“I don’t want to go to some fancy restaurant.”
“Adriana, please?”
“Fine, but don’t expect me to wear a dress.”
“You don’t have to. You look beautiful enough already.”
I was thrown awake by Michael’s memory. A cold sweat coated my forehead. The room was pitch black but I could just barely make out the outline of my cell phone on the bedside table. I grabbed it, checking the time. Two in the morning and I was having nightmares. Jeez.
“You ok?” asked a voice.
Startled, I jumped. “Who’s there?”
“Carter. You stayed over, remember?”
“Oh, right.”
I ran a hand through my hair and rubbed my eyes. I looked over the edge of the bed to the floor where Carter was lying. He let me sleep in his bed and took the floor. He was lying on his back with his eyes closed.
“I’m alright,” I said.
“You know, I’m starting to be able to tell when you’re lying.”
Instead of answering, I sighed and went to the bathroom. I splashed some water on my face and stared back at my reflection in the icy liquid. Carter appeared behind me and I turned to face him. He’s shirtless! How can a guy have such a hot body? He noticed me staring and smiled.
“Like the view?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoffed.
“What about now?” he asked, flexing his muscles.
It took of every ounce of my strength not to drool. I tried to leave but he was blocking my exit. Every time I stepped to the side, he followed.
“Do you mind?” I asked.
“Not at all.”
It is two in the morning! What is he doing?
***
Carter’s Point-of-View
What was I doing? My other half just so happened to be in the mood to come out and play. For some reason, I didn’t mind. I was bored anyway.
“Can you please let me go back to sleep?” asked Luna.
“Only if I can come too,” my stupid other half replied.
“It’s your place. Do what you want.”
Was that a yes? I stepped aside and she walked past me. I followed closely behind, turning the light off as I went. Luna returned to bed and I climbed in beside her. My other half, I liked to call him C-2 (Carter 2), was telling me to do some bad things but normal Carter was turning red. What now smartass? As if to prove a point, C-2 grabbed Luna by the waist and pulled her close to him.
“What are you doing?” asked Luna, obviously freaked out.
“This,” C-2 said.
He planted a kiss on Luna’s lips. Once he was satisfied, C-2 left leaving regular Carter to continue. Do I stop?
***
Carter was acting really weird. Was this how other people felt when my other half took over without warning? Even if I was slightly weirded out I couldn’t bring myself to stop kissing him. His lips were so soft and sweet. I could feel his heart beating wildly just like mine. Was this going where I thought it was? This is what people call “heat of the moment”. Apparently Carter felt I too because he was now on top of me.
I let my hands tangle in his hair. My other side was slowly coming into the picture. A growl slipped from my mouth and I shoved Carter off of me. My other side liked to be in control. I climbed onto him, resuming the kiss. For a moment Carter seemed stunned.
This was getting rough. Carter’s other half made it clear that he wanted to be in control too. The innocent kissing turned into a full on fight. Carter slammed me up against the wall to which I responded with a moan. I slapped him across the face and threw him onto the floor. I pounced onto him, choking him. Carter seemed amused. He flipped me and the floor shook when my back hit it. His face appeared above mine. He smiled down at me and I spit in his face.
“That’s gross,” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“Can’t handle me?”
Was I really taunting him right now?
“I can handle you just fine.”
Was he really going along with it? He wiped my spit from his cheek and grabbed me by the hair. He pulled my face to his and crushed his mouth against mine. I let my guard down for a quick second and Carter took that opportunity to feel me up. I bit down on his tongue and in turn he yanked my hair back. I let out something that sounded like a cross between a scream and a moan. Before he felt like he was winning, I punched him right in the eye.
While he was rubbing his eye I ran into the living room. He ran after me and picked me up. He dropped me down on the couch and seductively crawled onto me. He held my gaze with those hypnotic green eyes of his. I could feel his erection against my thigh. So he liked it rough huh? I can do that. I pushed him onto the floor and rolled off the couch onto him.
“You just don’t know when to give up,” said Carter.
“Neither do you.”
He rolled over so that he was on top. Pinning my arms over my head, he completely immobilized me.
“Tell me you give up and I’ll go easy on you,” he said.
“No one asked you to go easy on me.”
I happened to look at the clock on the wall. How long had we been doing this? My rational side urged my crazy side to just give up but that wasn’t going to happen.
“Whatever you say,” said Carter. He lifted me by my wrists and bent me over the couch.
