What Did You Expect It To Feel Like

Here it comes.

The first time felt like a car crash. I cupped my small breasts in the mirror and felt the weight, let go of them, and watched them fall and bounce once. I left my hands floating in the air and resisted doing it again and again. I squinted at the red marks I'd left with my fingers. I lowered my hand, pressed it into my stomach hard, and gasped when I realized.

The only difference between the two of us is that I need glasses and she doesn't. She wears fake glasses so we still match, and when she doesn't want to I try to wear contacts but fail because of how squeamish I am about my eyes. She didn't want to wear glasses today and I didn't want to wear contacts so I'm squinting at the red marks on my breasts - our breasts.

It doesn't feel like a car crash anymore, but it still feels special. It's a part of the everything that we share, the same body and the same mind and the same gorgeous eyes that peer back at me in the mirror. I squeeze my breast and clasp the nipple between my fingers as I lean in and purse my lips and whisper, slightly breathy to mimic her, "Fuck me, Violet, fuck me until I can't take it anymore, fuck me until I die, Violet."

This always leads to the same event: check the door to make sure it's locked, wash the handle of my favorite brush, talk to myself in the mirror like I'm Sloane and she's Violet and I'm giving her everything she's ever wanted.

"Violet, please, please, please fuck me-"

I position myself and move the top inside me.

"You feel so good..."

I'm getting so excited watching Sloane in the mirror, watching me fuck her-

"More, more-"

Halfway there.

"Oh, Violet, you-"

I hear a door slam in the hallway and I drop the brush onto the tile. I squeeze my eyes and wipe my hands on my skirt as I lower it and pull my panties back up. There's a knock on the door and I jump and squeal.

"Violet, hurry up, please."

"Okay," I answer shakily.

I wash the brush and put it back in my drawer and I lean my face against the mirror to check my makeup and my hair. I brush a stray hair from my face and I wipe a black smudge off my cheek. I wash my hands and dry them, staring into my brown eyes.

"I love you. You're my best friend," I tell Sloane in the mirror.

"I love you too. You're my best friend," Sloane in the mirror tells me.

I giggle, smooth out my skirt, and exit the bathroom to find her leaning against the hallway wall, popping a gum bubble. I hold out my hand and she gives me a stick of gum. I follow her out of the hallway and through the living room, past our stepfather asleep in his chair who stirs briefly as I close the door behind us. I follow her footsteps like prints in snow as we walk to Sloane's friend (my friend too) Jericho's car. We get into the back set despite there being no one in the front, and Jericho turns around and smiles at us.

Shopping is really difficult. I have to get two of everything. If I forget, I have to toss it or find another. Sloane doesn't have a problem with it, but I catch her wearing clothes she bought one of in her bedroom sometimes when she thinks I'm busy. She looks extremely drop dead in these outfits and I wish she had thought of me more than she did. Sometimes when Sloane is at work I wear the outfits too. Recently I tried on her bright purple short skirt and blushed when I lifted my legs and saw the soft curve of my buttocks underneath and the blue panties between. It's impossible to fall out of love with her. Everything is in my reach. Only the act itself evades me. I position her in dozens of poses and in hundreds of photos pinned up in my closet. I can make her do anything to herself, anything at all...

Sloane pops her gum and looks over at me with her searching eyes. I can barely see what's going on, and I moan and ask her to put on the glasses because it's too late to put in contacts.

"I thought you were putting in contacts in the bathroom?"

"I couldn't do it. I'm too squeamish, I told you."

"I didn't bring the glasses."

"I did."

"You did it on purpose, you didn't even try to put on contacts. You probably just fucked yourself in there."

"No. I really tried."

"You're the younger one today."

"No."

"Yes."

"Put on the glasses."

"You're not going to dominate your way out of this one." She smiles sardonically, taking the fake glasses and putting them on. I put on mine and the details of her face smooth from fuzzy bliss into crisp painful detail. Everyone is more beautiful with the beauty of blurred skin. "The older sister would be able to put in contacts."

"I only have to because you wouldn't stop jabbing my eyes."

"Is that true?" Jericho laughs, his face turned to the road and an arm in the passenger seat, turning over a credit card between his fingers.

"It's not," Sloane sneers. "She's lying."

"You're lying! You did!"

"You sound like a baby sister."

"You girls sound like a sphinx riddle."

"One of us is perfect and the other needs glasses."

I punch Sloane in the shoulder and she rolls her eyes and mouths, "Ow!"

"Do you still need to lose weight or can we eat somewhere fun before we go?" Jericho asks.

Sloane purses her lips and shakes her head. I feel suddenly sad.

"We still need to lose weight," I smile. "I messed us up with an ice cream taste test last week."

Sloane squeezes my hand and smiles gratefully.

"Smoothie place again," Jericho says.

I swoon at Sloane and stare at her bright pink lips until she punches me back.

Jericho pays for the smoothies and insists we don't pay him back despite how anxious he looked that his card would be rejected. Sloane laughs when he stops too hard and my face crashes into the back of the passenger seat. I stop frowning when she fixes my glasses and curves them back into place. My glasses are always slightly crooked because one of my eyes is worse than the other - this is, ostensibly, why Sloane doesn't like her glasses, because she says it betrays which is which. I've offered to make fake glasses that match, but she always tells me it would be easier if I could get over it and wear the contacts.

Sometimes I really don't like her.

In the mall, Sloane wanders into the shoe store while Jericho and I follow. He leers at her legs in her skirt and looks at me repeatedly as he does so. I cross my arms and refuse to say anything.

"What color panties is she wearing?" He taps my shoulder gently.

Pink.

"How should I know?" I murmur.

"Because you're wearing them too."

I purse my lips and say nothing.

"If you don't tell me, I'm going to find out from you."

"I'm not going to tell."

"I'll lift your skirt."

"You wouldn't."

"Maybe."

"I know you. I know you wouldn't."

"But I really want to fuck Sloane, and she's busy and you look a lot like her..."

"You're not going to fuck me!" I screech.

"I know, you're a lesbian."

"Sloane is too."

"No, she's not," He laughs.

"She is, she just uses men."

"Sure. You aren't exactly the same. That's a good thing, by the way."

"It's not, and we are." I snap. "You're not going to fuck me or her now. I'll tell her not to."

"You can tell her but she always gets handsy when we drink."

"Maybe she'll get handsy with me."

"That's not bad for me."

