Warnings: The opening scene might be disturbing and contains violation of consent. NOTHING EXPLICIT happens, but there's an almost-forced kiss, so please proceed with caution. Use CTRL F on your keyboard and skip to the words "She stood in the doorway" if you want to skip that moment entirely. Thank you.

Daughters of Destiny

Chapter 11:

"Abbot & Costello"

Bass thumped somewhere inside the house, distant but distinct.

I could feel it in my shoes, mostly, not to mention through the cushions of the threadbare couch at my back. Something by Drake, I think? It had a nice beat, whatever it was. I strained my ears to hear it as I sipped my red solo cup of punch because I was definitely going to add it to my workout playlist later. The contents of the punch were as mysterious as the song reverberating through the rafters, but it tasted nice, so whatever; no skin off my nose, and besides. I didn't want to offend Josh.

Oh, Josh. So dreamy—and not just because he had his arm around me, stubbly chin brushing my temple when he turned to whisper in my ear. I wasn't allowed to date, of course. Mom wouldn't allow it… but that just made the scent of Josh's cologne and the taste of the fruity punch all the sweeter. Forbidden fruit tastes the best, or something. What was the quote again?

Ah, well. I couldn't remember, and hell if I even cared. I just inhaled Josh's cologne the next time he leaned in, a secret little thrill shooting up my spine when his fingers brushed my nape. Josh was a straight-up hottie and I was the one on his arm in the basement, so the haters could just suck it. I was in too good a mood to pay any attention to the girls eyeballing me from the corner, jealous that I'd stolen the cutest guy at the party.

But my mood soured when Josh whispered in my ear, "Think your sister's having fun?"

I scoffed. "No way."

I didn't even have to look at her to know she hated being here. She stood in the other room, but in just the right spot to spy on me through the doorway. And she had the freakin' nerve to sulk as she watched me, ignoring one of the Beta Sig guys who was talking to her over the sound of the music. She ignored him and watched me, glaring over the lip of the red solo cup in her hand—the empty cup, I might add. She'd snagged it when we first walked in, and for a minute I thought she might actually take the stick out of her ass and be chill, but nooooo. She'd dumped the cup's contents into a half-dead potted plant when no one was looking. "What, and get wasted like these losers?" she'd sneered when I told her not to waste the booze, and then she installed herself in the doorway to sulk.

To sulk, and to watch and make sure I didn't have any fun at all.

Ugh. Sisters, right?

Not that Josh could tell what I was thinking; I had a really good poker face, especially around cute boys. "She could come play with us if you'd like," he said, grinning at me. So polite. He was just so great and dreamy, caring about my stupid sister like that.

"Nah." I downed another shot of punch, tipping the cup all the way back. "She'd just be a buzzkill."

He peeked into my cup when I lowered it again. "Want more punch?"

My turn to grin. "You know it."

When he took my hand to help me to my feet, my heart fluttered—and then it pounded when he didn't let go, leading me with laced fingers into the adjacent kitchenette. I tried not to look dumb in my high heels, the strappy ones that pinched my toes; thank god Josh didn't notice that I wasn't used to them and was tottering around like a baby giraffe over the basement's uneven floorboards. Totally worth it, though. I'd worn the painful shoes for him, after all, and he'd whistled at my legs when I'd walked into the frat house. Mission a-freaking-ccomplished.

Anyway. The punch was in a big orange sports jug on a wobbly table near the outdated refrigerator, and Josh took the time to fill my cup for me and ask if I wanted ice. He was super considerate like that, watching me with a smile from his spot leaning against the counter. He winked as I lifted the cup to my lips, and I couldn't help but giggle at him. Considerate, and cute, and—

The cup was blocking most of my face when I felt his hand on my waist. He dragged me forward a few inches, pulling me to him with a laugh that warmed me down to my toes. I dodged away when he tried to steal a kiss, blocking my mouth with my cup as I eyed him over its red rim. He made a pouty face, but I just grinned.

If he kissed me, it'd be my first. And sure, I liked him, and he was hella cute, and super considerate and nice—but I wasn't quite sure just yet if I wanted this to be the one, y'know? He needed to earn it before I'd let him have a taste.

But Josh didn't quite realize that. He reached for my cup and pulled it away, other arm still locked tight around my waist. I put my hands on his chest as he set the drink aside, lightly pushing at him with a giggle, but he didn't loosen his arm.

"C'mon." He put his other hand under my chin, tilting my face back like they do in the movies (swoon, right?). "Don't be like that."

I pulled my chin away and looked at him through my lashes. Playful. So he wouldn't get too mad and pout again. "Just making you work for it."

"Been doing that all night." And then his hand was in my hair, between one second and the next, and he was way, way too close. "C'mere."

