Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty

Athena

Five years ago 

I stood in the doorway of my twin sister Aurelia's room, watching as she packed a small suitcase with trembling hands. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. My chest tightened with disbelief—she wanted to leave us, leave me, leave Mom, as though we weren’t all stuck in this nightmare together. Saying I wasn’t hurt would’ve been a lie. She was my twin, my other half, and I clung to the hope that I could get through to her.

"You can’t just leave," I pleaded, my voice cracking with desperation. "We’re a family, Aurelia. Whatever is wrong, we can fix it together."

Aurelia paused, her hands hovering over the suitcase, lifting her gaze to meet mine. Her eyes, dark like Dad’s, were filled with anger and disbelief. "Fix it? Family?" she scoffed, her voice sharp and trembling. "When, Athena? How? With a father like James Carter? Are you serious?"

She was right. Absolutely right. Our father was a monster—cold, cruel, and impossible to reason with. Living with him was unbearable, yet Mom refused to leave. We had begged her, pleaded with her to escape with us, but she always stayed. Why? Fear was the only explanation I could think of—the fear that leaving James would bring some catastrophic consequence she couldn’t undo.

What more could he possibly do? He’d already destroyed us in every way that mattered. Kill us? At that moment, I thought I might welcome it, if only to sever the tie that bound us to him.

"You can’t leave," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Aurelia. Don’t go."

She turned to face me fully, her expression a mix of sorrow and determination. For a moment, it looked like she might change her mind, but then she shook her head and looked away. 

"You don’t understand, Athena," she said softly. "I can’t stay here anymore. This place... it’s suffocating me. Mom doesn’t listen. She doesn’t care about what I want."

Her words cut deep, and I knew she believed every one of them. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but think Aurelia was selfish—like now. She only ever seemed to think about herself, her own feelings, without stopping to wonder if I was okay. 

But despite it all, I loved her. She was my twin, my other half. We were identical, sharing not just our looks but the same amniotic sac before we were even born. Couldn’t she at least think about that? About us? If nothing else?

"We haven’t tried hard enough. Let’s do better," I urged, desperation thick in my voice. "Mom loves us."

Aurelia shook her head, refusing to meet my gaze. Her jaw was set, her movements purposeful as she zipped up her suitcase. "I can’t do this anymore, Athena. I need to get out of here." She insisted through gritted teeth.

"But we’re your family," I cried, my eyes stinging with tears. "We can fix this. Whatever’s wrong, we can fix it together."

Aurelia finally looked up, her eyes mirroring the pain I knew all too well because I was living in the same nightmare. But unlike her, I wasn’t planning to abandon Mom. I couldn’t leave her behind like this. I wasn't ready to run.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Aurelia said, her voice trembling with barely restrained frustration. "There’s nothing to fix as long as James is alive and in our lives. This place is choking the life out of me, Athena. I need to breathe. I need to be free."

"Running away isn’t the answer," I pleaded, stepping closer. "You’re just going to hurt Mom… and me. And you’re going to hurt yourself. Please, don’t do this."

For a fleeting moment, Aurelia’s expression softened, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. But she shook her head firmly. "I love you, Athena. I really do. But I have to go."

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I reached for her arm, gripping it tightly. "Please don’t go. If you leave, I… I don’t know what I’ll do without you. I love you, Aurelia. Don’t break Mom’s heart like this, by walking away."

"Love isn’t enough," she replied quietly, her voice heavy with resignation. "I need to live my own life, make my own choices." She hesitated for a moment, as though considering her next words. Her voice wavered. "Maybe one day..." She didn’t finish the sentence, letting the words hang in the air.

"Won’t you regret this?" I asked, my voice breaking under the weight of my anguish.

"Maybe I will," she said with a small shrug of her thin shoulders, her youth betrayed by the maturity forced upon her. Our home, our lives, had forced us to grow up too quickly. "Maybe I won’t. But I have to go."

"Aurelia…" I whispered, my grip on her hand tightening as tears spilled in torrents down my cheeks.. "Please don’t leave."

For another hopeful moment, I thought she might change her mind. Her gaze softened, her resolve faltering. But then, gently, she pulled her hand from mine, her decision made. "I’m sorry, Athena. But I have to do this." She said with a note of finality.

Without another word, Aurelia walked past me, dragging her suitcase behind her. I trailed after her, my heart pounding as she descended the stairs and headed for the front door. "Aurelia, wait!" I called, my voice breaking with desperation.