"Eww."

"It's not. You think she's hot."

"She is."

"I think she is too. I think you're hot."

"I know you do."

"But you're sure you're a lesbian?"

"Yes."

"I just keep thinking about fucking both of you."

"Like you have the stamina for that."

"You've seen it, you know I do."

"No." I protest stubbornly.

He laughs, shoves me gently, then walks up to Sloane and surprises her. She recoils, then laughs and kicks his shin. He leans in close and asks her something. She whispers the answer, then grabs a pair of shoes to try. He walks back to me, grinning obscenely.

"What now?" I groan.

"Pink."

"What?"

"They're pink. You and her."

"She's lying."

"Let's find out." He points at her. She sits down to try on the shoes, and her milky legs remain together as she takes off the first one.

"You're a creep." I scoff.

"You're looking too."

She takes off the second shoe, leans across to grab the box, her arms going forward as her legs spread around them. She drags the box back to her, then sits up to untie the first of the new shoes. Her thighs come into view and then the pink panties.

"Liar." He says.

I run my hand along my hip and feel the silky texture of the panties through my thin skirt. "Yeah."

"Serious question, Violet. Would she ever date me?"

"Why do you want to date her? You're already fucking her."

"Because I'm in love with her."

"You're in love with me."

"No, I love you. You're hot and I'd fuck you but I'm not in love with you. I'm in love with Sloane."

So am I.

"She's a lesbian." I say.

"So you say."

"No, I mean- even if she's fucking you that doesn't mean she likes you romantically. Or that she's capable of it."

"What makes you say that?"

Sloane pushes her hair out of her eyes and uses the back of her hand to right her glasses.

"I've never seen her fall in love with anyone."

He frowns and looks away from her to me. "Huh."

"Yeah."

"What about you? Have you been in love?"

"I'm not going to date you."

"Not what I'm asking."

"Yeah, I've been in love."

"Who?"

"You know."

"Really." He clicks his tongue. "That makes sense."

"Does it?" I look up at him.

"It does. She's everything to you."

I blink and look away.

"I wish you'd told me sooner." He sniffles. "I feel like a dick for asking."

"What?"

"Asking you about taking her on a date. When you- you know. I didn't mean that."

"I'm not mad."

"I know. I'll back off. I mean, I'm still going to sleep with her. But I won't ask her out or anything, okay? That way we're both equal, you know. And she can make a choice or not make one."

"Equal?"

"Yeah. She's fucking both of us and she can choose if she wants anything else. We'll just leave it up to her. Assuming she's capable of it like you said."

"We're not- she doesn't sleep with me."

"She doesn't?"

"No."

"Well- why not?"

"Probably because it's wrong."

"Huh?"

"You know. Incest."

"Oh. I always thought it didn't count if it's identical twins."

"Maybe. But she and I have never- we've talked about it. We've never even kissed. I've asked, but she gets sad. I don't know what it is."

"That sounds difficult."

"I'll never be able to get over her."

"You probably could."

"I see her every day."

"If you moved away, then you could."

"I see her every day."

"Oh."

We stare at Sloane in silence as she puts the shoes away and talks to a clerk before strolling back over with a frown.

"They only have one pair in stock," She groans.

"Lame," I say.

Jericho twirls his keys and says he's going to get a burger out of sight so we're not tempted. Sloane points a finger gun at him, then twirls around, grabs my hand, and takes me walking.

"I have to get more exercise," She says. "That's the only differential I can think of. I'm reading in my room and you're dancing in yours."

"I can stop dancing if you want to even it out."

"Not in that direction."

"But you're beautiful," I say, taking her hand with my other and stroking the knuckles. "You really are."

"It's not much of a compliment from you."

"I mean it."

"That's sweet of you, but Jericho isn't going to like it if I gain weight. He's shallow."

"Maybe."

"Not maybe - he is. I've heard him talk about fat girls."

"I have too."

"Just until I can find someone else. Then we can eat ice cream again."

"I can be that for you."

Her breath catches but she keeps walking.

"Please let me be that for you."

"Not right now," She whispers. "Drop it."

We don't end up buying anything, and Jericho drops us off at our house despite Sloane provocatively asking him if we could go to his. We walk through the house and back to the bedrooms. She enters hers and starts taking off her clothes. I lean against the door frame and watch as she pulls her red shirt off to show the pink bra underneath. She slides the skirt down and I see the previously mentioned panties wrapped around the holds of her hips, biting into the underneath of her stomach. She stretches back to reach behind her and take off the bra when she notices me watching.

I stare at her expectantly.

She scowls, "Go look in the mirror!", and slams the door on me. I wobble back to my bedroom and close my door. I hear my stepfather yell at us for slamming a door, and then Sloane opening and slamming her door closed three times in response. I wither to the floor and set my head against the full length mirror. I want to see her naked but I don't have the energy to undress or the desire to act while I finger myself. I stand, move to the closet and look at the wall of Sloane, or- the wall of Violet pretending to be Sloane.

Somehow, everyone prefers her. Somehow, they can tell who is who, and they have a preference.

"Violet!" Sloane screams. "Violet!"

I run to my door, swing it open, and come face to face with her scrunched angry expression.

"Wear," she holds the fake glasses up, and snaps them in half. "The fucking contacts."

She drops the pieces into my hands and storms off.

She's just mad Jericho wasn't in the mood. If she let me help, she'd be happier. I'd always be in the mood for her. I'd be better than him. I'd eat her out for hours, until my tongue fell off.

I spend the next hour repeatedly trying to superglue the fake glasses back together but fail. They keep coming out crooked, but not the same way mine are. I think about just wearing my glasses, just letting them tell us apart, but I feel panic in my chest at the thought- I know no one will ever talk to me again if they know who's who.

I knock on her door. She opens it and lets me in. I know she won't let me sleep in the same bed as her tonight, not after I upset her at the mall.

"What?" She says, sitting cross legged on her bed. She's wearing her loose pajamas, the ones she wears when she gains a bit of weight and spirals out of control about it. Maybe that's why she's so mad. I don't care if she gains weight. I'll gain weight with her. I will.

"I thought you could pick out a pair of glasses you liked." I say. "That way it's less of a compromise. I'm sorry I can't wear the contacts."

"You say you can't but you can. You just don't want to."

"It scares me."

"What is scary about a piece of fucking plastic?"

"You're being mean."

"You're being the younger sister."