“What are you doing?” I asked, struggling.
“Making you give up,” he responded.
The tinkling of metal filled my ears. He’s taking his belt off! I struggled wildly but he was, in the end, stronger than me.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“No!” I yelled stubbornly.
He nodded nonchalantly. He brought the belt back and gave me one last chance to give up. I once again refused. The leather of the belt came crashing into my butt with a loud smack! I didn’t need to be told again. I was already prepared to give up.
“I give! I give!” I insisted, hopping around.
“Good,” he said with a wicked smile.
Once he released me I pulled my gun on him. Of course I had it the whole time.
“Spank me again and I’ll blow your brains out,” I threatened.
“Do it,” he challenged, drawing his own gun. “See if you can pull the trigger before I can.”
The room was silent, our heavy breathing the only sound echoing in the air. As if we had the same idea, we threw our guns aside and proceeded to play tonsil hockey.
I woke the next morning around eleven. I opened my eyes and found myself on the floor with Carter lying next to me. I looked around confused as to why I was on the floor. What the hell? I spotted a hole in the wall a few feet from where I was. I attempted to get to my feet but I was so sore. What did I do last night? Sitting up, I took in more of the wreckage. Chairs were knocked over and my gun was on the other side of the room.
“Carter, wake up,” I said, shoving him.
“Hmm?” he grumbled, rolling onto his side.
“What happened last night?” I asked, more to myself than to him.
He opened his eyes and the same look of pain I had crossed over his features. I noticed a big red mark on the side of his face. If I squinted it looked like a handprint. Did I try to kill Carter last night? I knew this would happen! Carter sat up rubbing his eyes.
“Whoa,” he said. “This place looks like a tornado came through.”
“What did I do last night?” I asked.
“You don’t remember?” he asked, looking a little embarrassed.
“Not a thing,” I said.
His face turned bright red and a shy smile crept across his lips. “We kind-of did this.”
“How?”
“I think my other half wanted to have a play date with your other half. It looks like they had fun.”
A few flashes of last night’s events came into my mind. Oh my God. What was I thinking? I couldn’t find the words to explain how embarrassed or sorry I was. I looked down and found my shirt ripped in multiple places. I groaned. This was incredibly uncomfortable.
“This is kind-of why I said we shouldn’t be too close. We really did a number on each other last night,” said Carter.
“This is bad,” I said.
“The way I see it, we could’ve did a lot worse to each other.”
I thought for a minute. “We didn’t…do anything, did we?” I asked, tentatively.
“Did we have sex?” he asked. I nodded. “No. My other half likes to keep the ladies wanting more.”
“So you’ve done this before?” I asked, trying to hide my relief.
“Not exactly this. This was a whole new level of crazy.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have stayed. I’m going to leave.”
I got to my feet, ignoring the pain. I stretched and then grabbed my bag from Carter’s bedroom. Carter followed.
“I’m really sorry,” I said.
“It’s actually my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“How about we pretend it never happened?” I asked, growing more uncomfortable by the second.
I rushed out of his apartment without waiting for an answer. I took the elevator up to my apartment. Throwing down my bag, I changed my shirt and threw the ripped one into the garbage. I didn’t to keep something that would remind me of how bad it was when two people who were almost exactly alike got together.
I could’ve killed him. I could’ve seriously hurt him. He could’ve hurt me! We could’ve both been dead by now. I suddenly realized Carter was right. It was too dangerous for us to even be friends. Deciding I would never see Carter again, I sat down at the kitchen table and laid my head down.
My apartment was still a mess from the altercation with my foster father. The shards of glass still littered the floor and the coffee mad sticky, brown spots on the floor. I was going to have a lot of cleaning to do. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and got to work, starting with the coffee. On my knees, I scrubbed until the floor was sparkling. My stomach grumbled but I ignored it.
A knock at my door interrupted my cleaning. Irritated, I went and answered the door. Standing awkwardly in the hall was Carter. What happened to never seeing him again? This doesn’t count. I asked what he wanted and he held my gun out to me.
“You forgot this,” he said.
I took it from him and tossed it on my couch. I attempted to close the door but he stopped it with his foot. Can’t he take a hint?
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Embarrassed beyond compare but I think I’ll live.”
Carter nodded. He looked into my apartment and noticed the broken glass on the floor. I stepped into the hall and closed the door behind me.
“Was there something else you wanted?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Do you want to go get breakfast?”
