Dead Twin

3

I had spent the next few weeks switching between Yukiteru and Chiryo-Ho. They had soon consumed my time, both at school and at home. It was easy making friends with my classmates too. I felt happy making friends. That was something I had missed out on for the past seventeen years of my life since Arisa would be my only friend. She had told me that other people were not worth our time.

Collapsing into bed as soon as I got home, I checked my phone for new messages from Yuki and a few of my other new friends. There was a few messages from him and my finger hovered over his icon when I had noticed a bunch of new numbers that were messaging me.

After clicking on the first message, which was of grief and condolences, the people suddenly became familiar. They were students from my old school. All of the other numbers bore the same type of message.

How the hell did they get my number? Especially after a year later? I thought.

The first message said they were apologetic for the way Arisa and I were treated at St. Quincy. The second offered prayers and assurance. My mind was baffled, trying to piece the puzzle together: who gave them my number?

Since hardly anyone knew I existed, nobody had my number in that school. I decided that I didn't care and blocked all the other numbers. Moving to Japan motivated me to want to forget everyone back in America. Made me want to forget the city. The school. The incident. The past few weeks here had helped slightly. Arisa was in my thoughts nearly all the time, but when she wasn't I was occupied with my new friends and school.

My thoughts were interrupted after Dad called me to come downstairs.

I really didn't want to but my parents were worried enough about me. After the death, I had become even more anxious and antisocial. For an entire year, I felt so alone and traumatized.I couldn't focus in school so all my grades were going to shit. Some days I wouldn't even bother going in. Teachers gave up on me because I was unresponsive. The school had also tried to help me but every time the incident has been brought up, I would feel as though I was back in that scenario: screaming Arisa's name while trying to rub the blood off my face and clothes. And I also felt as though everyone else gave up on me too since a month before we moved to Japan, I had completely cut off with everyone.

A surge of anger was rising to my surface.

I had spent days on end in my room, isolating myself from everything and only ever thinking about her death and how it happened. How I could have prevented it. My parents really wanted to send me to a therapist but I refused, yelling my thoughts out loud as I did so unintentionally hurting them. They told me they understood because they couldn't imagine the immense pain and trauma I was going through, even though Arisa was their daughter, their family. The only potential this family seemed to have had.

I felt bad after screaming at them, because all they wanted to do was help me and turn me back to my usual happier self. They were trying and willing to do their part, but I just wanted to be left alone. I had to refuse help because help meant forgetting and I did not want to forget. How could I do that to my sister?

After that, my confidence shrunk to the size of a pea and my attitude grew anytime anyone who I was acquainted with spoke to me or tried to make contact with me on any form. The move here had made a slight difference, but it still wasn't enough. Arisa's death had caused me to die inside.

Disgruntled, I made my way down to the main family room, where I noticed one extra woman, who sat in between Mom and Dad. She was casually dressed in a loose grey sweater and black skinny jeans with her auburn hair tied back in a neat and slick bun .

"What's going on?" I asked uncomfortably, giving a subtle glare to my parents hoping they get the hint of me being around strangers.

"This is Karuna." Mom said.