"I'm not- I'm really trying. I really want to make it work."

"Then wear the contacts."

"I can't."

"You don't want to."

"I tried. I tried, Sloane. It's too scary."

"I try too, I try really fucking hard to ignore your looks and how you act and every couple weeks you ruin everything and you tell me how bad you want to fuck me like I don't already know, like I didn't already give you an answer-"

"You never answered."

"Mixed signals means 'no'."

"No." I say, stepping forward. She flinches but remains. "You've never said no. You just avoid it. You always avoid it, you must be avoiding it because you don't like the answer and there's no reason you would avoid telling me if you really felt so strongly."

"I feel very strongly about this."

"Then try it with me," I say, pulling myself up on the bed with her. She moves back to allow me up, and doesn't move my hand from her thigh. I clench against her leg and the flesh in my hand feels ecstatic at the touch. "Just try it so you know. So we both know."

"We can't."

"I know we can't but you know we will."

She looks vaguely like she's going to cry.

I reach up and stroke her hair and run my fingers around her ear. I hold my breath in and do my best to keep my breathing level, do everything I can not to betray how excited and nervous I am. Tonight might be it, might be when I find out what she feels like on the inside, what she looks like outside the mirror.

"You're still a virgin, right?" She asks.

I nod.

"Then you probably need practice kissing," she says. "And it's normal that I would help you with that. Since I'm the older sister."

"Yeah." I blink. "I do. Will you help me?"

"I'll help you. Have you ever kissed someone before?"

No.

"Yes," I say.

"Okay," Her hand trembles as she places it on the side of my head. "Okay." She stares at me and her gaze flickers down to my lips. I lean closer and she does too. My hands tighten around her hair and I pull her into me and our lips crash into each other. It's awkward and it feels nothing like kissing the mirror but I like it and I want more. She separates and then comes back in and kisses me with more force. She opens her mouth and breathes in, and I grab a fistful of the blanket underneath us to stop the reeling in my head.

"This is a french kiss, when you use your tongue. I think it's called that," She exhales before licking my lips and then shoving her tongue into my mouth. It swirls around my teeth and then slides across my tongue. I imagine the spit pulling apart like slime as our tongues swirl into each other. She moans and pulls my face closer into hers, until our foreheads are touching. She grabs my shoulder and squeezes it hard. I tremble against her neck and tighten my grip on her hair. She wraps her arm around me and pulls us into an embrace, her legs wrapped around my waist.

I'm delirious. I'm dreaming.

She breaks the fantasy and pulls back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and breathing heavily as she looks at me. I stare back and feel spit drip down from my lips. She reaches out and pulls it away from my face, then licks it off her finger. I reach out and I push my hands against her collarbone and-

That's where she draws the line.

"I like it, okay?" She says. "I just don't think we should."

"Okay," I respond, squeezing her thigh and rubbing her neck. "But if you want to-"

"I know."

"I'm here. I can help you. I want to, okay? I'm here to help. That's why god made me. To help you."

I feel a dim presence in the back of my head.

She's happier now. She won't admit it and I won't tease her so she doesn't revoke our late night meetings. After the kiss, she let me sleep in the bed with her. I got less excited when she put up the pillow wall. She hasn't let me sleep in bed with her since we were young, almost a decade ago. I'm making progress - and it's because I broke Jericho's heart. He's taking time to himself, he texted me and said. Sloane is pent up and she needs me, she needs my tongue in her mouth every night to feel calm. And soon she'll need more, and more, and more, until she can't leave my side. She'll understand that no one knows her better than me, no one could ever make her feel good like I can.

With enough time, she'll marry me.

"I gained another pound," she says, stepping off the scale in the bathroom. I sit on the counter and swing my legs, frowning.

"It's just a pound."

"Weigh yourself."

I step down and onto the scale. The same as last week. She's two pounds heavier than me. You'd never notice looking at us. She's going to let this go to her head.

"Same as yours," I say. "It's the smoothies."

"Let me see."

"It reset." I kick the button on the side with the top of my foot as I step off. She looks down and scowls.

"You're lying. Get back on."

"Look, you're wearing shoes. Take them off."

"I'll take off the shoes but you're getting back up there."

"You need to take off your clothes too, and jewelry, and your hair clips. I'm still in my pajamas."

"You fucking pervert. You're lying, aren't you? You weighed less than me."

"It was the same, I swear. Scales aren't always that accurate, not to the degree you're wanting."

"Then I'll buy another one. Take off your clothes too."

I shrug, pull off my pajama top and slide down my panties. Her gaze flickers across me and she stands still, her gaze stony but her face nervous. I cross my arms across my chest.

"You have to do it too," I whisper.

"It feels like sex," she says so quietly I have to make her repeat it twice.

"It's not. I would know."

"How would you know?"

"Because. Just- I'm cold, okay?"

"Wrap yourself in a towel."

"Why are you just standing there?" I snap. "Just take your clothes off."

"It feels weird."

"You're making it weird. You're being weird."

"It's not my fault!" She wipes her forehead and rubs the hand tightly. "You- you're making me think of you differently. I thought of you as my sister."

"I'm still your sister."

"But you- you're-" She stutters, sighs, and stares down at the tile floor. I bite my lip and watch as she thinks.

Then, she starts to undress.

She pulls the hair clips out, sets them on the counter with black strands attached. She unclips her silver necklace and pools it next to the clips. She sniffles as she reaches down and pulls her shirt up by the hem up and over her head. Her ribs stretch and glean through the thin transparent white skin, above them her breasts pulling up into circles from their resting teardrop shape. She crumples the shirt and tosses it. Her arms fall and her breasts shake down back into gravity. Her stomach crumples with one crease, something I know she hates but I adore. She quickly pulls her pants and panties down in one stroke and kicks them to the side. She covers her pubic hair for one second, then removes her hand and sets it on her hip. She makes eye contact with me for the first time since she started. We're both naked, we're both here, and the door is locked.

"Weigh yourself," she points to the scale.

"I can gain weight."

"I don't want that. Get on."

I drop my arms and step onto the scale. It beeps, and I feel her breath on my shoulder. Her arm clasps my other shoulder tightly, the nails digging in. I lean my head against hers and feel the heat of her cheek. I graze my fingers across her hip-

"Two pounds less than me. Get off," she roughly shoves me off the scale and kicks the reset button. "Fucking liar, fucking pervert."

"You're being mean."

