Mark's POV
Genevive was always my favorite cousin. Though it was pure coincidence that we had been born in the same hospital on the same night a mere three hours apart, we were convinced that it was fate. Later, as children she was my first film subject. Granted, we were only using our grandfather's ancient camera and she was dressed up in one of my grandmother's old dresses that was several sizes too big for her, but even then she had a talent for performing while I was better behind the camera. As young teens, Gen once punched a guy in the face when he had me pressed up against a wall with his fist inches from my nose. I always told her I'd be in debt to her forevermore, but she just rolled her eyes and insisted that I never mention it again. When we were teens at Scarsdale High, Genevive was a hopeless romantic who found her prince charming and went on to marry him a few years later.
Which is why I surprised when she came to the loft bleeding and crying that night.
Genevive's POV
When David, my husband of nearly three years, kicked me out of the apartment and pulled a knife on me, I couldn't think of anywhere to go. I had had the worst day to begin with. My car, my one and only mode of transportation, was stolen from outside of my office building. I lost the only job I've ever been able to keep, and I came home to find my husband kissing the girl I thought was my best friend. And that asshole had the nerve to kick me out.
And so I ended up walking down the rainy Manhattan street, pulling my light jacket as close to me as possible. I should have been paying more attention to where I was going, but I wasn't, and I ended up getting hit by the end of a long steel beam from a construction site. I was knocked to the ground with a sizable gash in my head. From the ground, I noticed the street sign on the corner. It read 11th Street and Avenue B on either side. That's when it hit me like the beam that had left the wound on my head. This was where Cousin Marky lived with his two roommates… what were their names again? I vaguely remembered meeting them once, but the names were far gone from my mind.
I made my way slowly up to the top floor of the old flat, holding my head and trying to wipe the tears from my eyes.
