natural about her ragged breathing. Or the hungry look in her eyes.

This girl is driving me bat-shit crazy and I need to do something about it. But not now. Not with her psycho brothers mere meters away. I would like to be alive when I celebrate my 22nd birthday.

We run and go still … every time

Whatever it is I keep on trying … ‘cause it ain’t hard to forget …

When you know what it’s like

That’s why I’m better with than without you

Oh, I, I’m on it, I want it

But why do you seem to call in your eyes?

I can’t tell if you’re here or you’re out there

Do you wanna be out there?

“So how was puppy class with Mr. Stick-up-his-but?” I ask because a diversion might relieve my tension, and I really want to know. That guy touched a nerve.

“Who, Alejandro?” she giggles. “He’s super great.” Like a cold bucket of water in my fucking face.

“In fact, he reminds me a little of you.” No way. He’s nothing like me.

“Because I’m super great.”

“No, you’re both hot and you have the same hair.” Seriously. That’s it. At least she thinks I’m hot.

You don’t need to be Prince Charming to me … I just need this to be real …

I don’t need no fairy tale

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Enrique jumps up in shock tipping his chair and it falls to the ground with a ‘thud’. Mel freezes and turns simultaneously, tripping over her own feet. Going into an uncontrolled freefall, she grips my bicep with one hand, my cloak with the other. Being caught off guard and in the middle of a dance step, I too lose my balance and we go crashing to the ground.

“Jackson? Blood? What … where are you? … JACKSON!” Enrique swears and it’s as if everyone is struck by lightning. The room goes deadly quiet.

You don’t need to kill a dragon for me … ooh, ooh … I don’t need no fairy tale

You don’t need to be Prince Charming to me … I just need this to be real …

Mel’s sharp intake of air breaks the spell. Everybody goes into panic mode — one half starts moving, and the other half starts talking.

I jump up, pulling her with me, and grab her hand, leading her back to the table. The boys stand around Enrique, waiting with strict faces for him to say something.

I don’t need no fairy tale

“Fuck!” he swears “Something is wrong. He’s in the bathroom.” We all start running to the stairs.

You don’t need to kill a dragon for me … ooh, ooh … I don’t need no fairy tale

I don’t need no

“If our stupid brother passed out from seeing blood, I’m going to kill him,” Ilkay chants, throwing his keys to Logan. “Bro, go grab my emergency kid quick.”

“Maybe he got his penis stuck … you know, like a dog,” Axel chimes in, probably to lighten the mood. That’s exactly something Jackson would say.

We all chuckle but still make haste up the stairs to the bathroom, knowing deep inside our guts that if Jackson asked for help it must be life or death. I’m not sure he would ask for help even then.

Ren walks in from the upstairs balcony, fiddling with his clown nose, and nearly collides with Ilkay. Chloe is right behind him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, but no one answers him. He’s just not important enough.

A few meters from the bathroom I stop dead in my tracks. Fuck, I can’t go through this again.

My father hurries past me with Uncle John short on his heels. Logan sprints by with the medical box in hand.

As if my legs are weighted down, I slowly take one step at a time. Please, please … let him be okay … I don’t have space for another demon in my head.

I peep carefully around the door frame, afraid of what I might see. I’m not squeamish, just fearful of losing another person close to me.

“Looks like a knife wound.” Ilkay and my dad are kneeling next to Jackson’s body, shouting out instructions to Axel, who is handing them items from the medical bag.

Jackson is lying flat on his front, gurgling raggedly, obviously battling to breathe. His head is turned to the side, eyes closed, his face pale and covered with sweat. One arm is stretched out, clinging to his phone. Luckily, he was able to call his twin.

Blood oozes from a puncture wound in his back, and pinkish foam hisses and bubbles from it. Ilkay takes a piece of plastic and some tape, places the plastic over the wound, and tapes it to 3 sides. The bubbles slowly subside. Dad keeps his eyes on Jackson’s vitals, checking them regularly.

Logan and Enrique are standing on the side with their uncle, who is on the phone, none of them looking all that well.

“The ambulance is on its way,” Uncle John says calmly, sliding his phone in his pocket.

Mel speeds wildly past me, stops, and stares. I grab her with such force that it hurts when she collides with my chest. The area behind us floods with people who stand in silence as if holding their breaths.

“Whoa, angel. Where are you running to?” She struggles to get loose, but I just hold on tighter. Small fists slam onto my chest, but I just increase my grip.