"You lied!"

"You haven't weighed yourself yet."

"Yeah? Fine. Let's see." She steps onto the scale and it beeps and starts loading. I move back to her and grab her hand, wrapping my fingers through hers. She looks over at me with surprise, then swings her head back.

"One pound more," she murmurs.

"See?"

"It's still more."

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" I ask, squeezing her hand and pulling it close to me.

"Yes. I know, you don't have to tell me. But you're not grasping-"

"There's nothing to grasp, it's okay."

"You... aren't... getting... it... one pound now and another next week and another and then Jericho is gone and I'm lonely and we look different. It'll ruin everything!"

"Forget about Jericho, I can take over," I plead. "I'll always love you and how you look."

"It's easy for you to say, you're not gaining weight."

"I'll gain weight to match."

"Stop saying that. We're not getting fat."

"You're sounding like Jericho."

"I'm not- shut up, let go of my fucking hand." She pulls it away and gingerly touches it like it had acid on it a second ago. "You're just- I can't trust anything you say, you're just trying to fuck me. You're not any better than Jericho."

"Fuck you!" I screech. "Go to hell!" I shove my way past her, unlock the door, ignore her suddenly pathetic protest, and slam my door. I hear our stepfather yell across the house, and I slam it closed again in protest.

"Violet?" Sloane says, knocking on my door.

I lock the door, and lean against it, my cold flesh pressing against the smooth white wood.

"If you come out, we can kiss," she whispers.

I shake my head.

I hear her wait for a minute more before leaving and softly closing her door behind her.

I grab the photo of us from my nightstand and crawl into bed with it, covering myself with the blankets and holding it against my chest as I close my eyes and try to sleep through the guilt coursing through my eyes and the back of my throat.

Jericho passes the wine bottle to Sloane, who drinks more than she should, and she passes it to me, and I have to drink the same that she did. She makes me drink more when I cough and stop, and Jericho laughs at me. I'm not good at drinking like she is, and I don't know how she got good at it.

"We should stop," I burp. "To lose weight."

"I just won't eat tomorrow," Sloane smiles. "It's fine, my little hummingbird."

I wrap my arms around her and squeeze her to me in a hug. She laughs and hugs me back, setting her hand on my hair and ruffling it.

"Give me the bottle," Jericho motions with his hand. "Give it."

"You're lucky you can drink as much as you want," I smile from Sloane's armpit.

"Or as little as I want."

"How much are you going to drink?"

"I don't like leaving open bottles. I'll finish this one."

"You know." Sloane licks her lips, looks down at me with a giggle, then flips her hair with a hand and turns to Jericho. "You look like you've gained weight."

He guffaws, then takes a drink of the bottle, a long and difficult one from the looks of it. "No, I don't. You're not going to get to me that easily."

"Look, we've been honest about us. Just thought we should tell you."

"You're mean," Jericho smiles. "You're a very, very, mean girl."

"No!" I smile and laugh. "She's nice, she's the nicest woman in the whole world."

"Don't say things like that," Sloane smirks, smacking my face gently.

"Harder," I laugh.

She hits my face with a hard slap and I gasp and blush.

Jericho raises his eyebrows and takes another drink.

"Again," I whisper. "I bet you won't do it again."

Sloane hits me and I fall back into the couch cushion. "Oh, fuck..." I groan, rubbing my face. She slaps my face again and I screech, throwing my hands up. She throws her leg over me, and leans down, grabbing my face and squishing my chin and lips with her hand.

"You deserve it," she sneers.

"Yeah?"

"I should hit you harder."

"You should."

"I should give you a black eye - then we wouldn't match."

I look up at her and run my hands along her arm.

"I'm going to beat you when we get home. I'm gonna punch your thighs over and over until you can't walk."

"Do I deserve that?"

"Yes."

"I'm so wet," I gasp, breaking free of her hand and smashing my lips against hers. I take a breath and say, "Do anything you want to me, you can do anything you want."

She pulls herself off me and stands up shakily. She turns to look at Jericho, who opens his sticky, sleepy eyes and blinks at her.

"I'm going to get some water," she murmurs.

"Yell if you fall," he waves his hand.

Sloane stumbles off and I sit up, rubbing my face. I squeeze my hand between my thighs and sigh, closing my eyes and reliving it.

"I think she might have not meant it that way, Violet," Jericho says cautiously, like he's picking words from a dictionary.

"I don't care how she meant it. It's still hot."

"I didn't say it wasn't. What did you mean when you said she can't fall in love?"

"She just hasn't. Not once."

"What if she never told you?"

I lean forward with a grin and whisper, "I've read her diary. She hasn't."

He sucks in air through his teeth and shakes his head. "That's not good."

"It's fine, she'll fall in love with me."

"No, you. You're not good for doing that."

"It's not- it's fine."

"I don't think it is. Does she know?"

"Of course not. Don't tell her. She'll be mad."

"I'm not going to. But I'd feel bad if I were you."

"Well, I don't, and I don't appreciate you fucking with me. I didn't do anything wrong."

"You're not the same person," He says with an exasperated gasp. "I don't think you know that."

"Shut up," I snap. "You don't know what you're talking about. We have telepathy. We're in love. You can't understand it."

"You're just sisters. The identical part doesn't change that."

I punch my thigh and stand up. I walk through his house to the kitchen and find Sloane leaning against the sink. She's running her fingertips across her arm and circling goosebumps. Her mouth is moving gently and she's whispering to herself. She sees me come in, makes eye contact, and continues. I move close and watch her, controlling my breathing so I'm quiet. She moves her index finger in a circle across her wrist, opens her hand, and starts tracing the lines on her palm.

She looks up at me, then smiles and slowly falls to her knees in front of me. I extend my arms to help her up but she bats them away and places one palm on my stomach and another on my hip.

"I was really mean to you," she says in her breathy voice, slurred and slimy. "I'm sorry."

"We were just playing, it's okay. It's okay."

"Let me make it up to you," she smiles, dragging her palm from my hip to between my legs. My right leg shakes and I nearly fall. "I can help you too." She places both hands on my hips and places her mouth against my thin leggings, her tongue poking out into the soft fabric and leaking spit into them and the boy short panties underneath. I groan and bite down on one of my fingernails. She drags her tongue up against me and licks at my skin underneath, biting at the fabric and squeezing my hips and thighs with her hand.

She pulls away suddenly and falls back against the counter. She laughs and covers her red face.

