My 50th story. A real milestone. Why not celebrate that milestone with something slightly disturbing? I've wanted to write something like this for a while now anyway.

Hope you enjoy and remember to leave a review! :3

"I'm going out," she says, spritzing on some of the $40 perfume I bought for her. "Don't wait up."

"Uh… Going out with who?" I swallow back misplaced sadness. I should want to be far away from Amy, but a part of me dreads the idea.

"Some boys. None of your business." She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, casting me a side-glare. The smoky red make-up on her eyelids makes her blue eyes into ice. "It's my life."

The tiniest voice in my head says to stand up for myself, but the sight before me overrides all thought. Amy is beautiful; even when she's cruel to me, she can make my heart stop.

When I speak, it sounds more like a squeak than an actual word. "S-sorry."

"You better be. Now, since you've been staring at me for the past twenty minutes, answer this: How great do I look?" She's been admiring herself in the mirror this whole time, so I have no clue when she noticed I was staring... Blushing, I let my eyes trail down her body. I notice the way her dark grey shirt fits snug on her torso, a perfect complement to the dark red of her skirt. Her long legs fit perfectly into a pair of calf-high red boots.

I try to avert my gaze. If we're identical, why is Amy so much prettier? "You look great. You always do."

She smirks at the mirror, but doesn't speak a word to me.

"Um… Need me to drive you?" I ask.

"Huh? Rodney has a car, Samey. God, you ask such stupid questions."

The spell of her beauty momentarily breaks, and I'm reminded of why I should hate her. "Sorry that I'm so stupid. I'll never try to be helpful again."

"Ugh, don't even. I'm so not in the mood for your yap dog routine."

"What?" I blink. "My what?"

Amy smooths her skirt, eyes still on the mirror and smug smile widening. "You know when a little dog, like a Chihuahua, starts barking and jumping and down? But of course they can't actually do any damage, so it's just annoying instead of scary? That's you when you're mad."

"It is not!"

"Yap yap yap! That's what you sound like to people." She turns toward me for the first time since she'd started her make-up.

Looking at her dead-on, it becomes even harder to focus on words. "You're just so… mean."

"You sound like a child when you insult me like that."

"God, just leave already! Isn't your ride here yet?" I turn my gaze to the floor, hoping my hair will hide the embarrassed flush on my face.

She softens her tone, but I'm not fooled; I am fully aware that she doesn't care. "I'm not saying this to be mean, Samey. It's what you need to hear. When we're out together and you get mad at me for no reason, people talk. Everyone at school tells me you're whiny and annoying."

"Really?" I whisper at the floor. I don't talk to the kids at school… They may worship Amy's every movement, but they've never been interested in her shadow; all I have to go on is her word.

She smiles as she watches my resolve drain. "I would never tell you something that wasn't true."

"Well, actually, you lie all the time…" I shift my feet uncomfortably.

"Yeah, to other people. What, you think I like hurting you?"

"Well… y-yeah!" Straightening my back, I make the attempt to meet her stare. Immediately, I can I see the disgust in her eyes.

"And you wonder why you have no friends…" she scoffs.

"I have Jasmine," I assert, keeping my gaze steady.

"You mean that girl you knew for a month last summer? She's in Austria, Samey. She isn't even thinking about you."

"She's from Australia. Completely different side of the globe."

"Do not correct me!" She takes a step forward, balling her hands in fists at her sides. "You see? This is what's wrong with you! You're so fucking delusional! If that girl gives a fuck about you, then why isn't she here?"

Don't listen, don't listen… I breathe deeper. Keep eye contact. She's just trying to get under your skin.

"If I'm such a bitch, then why do I have all the friends? Why do I have plans tonight and you don't? If you're the fucking 'nice sister', you would've been invited somewhere on a Friday night!"

The weight of her words falls on my shoulders, crushing me down, holding me in place. My eyes fall to the floor again.

"Do you know why I put up with your constant shit?"

I can't even shake my head.

"Answer me!" she commands, but I stay silent. I'm scrambling for an optimistic thought, a lifesaver to pull me up as I drown in Amy's words. But excuses are lost, because I know she's right. Something is wrong with me.

I feel her hand under my chin. Amy lifts my gaze to hers and the world stops turning. Everything else is a blurred mess―she is the only vision.

"Samey," she asks slowly, softer this time, "do you know why I put up with you?"

"N-no." Her hand is like silk against my skin.

"Because you're my sister. Because you're my twin." She stands steady, pulling me in closer and making me stumble. "I do everything for you, because you're mine."

Wrong. Fucking wrong. Her words twist in my stomach, but her smile fills my heart. I'm ashamed to stare at her like this, and yet I can't stop. A needful whimper leaves my throat. Our eyes lock.

"A-Amy…" My voice waivers.

