Page 110 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself.
“We’d gone to the Ferrum Syndicate party, before long the other girls had drifted off and I was left alone. I looked for you, you were nowhere to be seen, and just as I was about to give up and leave, you appeared behind me.”
Her throat tightens. “We walked into a clearing among the trees. You… you kissed me.” Her voice wavers. “I told you to stop, but you didn’t. You kept touching me after I said no. I pushed, but you were stronger. I refused to be the victim, I only wanted you to stop.”
My stomach turns, air sticks in my lungs.
Her hands tremble. “I grabbed a stone. I didn’t mean to kill you, I only wanted you off me. You were on top of me and I couldn’t move, so I struck you on the head. There was so much blood. I swear, I only wanted you away from me.To stop.”
She’s shaking now, tears streaking her face. And in that instant the edifice I’d built, the hatred, the plan, the lies, collapses.
I ruined her life over a misunderstanding. I broke her for nothing.
For a moment I expect my heart to stop, to be spared the weight.
It doesn’t.
It keeps beating, loud, merciless, each pulse a reminder that I am still here to bear it.
It aches for me.
For her.
For us.
“We were in love,” she whispers, unaware of the storm tearing through me. “For more than a year, we were seeing each other.”
Her eyes search mine for confirmation. I give a single nod.
“Wait,” she breathes, “so the man who kissed me, the one I killed… it wasn’t you?”
“Ophelia,” I say quietly, “who am I?”
Her voice trembles. “Arlo.”
“Yes. And I’m here, alive. I didn’t die. From everything I’ve gathered, it was my brother, Rocco, pretending to be me. I never touched you that night.”
She stares as if trying to make sense of words that refuse to settle. “But how is that possible? It looked like you. When the mask slipped, it was your face. He had your eyes.”
“Because we were twins.”
She shakes her head slowly, piecing it together. “So that night, Rocco pretended to be you… and I thoughtit wasyou. He kissed me, and you saw that.”
I can’t speak, so I simply nod.
“And you thought I’d cheated,” she continues, her tone breaking. “You thought I’d been unfaithful, with your own brother.”
Another nod.
“Then you left.”
“Yes.”
Her breath catches. “And then I killed your brother, and when you found him, you thought I’d done it to cover the affair?”
It sounds absurd now, hearing it aloud, but at the time my mind was drowned in rage and grief. I wasn’t thinking.
“Yes,” I manage.