"I'm embarrassed. I'm sorry," she says with the confusing tone of someone that could be laughing hard or sobbing. "I've never been with a woman. And I just remembered you're my sister."

I kneel down and take her hand, setting myself down next to her. I lean my head against hers and sigh.

"It's okay." I shrug. "It's fine."

Jericho drops us off at home and we go to her room, quietly closing the door. She undresses in front of me without the shame of last time, and crawls into bed. I pull my clothes off and try to find a pillow to put between us, but she tells me to get into bed without it. I slither in next to her and pull the blankets over us. She wraps her arms around my chest and hugs me close to her. Her lips brush against mine and then rest on my nose. She kisses it, and lowers my face so her lips are pushed into my forehead.

"I love you," she whispers into my brain. "I love you so much. Let's be sisters forever."

"Always, always," I whisper back, running my hands across her shoulder and back. "You're my best."

She smiles and moans with a pleasant, "mhm-hmm", and squeezes me to her tighter. I touch her hips with my hands and trace the lines leading down to her pelvis, always stopping short. I squeeze her thigh and press my hand against her stomach. I reach between the tangled mess of our limbs and find my way to her breasts, and I squeeze and pinch and pull at them until she groans and gently takes my hand away. I rest it back on her thigh and pull her hips into mine. I moan and close my eyes in the soapy pleasure of her warmth.

When I wake up, she's in the bathroom weighing herself before work.

"Two pounds," she snaps when I come in, rubbing my eyes and searching through the drawers for my glasses. "Fucking water weight. I knew I shouldn't have drank. He didn't even want to fuck me. He doesn't want to anymore. He can tell."

"No he can't," I murmur. "Do you know where my glasses are?"

"They're next to the bed. Weigh yourself first."

I yawn and step onto the scale. "My head hurts," I exclaim.

"You're a pound heavier. We need to lose weight."

"I told you."

"I know. After work I'm going to exercise. You are too."

"I don't want to. Let's just stay two pounds heavier. I'll eat ice cream while you're at work."

"I said I don't want that. I know you don't care but I do. Please help me. You said you would help me."

"I meant that I would- would- fine. We'll exercise when you get home."

"Thanks, angel." She kisses my cheek and ruffles my hair, then leaves me in the bathroom, still standing on the scale and rubbing my eyes.

I find my glasses and get dressed, picking out an outfit from the clothes that Sloane bought for herself. I'm in the kitchen, eating the same yogurt cup Sloane is going to eat when she gets to work, when my stepfather says hello and stares at me in the way that tells me he's going to have a conversation with me.

"You and Sloane are getting along," he observes.

"We always get along."

He nods and exits the kitchen. I thought it would go on longer. I always think he's going to be angrier. We haven't paid rent once and he never says anything. I finish my yogurt and I exit the kitchen.

I masturbate in the mirror with the brush, sleep, finger myself while holding the shirt she wore yesterday, eat the second yogurt for today, fuck myself in her bed, sleep, and wake up to the sound of the door slamming closed and her angry glare at me.

"What the fuck?" She snaps.

"I didn't do anything," I say, covering myself with the blankets.

"I saw the two missing yogurts - you fucking ate? I didn't eat anything today! I told you I wasn't going to eat today!"

"You were serious?"

"Yes! Yes! Why aren't you taking this seriously?" She sits on the bed and grabs my wrist forcefully.

"Ow," I whimper.

"I don't care. You fucked this up."

"I can throw it up."

"Don't start that again. You're exercising with me, and you're going to pray that this doesn't mess us up. It's been months since we were out of sync like this. Jesus, that must have been at least 200 calories."

"You didn't tell me. You said it when we were drunk and you didn't mention it this morning."

"I did! I told you after you got off the scale."

"No."

"Stop playing dumb," she twists my wrist and I cry out.

"You're being mean!"

"Don't pout! You're not a baby!" She snaps, letting go of my hand and standing up. "You make me so fucking mad."

"You're just hungry, you should-"

"Shut up- shut the fuck up." She holds out her hand like she's going to hit me. I inch forward and try to grab her other hand. She pulls her hand away, tells me not to touch her, and angrily begins sorting through her closet as I watch. She turns back to me. "Put my clothes back. Those aren't yours."

I crawl out of bed and undress, folding the clothes and setting them on the flat chest at the end of her bed. I creep forward and sit next to her on the floor as she searches through her drawer for leggings.

I gently hug her and set my head against hers. She sighs and doesn't resist, but doesn't lean in either.

"I can help," I offer, stroking her hand with my thumb. "I'm sorry you don't feel good."

"I'm so fat," she chokes out. "We won't look the same."

"We'll always look the same. I promise."

"You can't make that promise. You can't."

"I can, I can." I soothe.

"It's one thing if it's just glasses," she sniffles. "I can wear the fake ones. You can wear contacts. It's not a big deal. But if I'm not the same size as you, if we don't fit in the same clothes- what's the point?"

"I love you, Sloane." I coo. "I'll always love you. You'll have me forever."

"I love you too, Violet."

I turn her head towards me and kiss her, stroking her hair and pulling her into me. She wraps around me and we lay down, her leg between mine. She pulls her mouth from mine and moves it to my neck, licking it with her tongue and then kissing it slowly. I exhale and lean into her, my hands wandering across her collarbone and down to the cup of her bra. I squeeze it and feel my hips move up into her. She sucks on my neck and bites at the skin, breathing hard and squeezing my shoulder until it feels like her fingers are scraping the bone. She bites with more force, scraping at my neck and pulling me up into her teeth. I pull her bra cup over her breast and reach my hand under to grope the bulging flesh that oozes into my hand and radiates warmth and sticky sweat. I moan too audibly and she covers my mouth and continues biting and sucking at my neck. I breathe in the scent of her skin in my nostrils and I close my eyes and grind against her leg. She holds the back of my head with one hand now, cradling me. She bites too hard and I feel an elastic snap and a warm washing sensation in my stomach and a flood in my head. I gasp and fall back as she sits up and wipes blood from her mouth with wide, frightened eyes.

"Did you come?" She whispers, looking down at the blood on her hand. "Oh my god, I did it too hard, I'm so sorry, are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Let me- I'm gonna get you a bandage."

