The night is rainy and dark. I'm alone in my bedroom, with Paramore's "Emergency" blasting from my apple-green iPod mini. I'm trying to avoid human contact, especially in the form of a sick excuse for my twin brother, Daniel, by cranking the music loud enough to deafen a normal person. The lead singer's voice cuts through the guitars: "You don't know what love is." The lyrics seem to be written specifically to describe my slightly sadistic brother. After the song ends, I put it on repeat, trying to commit the lyrics to memory. Then he enters.
He says something, but I can't hear him over the sound of my music. I make no effort to turn off the music. I don't even pretend to not notice him. Finally, exasperated with me I suppose, he screws up his face and screams, "MAIA ROSALIE QUINN!" He's so loud that I can hear him above the singer's wails of ,"I've seen love die way too many times when it deserved to be alive." I look at him, at the big dark eyes that I somehow missed inheriting, and roll my green ones. I don't have to talk to him.
Daniel makes a blindingly fast movement that even I can't have predicted. He pulls the ear buds out of my ears with a small popping sound, and then proceeds to tear them in two. I have no idea where the hell that kind of strength came from, but my precious buds are in two pieces on the floor. I glare at him. "What was that for?" I complain.
"You weren't listening to me!" he roars.
I glance at the empty room nervously. "Where are Mom and Dad?"
"They went out," Daniel answers with a grin so frightening that I shrink back into my purple chair. Oh crap, oh crap, this is not good at all.
"Get out," I order, reaching out a sock-covered foot to kick him in the ribs and hopefully out the door, so I can safely lock myself in my room.
"Maia, Maia, Maia," he croons, his voice sliding over my name like silk. "You're going to regret you did that." And then he grabs my shoulders, his hands gripping them too tightly, and slams me into the wall. My skull cracks against the plaster. "Do you regret it now? Do you?"
The only thing that comes out of my throat is a feeble choking sound. His hand twists up, and then it's wrapped around my neck, cutting off my vital air supply. I sputter helplessly for only a split second before I regain myself and knee him promptly in the balls. Then I bolt, down the stairs. "You bitch! Get back here!" He's calling from behind me, but I don't look back. His footsteps are heavy behind mine. I see the final flight of stairs, and as I prepare to continue down them, there's a hard shove in my back.
The air whooshes out of my lungs like a deflating balloon. I feel myself falling down, down the solid hardwood steps. The falling itself is peaceful, but the landing—oh, the landing. I hear the sickening snap before I feel it. But then I did feel it, and pain spread so quickly through me it's almost as if it's running through my bloodstream. I don't have time to dwell on it, so I pick myself up and run like hell, far away from my house, into the cold rain.