Chapter Nine
You should go see if Honor needs anything to eat before you go to bed,” my father says.
Honor. The sick sister, holed up in her bedroom all night. Poor thing. “I took her some food earlier,” I lie. I pull the plug out of the sink and let the water drain. It was Honor’s night to do dishes, but she’s not here to do them. That’s another favor she owes me.
“Has she taken any medicine?” my father asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I took her some earlier. Right after she vomited all over the bathroom floor.” If I’m going to lie for her, I’m going to make it worth my time. “Don’t worry, I spent half an hour cleaning up after her. There was vomit everywhere. I even washed all the towels.”
My father buys it. “That was nice of you.”
“That’s what sisters are for.”
I should probably stop. It’s becoming obvious just how full of shit I am.
“Hopefully it’s not contagious,” Victoria says. “The last thing I need right now is a virus. We’re being audited by the state next week.”
Glad to hear she’s so concerned for my ill sister.
“Good night, Merit,” my father says. He’s looking at me with uncertainty in his eyes. He’s still concerned I’m going to reveal his terrible secret.
I smile at him. “Good night, Daddy. Love you.”
He doesn’t smile. He knows I’m just being a bitch. Or brash, as Sagan referred to it yesterday.
I turn off all the lights in the kitchen and head to the shower. Right before I get in, I receive a text.
Honor: Is anyone suspicious?
Merit: Nope. Everyone’s gone to bed.
Honor: Phew. Okay. I just texted Sagan to let him know I was going to sleep. Thank you. I owe you one.
Merit: You owe me two. Tonight was your night to do dishes. You’re welcome.
Honor: I’ll do your dishes for the next month after this.
Merit: I’m screenshotting this text.
I spend the entire shower replaying last night’s conversation with Sagan in my head, over and over. I still can’t believe he had the nerve to ask me about Luck. Or maybe I’m confusing nerve with courage. Either way, he was out of line. He’s dating my sister. Not me. He needs to worry about who she’s sleeping with.
When I get out of the shower, the emotions from last night have hit me again. I think I’m so angry because I liked that Sagan seemed a little jealous when he asked me about Luck. I don’t want to feel that way. I don’t want a guy to drive an even bigger wedge between me and Honor, even though Honor is off doing God knows what right now.
It’s almost time for Sagan to get here and if I’m not hiding in my room by then, I’m going to be forced to lie to him. He’ll ask me about Honor, how she’s feeling, if she’s eaten. He might even want to check on her, but I’ll have to tell him she’s fine.
It isn’t fair to him. I know he isn’t innocent in this, but at least he’s being honest with Honor. Whereas she’s off with his dying best friend, Colby.
She’s just like my father. I guess she’s also just like our mother.
I make my way to the laundry room to get my pajamas out of the dryer. I pull the whole load out, but sift through them for mine. Honor’s pajamas are mixed in with this load as well. I take both of our pajamas out and compare them.
This is why she’s the prettier twin, even though we’re identical. She wears sexier nightgowns and sexier bathing suits and sexier hair. She braids her hair almost every night when she gets out of the shower so it’ll be wavy when she takes the braid out in the morning. I don’t bother. It doesn’t really make that much of a difference if you ask me. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. It really does look better than mine, but I keep mine pulled up most of the time, so it doesn’t really matter what I do to it at night.
I stare down at her nightgown again. I wonder what it would be like to dress like her. My pajamas are mismatched cotton shorts and a T-shirt. Her nightgown is silk and black and not at all revealing, but sexy nonetheless. Do people sleep better if they feel sexy when they fall asleep?
She’s not here to know if I test that theory or not.
I make sure the door to the laundry room is closed and then I drop my towel and pull Honor’s nightgown over my head. I look at my reflection in the window. I still don’t feel as pretty as Honor looks when she wears it.
I take the towel off my head and finger through my hair until it’s untangled enough to braid. I pull it over my right shoulder like Honor does and I braid it until I reach the tips of my hair. I don’t have a rubber band, but there’s one in the bathroom. Since Honor isn’t here, I won’t feel like I’m copying her if I sleep with my hair like this tonight.
I turn off the light in the laundry room and make my way back toward the bathroom to grab a hair tie.
“You feeling better?”
I freeze. Sagan is locking the front door. All the lights are off, except for the glow from the electronics in the kitchen.
Shit.
He thinks I’m Honor.
I can’t admit that I’m not. How would I explain wearing her nightgown and having my hair braided like her? This is so embarrassing. Why is everything with him so embarrassing?
“Yep,” I say, inflecting my voice a tad to sound more like Honor. More . . . pleasant.
I start walking toward the hallway, but freeze when I realize what a bind I’ve just put myself in. I can’t walk to my room because Sagan will wonder why Honor is walking into my room. I can’t walk into Honor’s room because her bedroom door is locked and she has her key.
“David got fired from the studio tonight,” Sagan says.
I have no idea who David is. Sagan is removing his jacket and I’m standing in the hallway, completely shell-shocked. “It’s about time.”
Sagan tilts his head and releases a confused laugh. “What?”
Oh. So David getting fired is a bad thing.