“I have a lot to do. Sorry but no.”
“Yeah, I understand. I probably should go clean up downstairs,” he said, referring to our little scene.
I nodded.
“We shouldn’t be around each other anymore,” I said. “Don’t come here anymore and I won’t come to your place anymore. End of story.”
“Are you serious?” he asked.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Adriana—.”
“Don’t call me that. You have no right to call me Adriana,” I said, remembering how Michael used to call me Adriana. “If you must say my name, call me Luna.”
“Luna, it couldn’t be helped. It’s not like you did this by yourself. I had a part too.”
“Yeah well you played it well. Now the show’s over.”
I turned and let myself back into my place. I closed the door without looking back at Carter’s face. I was sure my pained expression mirrored his perfectly. I didn’t want to cry nor did I feel like I should so I straightened my spine and ignored Carter’s pleading voice from outside the door. I went back to cleaning up. This was for the best. I couldn’t risk killing another person that I might have feelings for.
It always started this way. We get to talking, we go over each other’s houses, we kiss, we spend tons more time together and all the while I’m planning how I’ll kill him. I couldn’t let it happen again. Not to Carter. Not when he looked so much like Michael. I bet you’re wondering: well what if he didn’t look like Michael? Would you not feel guilty then? My answer? I probably wouldn’t feel guilty. Not one bit.
“I’m so messed up,” I said to myself.
For the next few hours I worked out until I felt my arms and legs would break off like twigs stepped on in the fall. My body ached just as much as my heart. I couldn’t stop thinking about Michael. He plagued my every thought. Every waking moment seemed to be another moment I could’ve spent with Michael if only I hadn’t killed him. If only… That seems to be coming up a lot in my life. Nullified, I limped to bed, not bothering to shower. I’d still feel crappy either way.
It was times like these went I felt the only person in the world who could understand me was my mother. Too bad she wasn’t alive. Before my mother passed, we were really close. She was my confidant, fortuneteller, and most of all, friend. It hurt to look in the mirror because I looked so much like her. It was like she was staring back at me, saying “I’m still here. Don’t cry.” She used to say that all the time when she was in the hospital. I’d come to her with tears in my eyes, bawling about how I missed her and couldn’t stand seeing her suffer. She’d always say, “I’m still here. Don’t cry. I’m not giving up without a fight. You know that.” All with a big smile on her face even though I knew she was hurting. And I went along with it only because it made her happy.
A brutal mugging left my father dead and my mother seriously injured. They couldn’t even get my dad to the hospital. It was already too late. But my mom, the fighter, she insisted that she was not going to be known as the woman who died in a mugging. Nope. Not her. She wanted to die in a more peaceful, “She’s in a better place now”, type of way. Who could blame her? I couldn’t stand hearing everyone say, “How sad” at my father’s funeral. What the hell would they know about sad? They weren’t there. I was there! I’m the one who had to witness it! How dare they pretend to be sad when on the inside they’re just glad it wasn’t them? People these days… If I had a nickel for every single time I heard the words “I’m so sorry” or “You must be devastated” I’d be in to lap of luxury right now instead of a decent apartment in a stupid city that insists on having attractive guys.
My mother was never one to complain. She just enjoyed making other people happy. It was her thing. Plenty of times I called her naïve for being so considerate but really I was the naïve one. Rather than trying to help my mom pull through, I sat there everyday and cried my eyes out in front of her. She must’ve been dying on the inside. How could I have been so stupid?
I rolled over, staring blankly at the wall. I didn’t deserve to sleep. Sleep is for people who didn’t have guilty consciences. Sleep is for people who work hard and are nice to people. I am neither. I don’t have a job, I’m not good at making friends, and I kill people because I have nothing better to do.
Let me rephrase that. I kill people to fill a void. I do it to feel whole again. I do it so I could avenge the wrongful death of my parents. Sure I identified the guy that killed them but he got off with practically a slap on the wrist. I’ve always vowed never to trust men in general. It doesn’t matter who you are…I don’t trust you as long as you’re a guy. It has nothing to do with being sexist. It’s just if one guy has the balls to go and kill two perfectly good people then who says other guys don’t? Who says I have to trust everyone? Who says I even trust myself?
Trust is such a broad term. What does it even mean to trust? Do you put your faith in one person; give them your mind, body, and soul, and just hope they do the same? The world doesn’t function using hope. Cars don’t run on hope; they run on gas. People don’t live off of hope; they live off of money, food, and shelter. What good is hope when it does absolutely nothing for you? And what good is trust when no one ever fully puts their trust in anyone else? Trust is just one big, fat LIE.