I nod and sit up, feeling the pain in my neck grow steadily as the pleasure and soapy warm bubbles in my stomach wander away. I squeeze my eyes shut and groan as I feel my neck ache and sting. She sits down next to me and pushes my head to the side to see the wound. She wipes at it with a damp cloth, then applies the bandage.

"I'm sorry I think I was just-" she swallows and tilts her head. "I was upset because I was hungry. And I wished I could eat yogurt with you. I wish I was like you."

"You are like me," I smile. "It's just a temporary set back. Did you get a new scale?"

"Jericho took me to get one. This one has decimals."

"I don't know if that's good."

"I'm not going to obsess over it."

"Okay."

"Did I hurt you?"

"I liked it."

"But is it bad?"

"I don't know. I can't see it. How's it look?"

"The bandage looks okay. But you have a lot of suck bruises."

"Cute," I grin sleepily.

"You're cute," she laughs. "You're so cute and you make me so mad and I'm sorry I took it out on you."

"You'll feel better if you use me more."

"I know."

"Okay."

"Okay."

She still makes me exercise but she eats her two cups of yogurt first. We play basketball outside for a while and then we go on a walk around the neighborhood. I show her a butterfly I see in the grass and she tries to catch it for me. It makes me giggle and smile and I hold her hand as we walk back. She looks nervous but she lets me.

"Sisters hold hands all the time," I say.

"Sisters don't do what we do. Or what you want to do."

"You don't know that. And we're different. Everyone thinks so. It's not wrong if it's us, if we're girls."

"I don't know what that means."

"I do."

Sloane takes a shower when we're inside but she won't let me join her. I surprise her outside the shower and kiss her neck and chest but she says I'm gross and forces me into the shower first. I fuck myself in the shower thinking of her and touching the bruises on my neck. I get out and I still feel insatiable so I find her in her bedroom and hold her and smell her shampoo, the same one I use. She lets me cling to her as she reads a book, and only makes me get up when she needs to get water.

When she gets back she tilts my neck and looks at the bruises and the bandage, damp from the shower, and purses her lips. I grab at her breasts and she lets me as she stares guiltily.

At night she doesn't force a pillow wall but she does ask to sleep in my bedroom. I change the sheets and organize everything and turn on the purple fairy lights. She comes in wearing a thin nightgown I don't have a duplicate of. I climb into bed with her and dim the lights but leave them on. She strokes my face before turning on her back and letting me make out with her neck and breasts.

"This is so aimless," she says. I continue as if I didn't hear, until she grabs my hair and pulls my head up. "What are we doing?" she asks, her eyes wide.

"We're loving each other."

"It's just lust."

I frown and say, "I know you love me."

"But where is this going to go?"

Marriage.

"Wherever you want it to go."

"You would be happy if I slept with you and with Jericho? And anyone else?"

"I don't care how you use men. I know I'm your only woman."

"You are right now."

"You can't have other women."

"You want a relationship?"

"I want to be your only woman."

"That's a girlfriend."

"I want to be your girlfriend."

"Is that all you want?"

"No."

"What else do you want?"

"I want to eat you out."

She smiles sardonically. "Of course you do."

"I want you in the morning, I want you when the sun sets, I want you to be my one," I grin. "You're my only and my best."

"I'm your only and best sister."

"Maybe Mom had other kids."

"Maybe Dad had other kids."

"I don't think he did," I giggle. "I think it's just us."

"It is just us," she smiles contentedly. "It's always just going to be us."

"See?" I say as I stroke the bone in the middle of her chest. "I told you."

"Even if I wanted to leave you- and I don't- I couldn't. I'd see you every day."

"I said something similar the other day."

"I know. Jericho told me."

"That rat."

"It's not news to me. I've always known how you feel."

"Do you feel the same yet?"

She frowns, then looks away for a second before turning back to me with a puzzled expression. "I've always felt the same."

"Then why wait this long?"

"Because it felt wrong."

"You think it's wrong?" I croak.

"Not now. A little. But I couldn't until now. I still can't. I don't even know if I like women."

"You do."

"How do you know that?"

"You're me. I'm a lesbian."

"I'm not you. And I'm not a lesbian."

"Why not?"

"I sleep with men."

"But you don't love them."

"I don't love women either."

"You love me."

"But not because you're a woman."

"I'm your girlfriend..."

"You are? Is that what we are?"

"I'd like to be."

"Will you be my girlfriend?" She says it fast and blinks quickly too many times.

"Yes!" I squeal and burrow into her chest, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin and body gel.

She strokes my hair and kisses my head over and over. I hug her tight until she groans and tells me to let go so she can breathe. I let her fall back to the bed and jump on top of her, smashing my lips against hers and pulling her nightgown down and off her shoulders.

"Fuck me, fuck me, Sloane," I moan and press my face into the side of her head. I whisper in her ear, "Please fuck your girlfriend."

She grabs my hair and pulls my head back. My neck cranes and I'm looking down my nose at her face, both confused and angry, the very model of conflicted temptation. I smile at her and reach down with my hands to pull her nightgown further. She drags my head closer and begins kissing the bruises and the bandage on my neck while I slide the gown to her thighs.

"You're so hot," I say. "I've wanted you to fuck me for so long. I've needed you so badly."

"I'm ashamed for you," she whispers as she roughly pulls my panties off and through my legs. I laugh and try to help but she stops me and pushes my face down. She catches them from my foot and throws them off the bed. "Is this what you are?" she asks, her eyes big and angry, when she pulls my face close to hers. I try to bite her nose and she smacks my face hard.

"This is why I hate you," she says.

She pushes her hand down my stomach, between my legs, spreads me apart and roughly shoves her way in. I put my hands on my face and exhale fast at the pain and the pleasure and the surreal sensation of a dream coming true in the worst way possible. She pulls her fingers out of me and then pushes them back in, as far as they'll go, stretching the inside of me and making my breath catch and my face revolt.

"Is this what we are?" She says, holding my chin so I make eye contact with her utterly conflicted and raging face. She pulls my glasses off and they clatter on the nightstand. She holds my face again and says, "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," I rub my temple and squeeze my eyes shut.

"Look at me and tell me this is what you want."

"This is what I want."

"Open your eyes. Say it."

"This is what I- ow, ow- this is what I- uh, what I want, Sloane, I want you-"

"This is what you are."

"This is what I am."