I don’t even know where Sagan works. This is going to end so badly.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say. “I just meant you knew it was coming.”
Did he? I hope so.
He nods. “I know it’s his fault for rarely showing up, but I still feel bad. He has four kids.” He walks to the refrigerator and opens the door. The light illuminates everything, including me. I’m nervous he’ll notice something that will set me apart from Honor, so I walk away from the light and toward the couch. Sagan follows me into the living room. I sit down and he sits down right beside me, propping his feet up on the table. He reaches across me for the remote. I pull my legs up beneath me and try to lean away from him. What if he tries to kiss me? How am I going to get out of this?
I could pretend I have to vomit. I’ll run to the bathroom and lock myself in. But he would follow me. And knowing Sagan, he’d wait outside the bathroom until I was finished.
Sagan flips on the TV and the light is even brighter than the refrigerator was. I curl into myself even more. I can feel my palms begin to sweat from the nerves. And then as if sitting next to him isn’t bad enough, he goes and touches me. He lifts his hand to the side of my head and tucks my hair behind my ear like I don’t actually need oxygen to survive.
“You okay?”
I nod with my swallow. My mouth is too dry to speak.
“Honor.” He wants me to face him. Good God, he wants me to look him in the eye. As Honor. Not as me. Just tell him, already. I face him, prepared to explain the last five minutes, but the look on his face prevents me from speaking. He’s looking at me like he looks at Honor. Or . . . he’s looking at Honor like he looks at Honor. But I’m not Honor. I’m me, and now those eyes are staring at me like I mean the world to him.
“Are you still mad?”
I shake my head. “No.” It’s the truth. I’m not mad at him, but I have no idea if Honor is.
He nods, squeezing my hand. “You know how I feel about everything. But I don’t want to tell you what to do.”
Honor is terrible. She’s a terrible human, doing this. Lying to him. Cheating on him. I want to tell him so bad, but knowing he’s lying to his friend kind of justifies what Honor is doing in a way. And for some reason my loyalty is with her. I think. I don’t know, I’m so confused.
I close my eyes because I’m beginning to not be able to function. He’s so close and it makes me wonder if he would taste like mint ice cream again. I’d give anything to taste that again.
She wouldn’t know.
She’s not even here.
If it happened, it would be her fault. Not mine. This entire situation is all her fault. She’s off kissing some other guy right now. Maybe this is her karma.
I do what I do best. I react without thinking.
I lean forward and press my lips to his. His hands meet my shoulders. I pull away long enough for him to say her name. “Honor.”
I hate it.
I don’t want him to say her name again. I just want him to kiss me.
I slide my leg over his lap until I’m straddling him. I keep my eyes closed as I slip my hands up his neck. I don’t want him to notice I’m not wearing contacts. Honor wears them all the time and I never wear them.
I can feel his fingers digging into my waist and I wait for him to kiss me like he did the first time he kissed me, but he’s hesitant.
I’m too impatient. I press my mouth to his again, but I’m met with resistance. It’s nothing like our first kiss. His lips are hard and firm and closed. His hands leave my waist and slide up my arms until they’re wrapped around my wrists. He pulls my hands off him.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I open my eyes. His are full of confusion. I pull back just enough to give us both space to think, but it’s not enough. His thumb slides across the Band-Aid on the underside of my wrist. His eyes fall to the Band-Aid. The one he gave me. The one I used to cover up the scratch on my wrist with last night. My wrist. Not Honor’s.
I suck in a quick rush of air when I see realization swallow up the confusion on his face. He looks at the bandage on my wrist and then back at my face. “Merit?”
I don’t move. I don’t even make excuses. Here I am, dressed like Honor, straddling him. I don’t even know how to come back from this. I’ve never prayed for a stroke before, but I’m praying with everything I have that God will strike me down dead right here and now.
I keep my eyes glued to his, waiting for him to push me off him in disgust. But he just keeps staring at me, his eyes fixed on mine. He finally lets go of my wrists, but instead of grabbing my shoulders to scoot me off of him, he grabs my face.
And then he kisses me. Devours me.
Me.
Not Honor.
I close my eyes and completely melt into him. I melt into his chest, his arms, his mouth. When his tongue finds mine I all but give up on trying to reciprocate. My mind isn’t connecting with my limbs. It’s like they’re being controlled by some other force. My hands slide through his hair and his hands move to my waist, and then to my lower back. And it’s nothing like the first time we kissed.
It’s better.
It’s real.
It’s me.
Not Honor.
His mouth is like a cacophony of flavors right now, each fighting to overpower the other. Everything delicious, all at once. Sugar and sweet against salty and savory.
Is this the answer to my prayer? That Honor would treat him so terribly; he’d have no choice but to want to be with me?
I push the thought of her out of my head at the same moment Sagan pushes me back against the couch. He doesn’t take his mouth off mine as he climbs on top of me, both of us equally as desperate to take in as much of each other as we can.
It feels so surreal, I want to smile, but it’s all so serious, I want to cry. My emotions are everywhere. Just like his hands. Sliding down my thigh, roaming around my leg, grasping the back of my knee and pulling my leg up and around him. The position he just put us in makes us both gasp for air. He breaks the kiss, but moves his mouth to my neck. “Merit,” he says between kisses.
