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"Well…yell at me or something. Do you want to punch me? I'll let you get my good eye."

"Just…go away, Tate."

"Mia…"

"Go away, Tate. Please. I can't take it anymore."

"Okay, I will go away, but only because I need to go get your cat back, which I will do…right now."

After three hours of walking around the building and the surrounding woods shaking a fucking bag of cat food and calling his name, it gets dark, and I resign my fate, heading home without Mia's cat.

I am. I am the shittiest twin in the history of the world. What the fuck am I going to do?

If I can't get her into a doctor, maybe I can take her to the ER. They'd have to see her, right? They'd probably be able to give her something. Maybe they'd even keep her there for a couple of days and set her up with one of the psychiatrists who said they couldn't get her in for months and months after they explain to them just how sick she is.

But she could refuse care.

Fuck it. I just won't let her.

I put a bowl of food and water outside the door for Mittens, and prepare to drag my sister, kicking and screaming if I have to, to the hospital.

"Mia?" I call, pushing her curtain aside. I step into her bedroom and pull her covers back, but she isn't in her bed.

She's up. That's good. I didn't see her in the living room, though, and I'm sure she didn't leave. She must be in the bathroom.

"Hey, Mia?" I knock on the door, but she doesn't answer. I hear water running and try the knob, but it's locked. "Mia, we need to go to the doctor, okay?" Still, I don't get a response. I sigh, shifting my weight on my feet, my socks soaked from the wet carpet.

Wait.

Why is the carpet wet?

"Mia?!" I shout before ramming into the door. "Fuck!"

I rush to the kitchen, and with shaky hands, dig through the dish in the kitchen my mom always tossed loose change into. When I find a penny, I grab it and use it to turn the bathroom lock from the outside.

When I get the door open, my twin sister—my big sister by four minutes—lies in the tub under water stained red with blood.

I sink to my knees on the wet tile beside the tub and scream. "Dad! Dad, help!"

"It's weird," I whisper, still staring at the broken buttons on the old, yellowing phone. I run my finger over the number nine button, broken just like the one from Noah's old apartment unit. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears when I lift it from its cradle. It's so damn loud, I barely hear the dial tone.

I set it back down, leaving it off the hook, and then grab my bag and head for the door.

Silas paces behind the car, head down with a cigarette in his hand. He takes a drag before he notices me, and I hop into the driver's seat.

He says something about how he's driving, not me, but I can't quite make it out over the sound of my own heartbeat, my own blood pumping in my ears.

I start the car, and he pulls at the locked passenger side door. I don't wait for him to move before speeding out of the parking lot and down the block toward Noah's apartment.

He's going to be pissed. But he'll be even more pissed if…

It hasn't been that long, though, has it? I pull into the alley on the other side of Noah's place, park the car, and then run through the wooded area and up the staircase.

The door is locked. As I flip through the keys for the copy that unlocks it, I see myself standing on wet carpet again.

I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking the image from my head, and then I turn the key, push the door open, and step inside. The lights are off, and the television is on. And she's there, in bed, her red hair sticking out from under the covers. She must be sleeping because she doesn't react to me coming in.

I sit at the edge of her bed, drop my head into my hands, and try to steady my breath. At first, it's relief. Then, it's anger because she fucking got me all worked up again for no reason.