She roughly fucks me, pushing in further and further and faster as I cry out and grab for her face, the pillow behind her, the blankets underneath us, a hand slapped against the wall, her nails down my cheek and fingers splayed into a bruised neck, nails tearing off a bandage and pressing into a scab, my chin forced forward and my neck kinked-

A rushing source of water in my stomach that's making my head fuzzy and my chest feel good.

"Yes, yes, please-" I tell her, gasping as she slaps me again. "I love you, I love you so much."

"I love you, Violet."

She feels me getting closer and keeps hitting me, slapping my face over and over and slamming the side of her fist into my shoulder.

"That hurts-"

"This is what you want."

A sharp pin prick of emotion in her voice as she says it.

"Ouch, ouch-"

"This is-"

So far, the happiest I've ever been. I've been down.

I orgasm and clench around her fingers in me. I grab the sides of her head and lean down, my forehead against her, crying with pleasure. She kisses me and pulls her fingers out, putting them first in her mouth, swirling her tongue around them, and then gingerly touching my tongue and sliding them further back. I close my mouth around her and close my eyes and moan in pain.

She looks at me flatly and says, "Now we're both whores."

Here it comes.

Jericho finally fucks her on his couch when we drink with him again, after he spends an hour convincing Sloane to not worry about her weight. He makes me hold hands with her and take off my shirt and bra while she bounces on him and moans obscenely. I take my hands and place them on her hips and I force her down onto him harder and I pretend she's riding me instead until he groans and comes inside her. She breathes in deep, sits up straight and pulls her hair out of her eyes. The light of the ceiling fan rotates behind her head and illuminates her pointy teardrop breasts. She slides up and off and I make her sit on my face and lick the come out of her. She doesn't let me eat her out after.

We buy thin dresses and wear them without underwear and flash strangers in the mall and I make out with Sloane while she sucks Jericho off in the back of his car. He's not allowed to touch me but I tease him and tell him to imagine it's me that's he's about to deepthroat. He does, closing his eyes and making Sloane gag and her fingers flail and clench around my thigh so tight that I feel tears pull out of my eyes and fog up my glasses. She comes up for air and spit dangles off her lips and nose. I lick it off her and he comes on our faces and we make out and eat it while he watches and taps his fingers against his thigh nervously.

"Go back to sleep," Sloane tells me before continuing to lick my clitoris until I wake up orgasming into her mouth and blinking my sticky eyes.

I count the photos in my closet and feel shame.

Sloane doesn't let me eat her out or finger her or even touch her without underwear on but she lets me bruise her entire chest and neck so badly that we have to navigate a horrible conversation with our stepfather about what we do in our free time. Afterwards we make out and I press on her bruises in the shower before she pushes my head into her scented pillow and fucks me with a strap on that's too big.

Sloane gets too drunk and I have to match her and I end up so inebriated that I let Jericho come in my mouth after Sloane does all the hard work. I swallow it without thinking and Sloane groans and says I was supposed to spit it into her mouth but she's handling the alcohol better than me lately. All I want to do is cry when I drink and when I cry Sloane hits me harder and tells me I'm the one who wanted this.

Sloane buys me flowers for Valentines and we have dinner at a fancy restaurant and we hold hands under the table. Later that night she kisses all my bruises and tells me I'm her pretty, perfect, girlfriend.

I don't let Sloane drink anything because she's gained three pounds and won't stop whining about it, but she still fucks Jericho anyway and since I'm not in the mood I leave the room and watch a spider spinning a web between blades of grass in the backyard of his house. Another spider climbs onto my foot and I scream and crush it and go back inside to find them still fucking so I head to the kitchen and eat three pints of ice cream and never tell Sloane. I don't gain anything and she reaches four pounds more than me.

Sloane switches us to low fat yogurt and starts exercising for two hours a day, even on days when she works. She doesn't make me exercise anymore but I always watch her in her tight leggings and I sometimes fuck myself with her strap on while she does and she never cares or notices. She doesn't even make me weigh myself anymore. We both know it's not the same.

Sloane won't let Jericho come in her or in her mouth anymore because she's convinced the calories from it are what is making her fat. Jericho doesn't care as long as I do it for her. I don't care as long as Sloane kisses me after. I've reached the point where his semen reminds me of her and I hate myself for it.

I try to cut my wrist in the shower but I can't do it.

Sloane feels too weak from not eating and won't fuck me and I complain to Jericho and he asks me to get burgers with him. I don't tell Sloane where I'm going and she doesn't care. Jericho and I have a nice conversation and I miss her so much that I say I'll give him a blowjob as long as he's quiet and doesn't say anything. He agrees but he can't come because of a new antidepressant he's started. I get so desperate that I tell him to fuck me and I lay down in the back of his car in the parking lot and he's got his penis laying against my clitoris, sliding tightly up and down me with wet sounds, when he asks me, "Are you sure? I thought you were a lesbian." I hyperventilate and start crying and he doesn't do it, he just holds me in his arms and pats my hair and tells me it's going to be okay. He gives me one of his as needed anti-anxiety meds and lets me fall asleep in his arms in the fast food parking lot. When I wake up I beg him not to tell Sloane and he promises.

Sloane makes fun of me for being skinnier than her and hits me non-sexually for the first time, after I roll my eyes at her. I cry and break up with her for the first time and we don't talk for days. She never apologizes but I come back anyway and we never mention it again and she never hits me again but I never forgive her.

We stop having sex and Jericho drifts away from us after he starts dating a girl we met once at a park. Sloane is miserable and keeps gaining weight. She weighs six pounds more than me and eats 2 low-fat yogurts a day. I work her shifts for her most of the time now. She sits in bed and doesn't even read, just stares at the wall and taps her fingers against her thigh. Sometimes she scratches and bites herself when I'm at work but I don't try to stop her anymore.

She doesn't get me anything for our birthday even though I got her a new scale, flowers, a signed copy of her favorite book, colored pencils, stickers, stamps, and a lingerie set just for her with no duplicate. She accepts the gifts and seems happy for a couple minutes before she gets back in bed and moans and falls asleep.

I hear her masturbate and whisper my name late at night but it sounds like she's crying so I don't help her. I go back to my room and I finger myself and I study the sensation of it as I do, my fingers sliding in and out of wet smooth muscle, slick moisture gathering around the base of my index finger. I close my eyes and imagine Sloane feeling just like this and I orgasm and I whisper her name but it feels empty and pointless. I think about calling Jericho but I don't. He hasn't talked to either of us in weeks. Sloane hasn't slept with me in just as long and she only talks to me when I bring her yogurt and when we weigh ourselves.