"Yes?"

"I… I'm sorry I was so whiny." I bite my bottom lip before I say something I'll regret. We must look so strange from an outside perspective... Me, meek and starving for contact; Amy, calm and breathtaking.

"I've gotten used to it." She pauses. "There's something else on your mind, though. I can tell…"

I can't say it.

"Tell me what you want," she whispers, her minty breath on my lips.

I won't say it.

"Saaameeey?" She drags that stupid nickname into a song, fixing me with her seductive eyes. My palms are shaking and my heartbeat raises―I'm unsure if I'm furious or tempted. I can't even distinguish the two anymore.

Either way, the emotion makes me impulsive; I blurt out the two words that make me want to die. "Kiss me."

"Oh, is that what you want?" She leans in a little, amused.

"Please," I beg in a whisper. "Please, Amy."

Just before our lips connect, she pushes me back. I stumble awkwardly and land on the bed, my entire body burning red from the sensitive mixture of emotion within me.

"You always fall for that!" She laughs. "What kind of sick fuck are you? Did you really imagine now would be different from the other times you've tried to kiss me?"

Tears well in my eyes. Words stick in my throat. She knows damn well what I've been through these past years, the shame and confusion of this horrible affection, but she doesn't care. And why should she? Why should anyone care for a freak like me?

Still laughing, the girl I love walks out my door. She heads to her friends, to fun, to a life I can't have. And I hear her footsteps descend the stairs, leaving me to cry alone, growing fainter... Fainter…

Gone.

I wander through the house in a miserable haze. A day away from Amy should be a blessing, but no. I can't be happy without her consent.

Framed pictures line the hallway, a timeline of two lives entangled as one. The twins in the pictures grow more recognizable with each step. They become prettier, older, and more aware of their bond. More mature, less happy.

Age 2. I think our mother's old boyfriend took this picture. With arms linked, dressed in matching blue-and-white sailor outfits, we seemed so normal. Cute and innocent. Friendly. I can't even remember the time this picture was taken, but I wish it could've lasted forever.

Age 5. We're with our cousins on the brick steps of our grandmother's house. Amy sits front and center with a tiara on her head: my tiara. She'd broken hers during a tantrum and demanded that I give mine over. Her reasoning was that, in a real royal family, the oldest is first in line for the throne. I fulfilled her wish without a fight, letting my older sister be the princess of our photograph.

It wasn't just a five-year-old's reasoning, but the fact that I preferred seeing her with the tiara. As nice as it was to be a princess myself, it seemed more natural for Amy. She walked in elegance, her movements more fluid and her smile more genuine than mine ever was. When I put that piece of plastic on my head, I was a toddler playing pretend―when Amy put it on, she became real life royalty. Even in this picture, my stare is fixed on my sister rather than the photographer. I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

Age 8. We had a pretend fashion show. Mom was the photographer at first, but I took that role when she got some phone call. Amy started off as the model. The plan was that we would switch every half hour, but her lust for attention wouldn't allow it. After two hours of playing the adoring fan, I decided to complain to our mother that it was my turn...

The sound of tears stopped me outside of the doorway. Mom's murmuring was almost gibberish, but I could just make out cries of "Please no" and "Not over the phone!" It seems obvious she was being dumped, but as an eight-year-old, I feared me or my sister had done something wrong.

I went back to the runway (our living room's coffee table) to tell Amy about my concern. She snapped.

"Just let me be the model, Sammy!" She hadn't come up with my nickname yet. "You're just being dramatic! Mom is fine, so stop being selfish!"

"But Amy―"

"Shut up! If she's crying, it's probably because of you anyway! It's gotta be hard taking care of such a brat."

Yes, I admit that I fucking believed her. After all, why would a "famous model" lie to her "number one fan"?

I got on my knees again like a good admirer, swallowing back rage and guilt.

Age 11. This picture was taken just before the Valentine's Dance. Being the age where boys and girls begin to "notice" each other, Amy and I both had dates. Mom spent forever dressing us identically: red dresses with white trim, black Mary Janes, and pink ribbons in our hair. When I asked if she had any romantic plans while we were away, she just smiled and told me to focus on my own date… Which I couldn't, because I didn't care about the boys at the dance. All I cared about was Amy.

I ignored my date all night in favour of following my sister around. When I did speak, it was to complain that she was ignoring me. She didn't seem to care about the boy she was with either, but the more I pressed for her attention, the more distant she became. And the more distant she was, the more I craved her. It was a cycle.

By the time the last song played, I started giving my date some attention. We danced for all of thirty seconds before Amy rushed over, knocked him to the ground, and called me an "ungrateful slut" in front of the entire class. I don't know how dancing with my date at a fucking middle school event makes me an ungrateful slut, but the humiliation struck me regardless. I ran crying out of the cafeteria. No boy asked me out again.

