Page 2 of The Casualty of Us
“Ollie! Ol—”
My mouth and nose are covered with the rag in the next instant, a hand pressing the wet fabric down that has a burn settling into my skin. Chemicals working their way into mynose with painful little tingles even though I refuse to breathe and something sticky dripping down my cheek that immediately makes me feel dirty.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear. “Just take a breath.”
No fucking way, asshole.
And I try—I try so damn hard.
Counting my heartbeats in time with the blinks that are barely keeping my tears at bay. Watching the blood continue to grow around Ollie’s head through increasingly blurry eyes. Refusing to look away from the spot where he’s lying beside the dumpster even as black spots erupt over my vision and my pulse turns sluggish as that voice whispers once more. “Just breathe, Ophelia.”
Not even the screaming of my lungs can force me to submit to his will, though.
It’s only when I see my twin’s fingers twitch that I do, that slim sliver of hope making me gasp before the repercussions of the act hit me. Darkening my spinning with something sweet and acidic burning down my throat and strangers arms locked around me. Pulling me back into something that has cold metal sliding against my skin.
Not knowing that when I finally see the light of day again, I’ll soon be a household name for all the wrong reasons. For none of the things I ever would have chosen and instead because of a hundred little dominoes that started falling before I ever even knew any of their names. Setting the course for a continuance of casualties we could have never imagined at the start.
A household name.
Ophelia Sage Fitzroy.
America’s thirty-million-dollar girl.
Chapter One
OPHELIA - AUGUST 2012
“Oliver! Ollie!”
Please get up. Please, please, please—
“O!”
I blink rapidly at the loud intrusion, latching onto the only voice that seems to be able to pull me back from the memories, and find him waving a hand in front of my face.
My eyes meet a matching slate pair, and his lips hitch up into a crooked grin right before he flicks me on the nose. “Don’t get lost, baby sister.”
“Rude,” I grumble, reaching up to rub at my nose as he leans back against his seat with a laugh, settling into the other side of the town car and fully ready for our first day of college with his light jeans and dark blue v-neck highlighting all his best features. The complete opposite to my ripped black skinny ones and baggy white sweater but that’s been par for the course for years now. I guess we’re both still wearing boots, though, but that’s also not entirely unexpected since there’s always that thread of similarity.
Twins. My twin. Semi-identical at that.
One egg, two sperm, split into a boy and a girl. A rare phenomenon, apparently.
Finally hitting eighteen a few days ago.
“Just fighting the madness, Ophelia.” Ollie drags out my name with the joke. “I like to think of it as my literary duty.”
“Not funny.” I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at him but unable to stop the way they flick up to the scar running along his hairline for a split second before teasing. “Ollie.”
Purposefully emphasizing my nickname for him since he’s not only using my full name but getting his kicks in too.
“None of that.” He grimaces, reaching up to run a hand through his wavy dark brown hair. Another matching set between us. “We’re about to pull in. Imagine if someone heard you.”
I roll my eyes at him before darting them to the window to see the tall, ivy-covered brick wall that escaped my notice before. “Oh, I’m sure it’ll happen at some point in the next four years that we’re stuck here.”
“Blasphemy,” he groans. “And turn that frown upside down, O, this is going to be great.” I shoot him a dubious look that has him quickly rattling off facts. “Come on, we’re at one of the most prestigious private colleges in the country, no parental supervision, a mediocre football team, and lots of books for you, I’m sure.” He lifts his brows pointedly. “And the best part, great security and no kidnappers to snatch my precious baby sister away from me when we run out for some ice cream.”
My lips lift against my will at his ability to poke fun at the heaviness of what happened to us, and I can’t help but add, “Those last ones were probably the selling points for Mom and Dad, though.”