I eat ice cream every night and I don't watch my calories and I don't bother to eat the same as her because I feel like I'll die if I do. I sit in the living room with my stepfather and we watch tv and eat ice cream. We don't say anything but he's the only other family I have and sometimes I want to lean down in front of him and rub my hands across the crotch of his jeans and slowly take his penis out and place it on my tongue but I don't. I eat ice cream and I don't say anything and he doesn't either and sometimes Sloane comes out. I've stopped trying to hide that I'm eating a tub of ice cream every couple days and she's stopped pretending it matters. She weighs seven pounds more than me now.

I fucking hate her.

Here it comes.

I watch Sloane from the living room as she enters the kitchen and grabs the same knife I tried to use to kill myself in the shower. I set my ice cream down quietly on the lid so it doesn't leave a stain and I try to look calm as I walk behind her and watch her enter the bathroom and gently close the door behind her. I listen at the door as she rustles around the counters before turning on the faucet and running the water. I hear more rustling as the water continues before it's finally turned off. There's a sound of sloshing water as she steps into the tub. I quietly open the door and step into the steam.

She's in the water, holding the knife above her wrist. Her stomach still has the same fold it always had. She doesn't look like she's gained any weight at all. She looks the same. I turn to look in the mirror and I see her look back at me, narrowed eyes and pursed, dehydrated lips. I move my gaze back to her and see the knife shaking above the blue veins in her thin wrist. I look down at the same wrist on my arm and then back. The knife tremors and then moves.

I lunge forward and grab her arm, stopping the contact. I slide on the wet tile and my knee crashes into the side of the tub. I grunt and bite my tongue in pain and her arm slams into the wall of the shower and she turns to look at me with horror and surprise.

"Please don't stop me," she cries, tears mixing with the droplets on her face. I stabilize and pull myself up, staring at her frizzy, dry, hair. I let my tongue out from between my teeth and I open my mouth and sigh, staring at the contrast between the soaking girl and the arid black hair, the same hair, my hair.

I reach across with my other hand and gently pull the knife out of her hand. She begins to sob as I do and she lets herself slide down into the hot water, until it's up to her chin. She cries and squeezes her eyes like she's trying to force the tears out faster.

"You look like I want to," she says, reaching out a dripping hand to touch my face. "You move like I want to."

"You are me," I grit my teeth and set the knife on the toilet lid. "I look like you."

She shakes her head. "I'm hideous. I'm fat. I'm so fat."

"You look the same. You fit in all your clothes."

"No, no, no-"

"You do. You're the same."

"No."

"It's gone to your boobs, or to your organs, or somewhere, you haven't changed at all, you're the same and you're me and I'm you. We're the same. We wear the same clothes. We eat the same food."

"We don't weigh the same," she says with total despair, waving her hand and scattering water across us. "And you have those-" she taps the glasses on my face. "And one is fine but two is too much and soon it'll be three and you'll be gone, you'll have slipped away from me. We'll never be the same again, Violet. We're changing. We tried, we did our best. For twenty two years we tried. But biology has other plans." Her lip trembles and she reaches out and gently cups my face. I flinch at her touch and stare back at her. "You always thought you were the worse one, for your glasses, for being a virgin, for being a lesbian - it was me, Violet. I'm the evil twin. I've been the worst sister you could ever have. And I- I- and a terrible girlfriend. I'm terrible to you."

"I love you."

"I love you so much. You're my best."

"You're my only."

"Please kill me," she whimpers, the tears falling again.

"I can't live without you," I cry, clasping her hand with both of mine and leaning over the tub. "I can't live."

"You'll never be without me. You'll never get over me, remember? You'll see me every day."

"Not like that," I shake my head. "Not enough."

"I don't want to see us change. I want us to always be the same. I want to die now, while I'm pretty like you."

"You're always going to be pretty. You're me, yeah? And you're going to always look like me. You'll always be pretty."

"No. You'll always be pretty. I won't."

"That's not true."

"Kill me. You can be the one everyone likes. You can have a real girlfriend."

"I have you."

"I'm not enough. I'm not real, I'm just your reflection."

I set my head on the tub wall and cry, shaking and thinking of picking out our first bras together, of our first kiss in her room months ago.

"Make it look like a suicide," she sniffles. "Make it look like you did it."

I look up at her and wipe my eyes.

"You'll have to wear contacts. You can be Sloane now. You can be skinny and pretty. You can make me a lesbian."

I shake and lean against the tub wall for support. "I don't know what I am."

"You're Sloane," she smiles weakly. "You're Sloane and I'm Violet. I'll die, but we'll both live. You'll be more."

"I don't want to be Sloane. I don't want to be her."

"You're already Sloane. You're already Violet. I'm nothing."

I set my cheek against her hand and listen to the water shift and churn around her legs. She rubs her thumb against my face and we sit, the water reflecting into the tile around us. I feel the knife calling to me from behind my head.

"I'm getting cold," she says quietly.

I nod, sniffle, and lean forward to kiss her. My arms wobble as I pull myself up on the wall and my lips connect with hers. The salty taste of tears leaks into our mouths.

"Can I feel you?" I ask in a whisper. "Please? One time before you go?"

She nods, and takes my hand. She guides it below into the water, towards her spreading thighs. My sleeve catches in the water and floats like a jellyfish. She pulls me down, down, past her swirling pubic hair and into the fleshy expanse. My fingers glide along her clitoris and down below, between folds and into her. She smiles and stares at me, her fingers gliding along my jaw. I push my way in and feel the wet smooth muscle, slick moisture gathering around the base of my index finger and floating away as it comes out. I feel a terrible pressure in my head and a creeping horror in my throat as she moans and gasps and clutches my hand tight. She clenches her thighs together and orgasms and I realize.

She feels exactly like me.

She kisses me, opens her eyes, and reaches down for the knife. I watch her, hold her hand as she drags the blade across both wrists. She drops the knife into the red water swirling with mucus and tears and I grab her hands and cry and push my forehead against hers. I wait and wait and the tears keep sliding out of my face even as the pain in my temples grows and my lips chap.

She falls back and I open my eyes and see her limp head against the shower wall. I choke and grab her face.

"Sloane? Baby?"

Her dead eyes look away into the water.

I stand up, shivering and clutching my wet red hands against my shoulders. I look into the mirror and see her.

I feel like more.