“Calm down!” I softly shout at her and the intensity of my voice scares me, but it has the wanted effect, she freezes and collapses against my body.

Shaking. She closes her eyes and drops her temple to my chest while facing her brother. Then she horrifies both of us by bursting into tears.

“Angel, he’s okay.” He has to be. “The doctors are busy.” Please let him not die.

“He got the wrong twin,” Mel sobs in my arms. “He should have killed the other one.” Okay, she’s either extremely mad at Enrique or in shock. Her soggy eyes are bright blue, like the ocean on a sunny day, and tears slowly make their way down her cheeks. I wipe it with my thumb while swallowing down the lump in my throat.

She begins to cry harder and seems unable to stop. It hurts my heart. No, it fucking breaks my heart.

“Mel, listen to me,” I duck down a little to ensure we are eye to eye. Her face is a mess. Her tears smudged the black makeup around her eyes to form long black stains down her white cheeks. Fuck, it pains right into my soul.

“I’ll stab the other twin if that’s what you want. Hell, I’ll stab all your brothers. Just please, please, stop crying.” Pretty sure it came out wrong.

“He told me and I didn’t listen.” She sobs again but at least she’s not shaking anymore, but I think she might be in shock because she is not making any sense. I push her head against my chest and hold it there, my fingers tangle in her hair.

Ilkay slices a cut between his brother’s ribs and opens it with his finger. Mel jabs in a long wail of air through her snotty nose.

Ilkay sticks a tube inside the hole and blood and air start running out — the distinctive iron scent mixes with the acidic smell of fear in the air. Jackson’s pale, sweaty body lies silently amidst a sea of scarlet liquid expanding over the floor tiles.

Suddenly, he gulps a deep breath and it’s as if every spectator puffs out the nervous tension they were holding in.

Except me.

A demon catches hold of my throat and squeezes … jamming his guilty claws tighter and tighter constricting the air to my lungs. God not now. A ball of fire burns in the pit of my gut. Panicking, I press my nose in her hair and close my eyes. I gulp like a fish on land, taking in her scent, trying to ride it out. Hoping no one would notice.

I squeeze my eyes tighter but the images slap me; the memories claw my mind. Choking dust. Pain. The stench of blood and fear.

And death.

I’m feeling dizzy. Helpless. In, out, in, out. Deep breaths. Deeper.

Flowers. A wildflower bouquet. For some reason, the essence of her aroma drives the demon back into the shadows, and I’m able to breathe again. The fire in my gut is now only a smolder.

“D … he sent me a message! I should have listened.” Lungs now filling with air, my mind gets back on track, and her words slowly reach my thoughts.

D. The stalker.

Sent a message.

Paramedics arrive at the scene, and with the doctors’ help, they put Jackson on the stretcher. Dad checks his vitals one last time, while Ilkay puts a mask over his face to give him some life-sustaining oxygen, his breathing is more normal now. So is mine.

“Let’s go!” Ilkay shouts to the medics. They lift the stretcher.

Jackson removes the mask and gestures for Axel to move closer. He grabs his friend’s arm and places something in his hand.

They run out, Dad and Ilkay following. I stand put, still holding Mel. Her phone. I need to check her phone.

“Mel.”

“Mm.” She doesn’t move.

“Give me your phone.” As if my words knocked her from the shock, she pulls free, scratches around in her bag, and holds her phone out to me. I go into WhatsApp.

D Stalker: Mayday! Mayday! A little actor is dying!

“He told me,” she rumbles, “I ignored it.”

I quickly look up at Enrique, sitting against the wall with his hands in his hair. If I’m reading the stupid message right, he was the target, but because they look identical tonight, his twin got the blow instead.

“See,” she starts crying again, “It’s my fault.” She sniffs and grabs my cloak. Fuck I hate tears. Especially her tears. She leans back into me … and now is not the time, but she fucking fits me perfectly. I wrap my arms around her and hold on.

“It’s not your fault,” I whisper.

She presses her face against my chest, just under my chin, and nods, smearing tears and probably snot and spit and makeup on me.

“Sniff pixie dust and soar,” she wails softly.

My muscles contract. Does she remember that after all these years? She looks up, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

“What does it mean?” she asks. I swallow a ball of edgy spit.

“My father told us that confusion improves moods … so if in a difficult situation, you should say something strange … to confuse and take your mind off the difficult situation.” Now is not the time to go into details.

“That saying popped up in a very special girl’s mind and stuck with me.”

“It really works.” Yes, it does.