I could listen to him breathe out my name like that for eternity.
“Merit,” he says again, kissing up my jaw. “What is this?”
I shake my head, wanting him to stop questioning it. Don’t stop. Just go. Green light all the way.
He somehow mistakes my green light for a yellow light, because he pauses. He presses his forehead to the side of my head and takes a moment between kisses to catch his breath. I do the same.
“Merit,” he says again, pulling away to look down on me. His eyes roam over my face and then down to my chest, back up my face. “Why are you wearing this?” He puts most of his weight on his hands now, removing the pressure that was just all over me.
I want the pressure back. I try to pull him back to me, but he just pulls his face from my hands. He puts all of his weight onto one arm now as he moves his hand to the braid in my hair. He wraps his hand around the braid and slides his fingers down it, all the way to the end. His eyes are moving from my braid, to my face, to the nightgown, to my braid, to my face.
I don’t like this.
He sits up, falling back onto his calves. He’s kneeling on the couch in front of me. My legs are still on either side of him.
“Why are you wearing Honor’s clothes?”
I push my hands into the couch and sit up, pulling my legs away from him. We’re facing each other now, but he’s so much taller than me, even kneeling. He’s towering over me. Questioning me. I close my eyes.
I feel his hand on my chin. Gentle. “Hey.” The word is a whisper. “Look at me.”
I do, because I’d do anything he asked as long as it was done in that tone. Sweet and protective. He brushes my hair back and repeats himself.
“Why are you dressed like her?”
I can feel the tears as they begin to form in my eyes. I shake my head, hoping to stop the flow. “I was curious.”
He releases my face and his hand falls to his lap. “About what?”
I shrug. “I just wanted to see what it felt like. Being her. But then you walked in the door.”
His lips fold together. He pulls a hand through his hair and then sits back against the couch. He’s no longer facing me.
“Why did you try to kiss me? Before I knew you weren’t her?”
I blow out a steady breath, but the air around me is shaking. My whole body is shaking. I’m scared of the truth. I’m not as good at it as Sagan seems to want me to be. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to kiss you again.” I drag my hands down my face and fall against the couch next to him. As if one mortifying life moment isn’t enough for one week.
I feel Sagan stand up. I hear him pace the floor a few times. When he pauses, I open my eyes and look up at him. His hands are on his hips and he’s looking down at me. “Do you think Honor and I . . .” He tosses his hand at the couch. “Do you think I do things like this with her? Do you think we’re together like that?”
My mouth falls open. I clamp it shut. His question is confusing me. “Aren’t you?”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just stares at me in disbelief. And then . . .
“No.”
There’s so much truth in that word, but it has to be a lie. Of course they do stuff like this. Of course they kiss.
“Merit, Honor is my friend. She’s seeing my best friend, I would never do that to him.” He sighs. “It’s complicated.”
“But . . .” I shake my head, more confused than ever on how to respond. “Why do you both make it seem that way?”
He laughs incredulously. He tilts his face up and stares at the ceiling for a moment. “We don’t. That’s just how you choose to see it.”
I think back on the last couple of weeks. All the times he’s been referred to as her boyfriend were when I referred to him that way. He never called himself her boyfriend. Honor never said he was her boyfriend. And aside from a few hugs, I’ve never once seen him kiss her. I’ve only seen them hold hands at the pool.
But that doesn’t explain why he kissed me the day he followed me out of the antiques store. He thought I was Honor then and he kissed me. And the fight they had the other night about Colby . . .
I cover my face with my hands again as I try to separate everything I’m feeling. Everything that’s happening. “But your fight the other night. About her seeing Colby . . .”
“Colby is my friend,” he interrupts. “But so is Honor. I don’t like that she’s so caught up in these unhealthy relationships. I get angry at her when she doesn’t listen to me. We fight. It’s what friends do.”
“Oh.”
Sagan begins pacing the floor again. He walks from one end of the couch to the other. He stops in front of me. “Why did you kiss me when I thought you were Honor?”
I’m pretty sure I already answered this question. “I already told you . . .” I look up at him and it’s the first time he looks angry. I clamp my mouth shut again.
He inhales a slow, controlled breath. “Let me get this straight,” he says. “You thought I was Honor’s boyfriend so you pretended to be her and then you tried to kiss me?”
I try to shake my head, but my head doesn’t move. “Sagan.”
“What kind of person does that to her own sister, Merit?” He grimaces and turns away from me, gripping the back of his neck with his hands. He walks into the kitchen and grabs his hoodie off the back of a chair. I look completely pathetic as I stand up and take a few steps toward him.
He walks to the door and opens it, but he pauses before he exits. When he lifts his head to look at me, his eyes are full of disappointment. “You are such an asshole.”
He closes the door.
I stumble back to the couch until I’m sitting on it again.
You are such an asshole.
I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but no one has ever called me an asshole. It hurts so much worse than anything anyone else has ever said to me.
I guess I was wrong. I am the worst person out of the three of us.