The way I see it, basically everything is a lie. Love is a lie. Freedom is a lie. Individuality is a lie, commented my other half.
“Who asked you?” I said into the darkness.
The only real things in this world are war and hate. War if fueled by hate and hate is fueled by anger. We both know you have enough anger to fuel a hot air balloon circling the solar system twelve thousand times. Now that’s a lot of anger.
I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the commentary from my pessimistic other half would just stop. Sure my other half had a point but if I gave in to my other half then there would be no reason for me to go on living. I haven’t committed suicide yet because I believe I can change myself if I really want to. Sure every moment I’m alive is another moment that someone gets murdered but it’ll stop. It’ll stop as long as my other half shuts up like a good little girl and disappears forever. The world would be a better place without my other half.
Who are you trying to fool? You need me.
“Like I need a heart attack,” I grumbled.
No. Like Michael needed that bullet to his chest.
Even my other half considered it fun to win an argument just by mentioning Michael’s name. Crazy, isn’t it? How I’m one person and yet I’m two different people. One who would rather move on and forget everything she’s ever done or seen and another who would rather torture herself by constantly bringing up painful memories. Maybe I’m just a lunatic. Maybe I should check into an insane asylum.
For about the billionth time that night, I rolled over. I stared at the clock. Two minutes to midnight. The perfect time for a late night stroll. Hopping out of bed, I showered and changed into a black halter top, black skinny jeans, and my favorite black combat boots. I put my hair into a high ponytail with two curly strands hanging down to frame my face. I might as well look pretty if I’m going out. I stuck my phone in my pocket and tucked my gun into one of my boots.
As I passed through the living room, I scooped up the money Laurence had thrown at me and shoved it into my pocket as well. Now the only thing left was to figure out where I wanted to go.
Walking was my best option because I was definitely going to have a drink or two. I walked up to the doors of my favorite club and immediately the guys began to lionize me. Not like I paid them any mind. I showed my fake I.D. to security and made it through without a hitch. I decided to play it cool and wait for them to come to me. And by “them” I mean the cute guys of course.
Blond hair, blue eyes, coming your way at two o’ clock. Oh now my other half wanted to be helpful. I pretended to be super interested in my nails while the guy approached me.
“Care for a drink?” he asked.
Oh he’s cocky. Shall I knock him down his ego ladder a few notches?
“Only if you’re buying,” I reply with a sly smile. He laughed. “I’m serious,” I said, looking him up and down.
“What would you like?”
“A beer is fine,” I said, sounding bored.
Rule number one of clubbing: Never have someone buy you a drink that gets served in a glass. Perverts out there will slip you a roofie. Next thing you know you’re passing out on the floor after one drink.
“Girls like you usually go for the fruity drinks. Are you sure you want a beer?”
“If there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s that there is no other girl like me on the face of the Earth.”
“That’s good. I don’t think I’d be able to handle two of you.”
“Of course you can’t,” I said, waving him towards the bar. “I’ll be waiting.”
You’ve learned well grasshopper, said my other half.
“Shut up,” I muttered under my breath.
This strange sensation came over me. I felt like I was being watched. Not the usual “check her out” watching but stalker type watching. I looked around but no one stood out to me. I was most likely being paranoid as usual. Who in the world would be following me at this time?
“Here you go,” said the blond guy, handing me an ice cold bottle.
I took it gratefully and opened it. Guzzling down a third of the bottle, I discreetly scanned the room. Still no sight of the pair of eyes I felt watching me. I set the bottle down with a satisfied sigh. Blond guy smiled at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Rough day huh?”
“You have no idea,” I said, glad someone understood me.
“Is it work?”
How old does he think you are?
“I don’t have a job,” I said, shrugging.
“Lucky you,” he said, taking a sip from his own bottle.
“How old are you?” I asked randomly.
“How old do I look?”
“Nineteen,” I admitted.
“So close,” he said. “Twenty.”
“Wow. It must suck being one year too young to be able to drink legally.”
“Thank God for fake I.D.’s,” he chuckled.
I like this guy, said other half.
“Who asked you?” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said, forcing a smile.
So much for having a somewhat normal night. If other half kept interrupting, at this rate, I’d be lucky to even be buzzed by morning let alone taking someone home.