She was already scratching at the door when I locked the bolt in place.

Furious, desperate. Dangerous.

Shaking, covered in sweat, I let myself slide to the floor as I struggled to catch a breath.

“Nightmare,” I whispered to myself, barely making a sound as I choked on panic.

It had to be a nightmare. I must’ve fallen asleep on the train again, and I’ll wake up with a kink in my neck for the mile walk home like always.

I tried to forgot the knot that had already formed before I stepped out of the station.

She was kicking the door at that point, rhythmic thwacks that didn’t even come close to splintering wood.

It wasn’t her physicality that left me frozen on that floor, nor was it the horrific threats that she bellowed through the door.

It was her face.

Well, our face.

The darkness was heavy that night, weighing down like a fog under dim street lights, and I didn’t see her until we were eye to eye.

My twin.

Well, maybe twin isn’t the right word; twins have some differences. Maybe a better word would be clone.

Exactly alike, down to the freckle, down to the hair.

Except for the look on her face.

I was frozen in shock, her dark eyes holding me in place, and for a second we shared a look of curiosity, a moment of wonder.

Her eyes dragged along my body, leaving trails of white hot scrutiny.

Her face dropped into something else then, something darker.

Disgust.

Cruelty laced every line in her face, lips pulled down into a twisted snarl.

A rage almost animalistic radiated from her, choking me in its cloud of arid venom. Hot, vapid, thick.

So when she reached for me, I ran.

——

She must’ve been getting tired by the time I awoke, because her threats had turned to silence and her pounding had ceased.

All that remained was her heavy breathing and a gentle pressure against my back, indicating her small frame was pressed against the door as well.

It felt strange, this closeness, with nothing but a block of wood between us.

Like a tiger contained in a chained fence. You can feel it’s power, it’s force, but that simple layer of protection keeps you comforted. Curious.

Maybe that’s why I started talking to her, fed by that same primal curiosity, but before I knew it the words had left my mouth.

“What do you want?” I murmured, half hoping she wouldn’t hear.

I felt her weight shift on the door.

“I want to kill you,” she whispered back, rage making her voice tremble.

My heart thumped harshly in my chest,

“Why?”

She sighed, as if I should already know the answer.

“Because I hate you!” She cried, slamming her fists against the door once more.

“I hate the way you look-,” THUMP.

“I hate the way you think-,” THUMP.

“I hate every word that comes out of your mouth!” THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

She was weeping now, through fury or pain or sadness. She moaned with agony as she cried, pounding the door weakly.

“I don’t want to be you anymore,” she wailed.

“You’re selfish and you’re hurtful and you’re ugly, inside and out. You are the reason for everything bad in your life and you deserve all of it.

You are the pain in my chest when I look in the mirror, the shame in my bones when I speak with your voice,” she quivered.

“I wish you were dead,” she continued in a shaky voice.

“I wish I was dead,” she whispered.

I stayed silent for a long time.

I’d heard this all before, it was a loop that played in my head when I was low. It was a static that buzzed behind my brain when I was high.

And I had believed it all, until I looked at the girl I was crushing.

I listened to her cry, felt the anguish that I’d been causing her every time I cursed my own name.

“I think,” I started, voice hoarse. I cleared my throat and started again.

“I think you’re beautiful,” I stated clearly. Tears ran down my face, but I kept my voice even. She needed to hear me, and I needed to say it.

“I think you’re brave, and caring, and thoughtful,” I continued, even as she started to sob louder.

I raised my voice over her cries.

“I think you love people the way you want to be loved, and you make everyone you meet feel special and whole,” I shouted, beginning to stand.

“I think you do your best with what you have, through all your flaws, through all your hardships, through all the doubt,” I screamed, turning to face the door.

“You can hate me!” I cried, clutching my aching chest with my hand. I could almost feel her do the same.

“You can hate me,” I said, quieter now.

“But I will love every inch of you for the rest of my life, and I’m sorry.”

I snapped the lock, grabbed the handle, and opened the door.

We stood suspended in that moment for what seemed like forever, a twin flame compressed into an airless bubble.

And when she reached for me, I didn’t run.