"𝚂𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝
𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚝
𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜
***
𝚒𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛"

---

"What'cha writing?"

And my not so lonesome journey begins with Astrid Wilde. My clone, or perhaps I'm her clone. Yes, that sounds right, seeing as she's the unbroken, undamaged, unflawed doll in my parent's porcelain china set. And I'm not.

In other words, my twin.

It's not fair that I'm the older sister, yet she was born bigger and brighter. It's not fair that she got the cooler, voguish name and I was given the one of my dead grandmother. It's not fair that mom died after birthing me, even though she was the one pulled out last.

Yeah, what a coincidence it was that the smaller, frailer new born that ceased the beating of her mother's healthy heart, and almost killed her sister too in the process, had there not been an rushed C-section.

Maybe Ruth Wilde died because of me, and the fact that I was a walking, talking disease of her failed biology project. (Um, semi-failed: I guess Astrid turned out alright.)

Lupus, technically known as systemic lupus erythematosus (SLE), is an autoimmune disease in which the body's immune system mistakenly attacks healthy tissue in many parts of the body.

I know what you're thinking. Gee, you actually memorised the dictionary definition of your incurable disorder? Well... that's a complicated question. Technically, I didn't memorise it, more like remembered it.

You see, when your white blood cells (the ones that are supposed to protect you, FYI) are totally hell-bent on suicide, but your insanely crazy, rich (they're separate adjectives) father is totally hell-bent on making sure you survive, then... let's just say you spend most of your life in and out of hospitals. In my case, I'm pretty sure eighteen and a half out of my seventeen years of life were invested - definitely not wasted according to my loony-tunes dad - in billions of clinics around billions of cities. Anyway, what was the point of this again? Oh yes, I've seen that exact definition printed onto many pitiful flyers in the medical research facilities of London, New York, Tokyo, Sydney, and let me not forget Rio, because what an experience that was (long story short, perverted doctor). It's like that song that comes up again and again on the radio and even though you're practically bored to death by it, you sort of pick up the lyrics as you go.

But even truckloads of red-striped pills and sickly sweet syrup can't change one, brutally true fact: I was dying. I came to terms with it a decade ago, cried an entire night all by myself and never let the tears fall again. Because every tear is precious and why waste them on something I can never escape? I only wish Dad would accept it too, because the more he tries to fight the inevitable, the harder it would be to say goodbye when the time comes around.

So here I am, ladies and gentlemen, the Creator's disaster creation. And sitting beside me, poking my ribs oh so irritably is Her magnificent masterpiece. Don't worry, I've had precisely two hundred and fifteen months to get over it.

"Teagan!" Astrid complains, slapping the air with her hand dangerously close to my nose, "Hello, earth to Teag-"

I slam my notebook closed, before she can get a glance at my withering words and turn off the flashlight on my phone. I thought she was sleeping.  "What, in God's name, do you want, Astrid?" I sigh, with frustration. "I'm pretty sure I haven't forgotten my name."

She pouts, green eyes widening dramatically. "You're such a meanie, Teagan! I was just trying to give you some company, before you leave for Hawaii, which is totally not fair BTW!"

"Ugh, don't remind me!" I groan, brown hair falling around my face as I slam my head against my bed. That's the key difference between me and Astrid: she sports a dyed blonde bob, whereas I just have my plain brunette locks that reach just over my shoulders. Other than that, we're pretty much identical. "I'd prefer your annoying presence when I'm over there by myself, than at home, where I prefer my peace."

In the far corner of my blue-themed bedroom, stood my long time nemesis, the bane of my life, my arch ene- okay, it's just my baby pink suitcase. But when Dad rolled that out, I knew the drill. Pack two week's worth of clothes and disappear to a new country, sometimes continent, to test out new procedures and treatments. Lately, there hadn't been much of that. In fact, the last time I flew out of the states that I remember was last January. And today was the seventeenth of April. Our birthday. Or would be in two minutes.

"Aw, I know that's just your weird way of saying you'll miss me, sister," she whispers creeping closer to me, before ambushing me with a crushing hug.

How can I deny such a hateful, bitter truth? Okay, maybe my twin isn't that bad...

And it's not that I'll miss her later, I already miss her now. I can't imagine a world without her, ever. It was simply not possible, except when Dad drags me away abroad with him. Apart from those very depressingly tedious times, where I was sitting in a lab somewhere and she was on house arrest under the watchful glare of our nanny (yes, we're about to turn eighteen and we still have a nanny and her name is Agatha Black, just as appealing as her personality), we are literally attached by the hip. We might as well have been born conjoined, and then at least, we won't have been ever forced apart.

"Besides, you won't be alone for that long. Dad will be back from his business trip in a week, and a week after that, spring break will have started and before you know it I'll be there too!" she gushes, smiling at me re-assuredly, "Oh God, imagine how many hot boys there'll be..."

I turn off her droning voice, unbothered to remind the girl that she indeed has a boyfriend. Her comforting words only partly quell the dread in my stomach. In approximately seventy-two hours, I will be on a flight, all alone, on my way to Hawaii, where I'll basically live in a research center for a month. God, the perks of being Your catastrophe! I have never been alone before, and I don't want to start now-

Ring! Ring!

The squeal of an alarm interrupts her voice and my thoughts.

Instantly, our eyes find one another's in the partial light of the moon and streetlights outside my bedroom window, and the gleam of challenge in her green irises ignites my own.

"Happy birthday!" We both scream at each other simultaneously.

I glare at her, accusingly. "I said it first!"

She glares back at me, furrowing those perfectly shaped brows. "No, I did!"

"Me!"

"Me!"

"Yo-"

"You!", I yell back at her.

Then, an entire sixteen seconds later, I realise what I said.

I groan. She squeals.

Every year. Every single year! "It's not fair!" I exclaim, "You cheated!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"No-"

I groan. Was that the thousandth time? "Whatever, but please don't say we have to go to school tomorrow," I beg. I don't want to be reminded how stupid I am. Sure, it wasn't my fault but did I want to be reminded? No.

Astrid looked at me solemnly, familiar with my loathing for the compulsory method of torture, universally referred to as an education. "You know what Aga-myass is like, Teagan-"

I immediately crack up laughing, finding it hilarious that my sister could say the ridiculous nickname in such a straight voice.

"-'when I was a girl, I used to run to school even with two broken legs. I don't understand you silly children nowadays!", we both chorus in our best snippy English accents, before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

I know what you're thinking. A terminally ill teenager - now young adult - forced to endure high school? Yes, I was thinking the same.

The world is full of monsters with friendly faces and angels full of scars.

Note to self: when Astrid falls asleep, write that in the notebook.

—-

𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 ℍ𝕖𝕣 𝔾𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤 ℂ𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕖 ❤︎
𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 ☺︎︎

xoxo
Aviana