Age 14. It was just after the first day of school. While I had shrivelled like a dying wallflower, Amy exploded into the world like a firework. I still couldn't find the base of her charisma… Confidence? Deception? Or was it nature, something unconscious that she could never control?

Whatever it was, she became fast friends with some older kids. They even invited her to go with them after school for pizza. I wasn't allowed. I pretended not to care.

Though I'm smiling in this photo, I have the distinct memory of going upstairs, burying my face in a pillow, and letting out the feeling of rejection through a series of tears and screams. I didn't know what was wrong with me... I wondered if I was gay, but even that didn't feel right―Amy was my one and only.

I would try to exaggerate her every fault, to focus on her flaws. I would try to see the savage shark within that sparkling sea, but nothing made me stop floating towards her. If anything, it made it worse… Sometimes I convinced myself I exaggerated all of her negative aspects, that each fault in her was just a trick of the light. It made her more enchanting, and my love burned hotter. Even when I knew it was wrong.

Caught up in thoughts of Amy, I almost run into the wall. The end of the hallway brings an end to my flashbacks, flinging the present reality in my face. No more pictures, no more memories.

Age 16. And I still love her.

Why am I awake at midnight? I can't even focus enough to use the time to my advantage. All of the music I listen to either pisses me off or makes me want to cry. All of my books blur together. I don't even have the energy to get out of bed… Fantastic.

The door opens, but I keep my back towards it. It could be a robber for all I care―or a murderer, or my father making some grand return to our lives. (That last one is the least likely.) A shift in weight tells me that someone's at the foot of my bed.

"Lying here doing nothing? You are your mother's child…" Amy's laugh sends a chill over my body. I close my eyes, pulling the blanket up over my head without a word.

"Remember when we were little and Mom would go months without leaving the house?" She doesn't seem to care that I'm trying to ignore her. "I don't think you noticed, but it always had to do with a guy... She never went anywhere unless she had a date. The house was her whole world. Kind of like you."

"That's not true." I sneer. "I've tried to leave, but you won't let me go anywhere alone."

"You don't want to go anywhere alone, Samey. You always say you do, but it's obvious you would die without me by your side."

"You…" I breathe in deeply, letting the angry breath out through my noise.

"I'm what?"

The words come out methodically. "You are a narcissistic whore."

Her hand is on my shoulder; I tense up. "Samey, I'm not mad at you anymore. You don't have to be a whiny little brat. I had fun with my friends, and now I'll be here for my sister."

"When are you ever here for me?!" I sit up to glare at her. "All you do is use me! I've never done anything but help you, and you still treat me like I'm gum under your shoe!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Gum has a purpose."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Tears drip down my face. I hadn't even noticed them, they were so sudden. I cover my eyes, wishing that Amy couldn't make me so vulnerable.

She removes my hands from my face, forcing me to look at her again.

"Nothing is wrong with me." She speaks with gentle regret, as though breaking bad news. "You're the one who's worthless."

"And you're the one who's heartless. Go away!"

Rage flickers in her eyes like a candle. She detests me and I know it. "I will, if that's what you want. I try to give you everything you want… Not that you ever notice."

Wow. I almost laugh in her face.

"Everything I want? The only thing I've ever wanted is you!" I say it with such authority that it shocks the both of us. I wait for her to say something manipulative, but she never breaks the silence.

My palms shake with that mixture of nerves and anger. "Our whole lives, I've just wanted you to treat me better. To stop talking down to me and abusing me. For you to like me, and maybe even…" I let that sentence trail off, quietly dying. Speaking of love would be too painful.

Her left hand reaches up to brush my hair back. She wipes each tear away carefully, cupping the side of my jaw. She shakes her head, a small gesture of disappointment, a silent note of whatever will I do with you? "You're a mess, Samey."

"I-I know," I sniff.

"But you're also mine." She brushes my hair back again, pulling me in closer until our noses are touching. "You are mine, right?"

"Yeah…"

"No more of that 'stand-up-for-yourself' crap the Austrian girl was preaching. Right?"

I don't bother correcting her again. "Okay."

And just like that, my fantasy comes true―her lips touch mine. My thoughts cease to make sense, my body stops being real, the world explodes. Everything I've wanted is everything I need is my life, my love, my Amy, forever…

For a few seconds after the kiss breaks, I'm unsure where I am. Amy climbs into bed with me, spreading the blankets across us both and pulling me in by my waist.

I breathe the word "Why?"

She gives me that same condescending smile. "Now you have no reason to say I don't care."

I burrow my face into her shoulder, my sorrows turned to tears of joy. Not caring how I may regret it in the future, I promise her through my sobs, "I'll never leave! I'll never leave! I'm yours, Amy, I'm yours…"