I turned my face to the side, though the hand in my hair started to sting. "Hey, now," I said, tone mild but firm—and that didn't work. Josh dodged to try and find my lips. "Hey!" I yelped on reflex, shoving at him, but he was twice my size and way heavier than me and I couldn't budge him, and all of a sudden the warm glow in my chest turned to hot panic. I shoved harder, thrashed my head around, but he held on tight, lips skimming my jaw and down the column of my neck in a burst of alcohol-soaked breath. "Hey, hey, hey!" I said, voice rising at long last because holy shit he was not getting the message and sweet, considerate Josh was not listening, he wasn't listening, what the fuck? And he only laughed when I squirmed and said, "Get away from—"

"Back the hell off my sister, asshole."

At the sound of her voice, Josh's arms loosened, and he pulled away with a grumble.

She stood in the doorway.

When our eyes met, she snatched my red solo cup off the counter and hurled the punch inside it straight into Josh's face.

The next few seconds passed in a blur. Josh was yelling, I smelled punch, the bass was thumping, but my heart thumped even harder as I stumbled backward and watched him careen toward the sink, fumbling for paper towels with a curse—and when his voice rose into a furious bellow, she snatched my hand and pulled me away, out of the kitchen, into the room beyond full of dancing bodies that stank of booze and BO and bad decisions. We passed through them (she straight-armed, like, six dudes to get us out of there) and burst through the front door, into the cool night beyond without a backward glance, and we didn't stop running until we got to the end of the block and found a car parked along the street to crouch behind. She leaned against it while I collapsed onto the sidewalk and tried very hard not to die. My thighs felt like they'd caught fire, which was weird—oh, right. My high heels. I'd been so eager to leave that I'd sprinted away in them without feeling it, but now my legs burned and my little toe felt like it'd been rubbed with really rude sandpaper. The blister bubbling up on my skin attested to that feeling as I stripped the shoes off and began to massage my arches.

"You OK?"

She was staring at me. She'd caught her breath quicker than I had and was running her hands over her shaved scalp, as if forgetting she'd buzzed off all her hair the month before and was searching for something to grab. My hair was still long, worn in the braids Mom had put in last week. Before she cut her hair off, we'd had matching braids; Mom liked it when we matched, even though we were way too old for that. And that's why Mom had pitched a fit when she—

(What was her name, again?)

—borrowed Dad's trimmer to shear her hair away, tossing locks over the back fence for birds to use in their nests. Or something stupid like that. She was always doing shit like that, trying to prove a point, trying to make the rest of us look bad while she went to rallies and marches and recycled everything she touched—

But she wasn't trying to make a point that night. I thought she'd start to berate me the minute I let my guard down… but she didn't. She just stared, waiting for me to reply. She just stared with those eyes that looked exactly like mine, in that oversized army jacket she'd bought for two dollars at a thrift store or whatever, combat boots heavy on the sidewalk, russet skin dyed mahogany deep in the light of the humming streetlamp overhead…

I swallowed.

She stared.

"You OK?" she repeated. Softer, this time…

… and still the lecture didn't come.

"Yeah." The word burst from my mouth almost of its own accord, somehow, pulled from me by the weight of her silence. "I just—I thought he liked me." That sounded juvenile, even to me, and to my horror I felt my eyes prick with tears. Still, I kept talking, because I can never seem to stop. "But he didn't care if I…"

And then I stopped.

And then I cried like I was a little girl again.

That was when I expected the lecture to come, honestly. She'd been waiting on this. She'd been waiting on me to sink to my lowest so she could tell me how stupid I was and really stab the lesson home where it hurt. She'd done it before, after all, which meant she was capable of doing it again. I buried my face in my hands and braced myself for impact, defense ready on my tongue for when she struck—

She sat beside me on the curb.

She put her arm around me.

She smelled like she always had, familiar and warm, and I cried into her neck for what felt like an hour.

"He did like you," she murmured between sobs. "Just not the way you wanted him to."

I cried harder.

She said, "I'm sorry."

She said, "You didn't deserve that."

She said, "Fuck that guy."

And soon my tears dried up. I pulled away from her and sniffled, wiping my nose on the arm of my dress (gross, sure, but it wasn't like I had any tissues). She watched without speaking as I massaged my feet again. Her own feet in their combat boots looked comfy as hell. I should've raided her closet instead of wearing heels. We were the same size, after all, and—

She caught my eye. Didn't say anything, though. Just looked at me in silence, lips thin, her broad nose turned down at the tip as she studied me with an expression that said I hid no secrets from her. She could see them all. She's always been able to see them all.

I kept my eyes trained on the pavement when I muttered, "How did you know?"

A frown colored her voice; I didn't need to look at her to see it. "Know what?" she asked.