She didn’t stop. The blazing sun outside framed her silhouette as she stepped out, leaving me frozen in the doorway, my sobs racking my chest, echoing through the empty house. She had chosen the perfect time to leave—Mom and James were at work, and no one else was there to stop her. I had done everything I could to make her stay, but it wasn’t enough.

Aurelia was gone.

When Mom came home after her shift at the hospital, she asked where Aurelia was. I told her the truth—Aurelia had run away. She didn’t believe me at first, not until she went to Aurelia’s room and saw the empty drawers and the missing clothes. The reality set in.

I expected her to panic, to break down, to grab her keys and start searching for her runaway daughter. Instead, she sank onto the sofa, folded her arms, and turned blank, emotionless eyes toward me.

"Will you be next?" she asked flatly.

I stared at her, stunned. "What?" I sputtered, disbelief and anger bubbling to the surface. "How can you say that? Why aren’t you doing anything? Aurelia ran away!"

"She’s smart," Mom muttered, her tone devoid of emotion. "If you’re smart, you’ll leave too."

"Mom!" I cried, horrified. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Her words cut deep, colder than anything I’d ever heard from her before. It was as though she had given up completely, as if nothing mattered anymore.

Without another word, not sparing me so much as a glance, she stood and walked upstairs, leaving me in the living room, paralyzed by shock. My mouth hung open, questions swirling in my mind. But I didn’t dare follow her. I couldn’t. 

With the pain of Aurelia’s absence and Mom’s indifference to her running away, I knew I was too close to the edge. If I confronted her now, I would say something in anger—something I couldn’t take back. And even if I apologized later, those words would haunt me for the rest of my life, filling me with regret.

Hours later, we sat in the same living room, the silence between us suffocating. I hadn’t been able to process her apathy, and she hadn’t spoken since she went upstairs. Then the phone rang, piercing the stillness. Mom answered it with a heavy sigh, her exhaustion evident.

"Hello?" she said. Her face drained of color almost instantly, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the phone. "What? No… no, that can’t be. Are you sure?"

I sat up straight, my heart pounding. "What is it? What’s wrong?" I demanded, my voice tight with dread.

Mom’s hands trembled as she dropped the phone onto the coffee table, pressing her palms against her face. Her voice broke as she whispered, "Aurelia… she’s gone."

My stomach twisted violently, and my pulse thundered in my ears. "What do you mean, gone?" I asked, my voice cracking under the weight of fear. "Gone where?"

Mom’s sobs shattered the fragile silence. "She was in an accident," she choked out. "She… she didn’t make it."

The room tilted, the air thick and suffocating. My chest tightened painfully as the truth crashed down on me. My sister, my twin, was gone. Forever gone.

Aurelia was gone. Really gone. The memory of our last conversation replayed in my mind like a cruel echo. Each word was a knife to my heart.

"I need to be free," she had said.

And now, she was free—forever free. No more sleepless nights dreading James coming home drunk, not knowing what version of him would walk through the door. No more panic attacks whenever he called her name, ready to punish her for some perceived mistake. 

No more fear of what he might do if he caught her playing with the neighbor’s dog. All of that was behind her now, nothing but a distant memory.

Surprisingly, I couldn’t shed a single tear. I couldn’t grieve. I couldn’t feel anything at all. I was just… numb.

\~~~~~

I was jolted back to the present, the cold, oppressive reality of the basement settling over me like a suffocating blanket. My chest tightened, and suppressed sobs wracked my body. The pain of losing Aurelia was as raw and fresh as the day it happened, and now, confined to this desolate room, I couldn’t escape the thought that this was my punishment for failing her.

"I’m sorry, Aurelia," I whispered into the suffocating darkness, my voice barely a whisper. "I should’ve stopped you. I should’ve done more. I'm so sorry, Aurelia."

My throat burned with thirst, my body weak from days without food, but the weight of guilt pressing on me felt far heavier than any physical suffering I endured.

As the hours dragged on, I clung to the fading fragments of memories—those brief moments of happiness and love. They were the only comfort in the endless void surrounding me. Maybe this was my penance for not protecting her, for letting my sister slip away to a fate I couldn't undo. 

I was her older sister, her protector, yet I had failed her. I should’ve forced her to stay, locked her in her room if I had to. But I knew Aurelia well enough to know she had a wild streak, and if she’d wanted to leave, she would’ve found a way, even through her window.

The thought made me laugh bitterly, even as tears streamed down my cheeks. Yes, I needed to pay for sending my sister to her death. It could’ve been avoided, but I had done nothing to stop it.