Page 67 of My Merciless Don

I narrowed my eyes at Marco. “Don't tell me you have pity for that man.”

“Yeah, I pity him - just for being so spineless and weak. It must suck to be him.”

I couldn't exactly disagree.

Two days after my last visit to Sophia, Marco came up to me clutching a book in his hands. He held it out to me. “This belonged to Amy. She used to write incessantly in it every morning when she woke up, and every night before bed. She wouldn't let me see what was in it, and I've respected her privacy all these years. But I think if anything could help you understand who your sister was, this is it.” He handed the patent leather covered diary to me. I stared down at it in wonder, feeling my hands trembling slightly. My sister lay between its pages. It was as if I could feel her physical presence just by holding it.

It was quite a large volume, more like a journal than a diary.

“How long did she have it for?” I asked.

He shrugged. “She already had it when I met her so I'm guessing a while. Now that I think of it, there were probably others, but I can't guess where they would be.”

I turned the book in my hands, feeling the embedded initials with my finger. “It's alright. This is enough. Would you mind if I…?” I gestured towards his office with the book, indicating that I'd like to sit in his comfortable leather armchair and read.

He made a by all means gesture, and I walked to his office closing the door behind me. I knew I wouldn't get up again until I had read every word.

The book started out with the poem, ironically, ‘If I must die’ by Refaat Alareer. I read it all to myself mouthing the words, feeling tears prick my eyes. The poem was about remembrance, and making sure that the death was not for nought. I thought about doing as a poem said, flying a kite high as a symbol hope. Why not?

I grabbed a paper from Marco’s desk, so I could make a note of that idea. I had a feeling that I would be making quite a few notes through the reading of the journal. I turned to the first page and looked upon Amy's handwriting for the first time. I stared at it marveling at how closely our handwritings resembled the other’s. It hit me in the solar plexus once again that this was my twin.

“We even fell in love with the same man.” I shook my head in consternation.

Hi, my name is Amy Mercer, and these are my thoughts and feelings about life, the universe, and everything.

“Oh, I love that book too.” Tears were already falling from my eyes.

In typical teenage fashion I'm going to start this journal by whining about my parents and just how much I hate them. Just kidding. I can't hate my parents, they feed me. I can vehemently disagree with their need to keep me wrapped in cotton wool and hidden away from the world. Look I get it mom, you lost a child. You don't want to lose another one. But I'm 18 years old now. Unclench.

I can't tell you how it made me feel to read that. There are no words. I reached for the tissues and wiped my face. The next pages told of her relief at finally being able to go off to school, making a point to call her mother every week, lest she fly out with a swat team to rescue her, and her volunteer work. Claude wasn't mentioned much, which I found interesting. There was only one entry I found that talked about him directly.

Dad came for parents’ weekend with mom, which was awkward because I hadn't planned for it. All the activities I had signed us up for were kind of mother-daughter oriented. So, I had to scramble a bit to find a few things he'd like to do. I shouldn't have wasted my time. He found the nearest card game faster than I found the student center on my first day. We didn't see him much all weekend, which was kind of a relief.

So, it seemed that while I had a very present stepfather - if only because he was my puppet master - Amy had lived with a rather distant father figure. I bet anytime he looked at her, he was reminded of me. A wave of shared vindictiveness went through me and I decided that yes, I was going to confront him at some point.

I turned the page and kept reading.

I have just met the dreamiest man. Like McDreamy needs to step aside, he has been replaced! God help me, I am such a klutz, I literally wanted to peel my face off today because of how I embarrassed myself in front of him. He was dropping off his niece at school (yes, I asked if it was his daughter, after checking for a wedding ring - I am just that shameless) and I just marched up to him and gave him a lecture about this being a school lane and whatnot, and he was looking at me like I had literally lost my mind. I got mad and started telling him that just because he's good looking doesn't mean he can get away with anything. His niece chose that moment to pop up and ask ‘Uncle Marco’ why the traffic Marshall was shouting at him!

I laughed out loud. I could just imagine how mortified she felt.

I offered the world's most awkward apology followed by the clumsiest invitation to a coffee date I have ever heard. He must have felt sorry for me because he agreed to go on the date. It's tomorrow and I have nothing to wear. Someone help me please.

I paused there, wondering if I should read more about their relationship. I anticipated having mixed feelings, and maybe it wasn't necessary to know. I put the book down biting my lip as I thought about it. Then I got to my feet and went in search of Marco.

“Hey,” I said.

He turned from where he was slicing carrots with a smile. It slid off his face when he took a look at my face. “What's wrong?” He asked.

I remembered now that my eyes must still be puffy from crying and waved the hand in dismissal. “It's nothing. Just all the feels. I've reached the part of the book where you feature prominently and I was wondering if you wanted to read it with me. Reading it on my own is making me feel kind of like a creeper.”

He laughed and shrugged one-shouldered. “Yeah sure. That's actually a very good idea. Let's read it together.” He pointed at the carrots with his knife, “after I've finished making this soup for lunch.”

I gave a little gratified skip, “Great. I'll just leave you to your cooking. Come find me when you're done.”

“Will do. I love you.”

I froze, turning to stare back at him. “Are you talking to me?” I asked just to be sure.

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