My Twin Sister’s Extremely Famous and Incredibly Hot Neighbor

Six months later.

I clear my throat as my therapist waits for me to answer her question. It’s been three weeks since my last session, and so much has happened. “I’m doing good.”

“How’s the medicine? Do you think the new dose is helping more with your anxiety?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“How have things been going with your artwork? Did you sell any when you had your show?”

I take in a deep breath as excitement rushes through me. “I sold them all.”

“You did? That’s amazing. Tell me about it.”

“I was nervous for the opening night party, but the gallery owner promised she’d keep it low-key. She really came through. It was fine. And the gallery was amazing to work with. They told me I could do another show any time.” I sit back in my chair, pleased with myself for getting up the nerve to even try it. Dustin did that for me. He gave me the confidence to push beyond my fears.

“How was your vacation with your sister?” She brushes her hair behind her ear and looks up from her clipboard.

I smile. “It was good. We got to talk. I mean, really talk. We haven’t done that in a long time.”

“That’s good.” She pushes her glasses up her nose. “Have you told her what you told me? About your father?”

“Yes,” I say quietly. “We did talk about my father.”

In talking with my therapist, I found out I had a lot of repressed anger toward him. I worked through a lot of it with her, but one of the assignments she gave me was to talk to my sister about it. It did help, and I found out that Jera was actually seeing a therapist about it as well. I hadn’t known that.

“Was it good to talk it out with her?”

I nod and wave my phone. “I even shared his photo with her. She cried when she saw I had it. She thought all of the old photos were destroyed. We know what he did was wrong, and neither one of us are ready to have him back in our lives, but I think we’re both to the point where we accept what happened and can move on.”

“Good. Did you talk about Dustin?”

A stab of pain slices through me at his name. I look down at my hands. “Yes.”

“How did that go?”

It’s still hard to talk about Dustin, even though six months have passed. “I told her more of what happened during that time we were together. I think she was surprised at how close we got in one week. It certainly surprised me.”

“What does your sister think about him?”

“I think she’s finally ready to admit all the issues between them were misunderstandings. She no longer hates him. In fact, she told me she thinks I should try again with him.” I force a laugh, but my therapist doesn’t join in.

She nods and writes something down. “Have you thought about trying to get in touch with him again?”

After the story broke on all the gossip websites about me trading places with Jera, and how Dustin had been used once again by another gold-digger, I hid myself away in Denver as best I could. Of course, the websites got it all wrong, but I refused to give any interviews. I didn’t want any more publicity. I just wanted it all to blow over and go away. Dustin sold his house and moved. Then, a couple of months later, I tried texting him, but he’d changed his number. That was the last time I tried.

“No,” I say quietly.

She gives me one of her looks. “Don’t you think you should try to talk to him and tell him how you feel?”

I’d spent the last six months trying to get over Dustin. It hadn’t worked. If anything, I feel a stronger pull to him than I did before. I’ve told my therapist how I feel. I swallow, trying to get my emotions under control. “I don’t know what else I can do. I think it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

She sets her clipboard in her lap. “We all make rash decisions in the heat of anger. We’ve talked about mind reading. It’s a destructive thought pattern.”

Through talking with my therapist, I’ve found that I often mind read, or rather, I put thoughts of my own onto other people. I can’t possibly know what others are thinking, but I assume anyway. I slump back in my seat. “You’re right.”

“You won’t know his thoughts until you talk to him. It’s been six months. He might regret his decision to cut you off.”

I nod, even though I’m not sure what else I can do. It’s not like just anyone can get Dustin Sawyer’s phone number. He did everything he could to get away from me. Still, I have to admit my therapist is right. “I know. I just don’t know what to do. I can’t call him.”

She looks at me over her glasses. “You have a very famous sister. I’m sure Jera knows how you can contact him.”

I chew my bottom lip. She’s right. I haven’t asked my sister. “Maybe.”

“Do you think you’re trying to punish yourself for what happened?”

I hadn’t thought about it before, but she might be right. I’ve felt so terrible about lying to Dustin, I’ve let it eat away at me. Remorse is a drink I partake of daily. I cry myself to sleep almost every night. I hate all the lies I told him. I regret it every waking second.

I look at the brown and green carpet. “Maybe,” I finally admit.

“You can’t change the past. But you might be able to reconnect and salvage a relationship that was once very special to you. I want you to think about that this week.” She looks at her watch. “Our time is up.”

I stand, my emotions making my throat swell shut. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”

My therapist stands and puts a hand on my arm. “Mackenzie, things are usually not as bad as we make them out to be in our head. Remember that.”

I nod. “I’ll try.”

I drive home, the streets slick from an afternoon snowfall. The homes in my neighborhood are decorated with colorful lights for Christmas. I pull into my parking lot, my therapist’s words echoing. Things are not usually as bad as we make them out to be in our head.

“Yeah, right,” I say out loud. I climb out of my car and walk into my apartment building. Jera wanted to upgrade my apartment after all the awful publicity went down, but I felt bad and wouldn’t let her. I walk into the tiny living room and shrug out of my coat. I hang it on the back of my door as Squint barks and jumps on my legs.

I reach down and pet his head. “You hungry?”

He continues to bark, and I laugh. “I guess so.” I go into the kitchen and pour a scoop of his food into his bowl. He scarfs it down. I reach into my pocket to give him a doggie treat and am reminded of the time I spent on the beach with Dustin.

The memory crushes me, and I sink to the floor, the weight of my betrayal making it hard to breathe. Tears fall as I remember that day. Running on the beach, and Dustin’s warm laughter.

I miss him, like I miss the other half of my soul that was ripped from me the day I left California. I want to see his smile and hear the low chuckle in his chest. I want to feel his strong arms around me.

The question my therapist asked comes to mind. Do you think you’re trying to punish yourself, for what happened?

If that’s what I’m doing, it’s working. I feel terrible. I’m wallowing in my own personal hell, and I don’t want to be in it anymore. I wipe my face and stand up. With shaking fingers, I swipe across my phone and call my sister.

She answers after one ring. “Hello?”

“I need your help.”