She was lost and so was he.
Who knew that two broken hearts can connect to one.
Arabella's world has been rigged since the day she was born. Her fate had been decided for her much longer before she even had been conceived in the womb. So it came as...
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"You took it too far, Vivian," I begin gruffly as she leans on me. She pulls away and looks up sadly, nodding her head.
"I know."
"Thank you for standing up for me. I truly appreciate it. But your words were cruel. I felt more upset by your words than I was by her actions. Calling her a 'whore' was completely out of line. She's not. She's nothing like that." I shake my head, disapproving, but my mind wanders elsewhere.
The look I saw on Arabella's face when that word left Vivian's mouth will always be engraved into my mind. It was full of pain and agony. I would've rather had my eyes ripped from my body than see that expression on her face.
"I know, Dominic. I know. And I feel like shit for it, but the word just slipped. I should've been able to control myself, but I was just so mad. Not just because of what she did to you... but because a small, spiteful part of me is still upset about what she said to me a few months ago." She looks out the car window, and I can see the shadow of sadness loom over her.
"That bullet should have been for you."
Arabella's words still haunt Vivian. Those months after the hospital were agony for her. The entire day after, she kept muttering to herself, like she was in a trance. Then when we got home, she had a complete meltdown—trashed her room, screamed, threw everything she could touch.
I'd never seen Vivian so out of control... yet so lost. It was terrifying. But the scariest part was when she reached for the shattered glass. That look in her eyes—that hollow, giving-up kind of look—I'd seen it before. In Arabella. In myself.
But in Vivian? My own twin? That was knives to the heart. Arabella had always carried that darkness, and I did too. But Vivian? She was supposed to be the light.
Our parents never noticed. But I did. I always noticed the small details. We had to sedate her that night. That's when therapy started, and the antidepressants. She's been quieter since then—more withdrawn. She doesn't smile as much, but at least part of her is still here.
"It's times like these I really do wish that bullet was for me. I wish I was the one in the coma. I wish I didn't have to wake up every day," she whispers, breath fogging up the glass. She draws a swirl in the condensation—something that's always helped calm her.
"I don't. And neither would Mom. Or Dad. None of your family would." I give her a small smile, but it falters when she frowns deeper.
"And my friends? I lost them because of my temper. First Arabella at the hospital, and now again after what I said. Then Aria and Mateo... after I went off on them for just being good friends."
I don't respond. I know how much it hurts—losing them.
I wanted Marco to check up on Arabella. Even though we ended things, knowing he was looking out for her gave me some kind of peace. And yeah, maybe he let it slip that she asked about me too. That made my heart jump. Still does.