"That Josh was being…" I took a deep breath. "You know."

"How do you think I knew?" She tapped her knuckled against my forehead. "It's a twin thing, dummy."

Though she'd insulted me, the lightness in her voice kept any sting at bay. Still, I still shot her an annoyed glance as she offered me a small smile. It wasn't fair for her to say crap like that, as far as I was concerned. It wasn't fair for her to say that and make a little burst of warmth spread through my chest, homey and comforted by the sight of her face—that same face that looked back at me in the mirror each morning, identical in spite of her shaved head and my mane of many braids.

I pasted on a scowl I didn't feel. "We haven't talked like that since we were kids."

She shrugged. "Doesn't make it any less true."

"I guess." I sighed, head drooping forward so I could tangle my fingers in my hair. It was tough to say it, but something in that moment called me to admit, "You were right, by the way."

There was a pause.

She said: "Excuse me."

Another pause.

"I'm… going to need to hear that again," she said.

"I said, you were right." This time I spat the words, fingers digging tight into my scalp. "It was stupid to come here and we never should have—"

"Hey." Her fingers slipped into mine, gentle prying them out of my hair. Voice dry, tone detached, with the air of a nature documentarist my sister told me: "It's not your fault Josh is a Neanderthal with the empathetic ability of a particularly sociopathic rock."

Maybe it was her placid delivery. Maybe it was the words themselves. Whatever the reason, her statement struck me as funny as heck. Laughter built in my chest before bubbling past my lips; I had to sit up straight from the force of the giggles, legs stretching out in front of me on the cold pavement. Wiping at my eyes, I muttered, "Anyone ever told you you're actually hilarious sometimes?"

"I'll pretend not to be insulted by that 'actually'." She stood up, offering me the help of one of her bronzed hands. "Now let's go. I'm beat."

I hesitated, but after a moment, I took her hand.

After she helped me up, she didn't let go.

And against my best expectations, neither did I.

The walk home went slow, my heels like a ball and chain keeping us bound to the cold pavement. Our palms pressed together, fingers lacing tight, heartbeat echoing from my palm into hers and back again until they pulsed in steady rhythm. It was both familiar and foreign, that feeling—familiar because we'd walked so many times like that as kids, foreign because we hadn't walked like that since we were kids. I hated to admit that it felt nice, being with her like that. Sure, she had a big dumb shaved head and was obsessed with recycling nowadays, but we hadn't felt this close in ages. We joined different cliques in high school, let stupid social dynamics come into play and keep us apart. Hell, sometimes we didn't even look at each other when we passed in the hallways, pretending we were strangers even when our faces looked exactly the same and gave away the blood the tied us tight. But maybe after tonight we'd stop that. Maybe we'd greet one another by name

(name, name, what was her goddamn name?!)

and be like sisters again. How had distance between us grown so vast? How had being strangers become so easy? As kids I couldn't imagine life without her. I couldn't sleep without her beside me; I couldn't eat without sharing whatever lay on my plate. But then years had passed and the gulf had grown ever wider, increasing increment by increment until it felt as impassable as a chasm cut deep into the earth of our relationship—

Her fingers tightened around mine. I stumbled to a stop as she halted in place, staring straight ahead of with deep brown eyes narrowed above her pursed lips. I nudged her with my hip as a wind stripped by, cold fingers worming underneath the fabric of my dress, but she ignored me.

"Shit," my sister said.

I nudged her again. "Hmm?"

Her gaze didn't waver. "Mom and Dad are up."

"Oh. Shit."

We stood before our house, on the sidewalk at the edge of the clipped lawn that smelled of freshly mowed grass and the perfume of our mother's rose bushes. Spears of light lanced across the lawn at our feet, illuminating the damp silver concrete of the path up to our front door. When had we reached home? How had we gotten here so fast? I started to ask those questions, but beside me, my sister took a deep breath.

"I'll handle it," she said.

She let go of my hand.

She was halfway down the sidewalk before I realized what was happening.

It was impossible to catch her in my teetering heels since the feet inside them were covered in blisters, but I damn well tried. I staggered behind her on my toes, hissing for her to wait, dammit, don't be stupid under my breath, but she didn't slow her pace or even turn around to let me know she'd heard me (bullheaded to a fault, that one; but then again, we had that personality trait super frustratingly in common). She strode confidently past the marigold beds and onto the porch, where she wrenched open our blue-painted front door and walked with head held high into the hall beyond. I was right on her heels, stumbling up the steps behind her so fast I almost lost my balance and collided with her solid back.

By the time I did, Mom and Dad had appeared in the doorway to the living room. Mom's eyes were red, her umber cheeks slick with tears as she reached for us with her shaking hands, but Dad stepped between her and us with a severe shake of his head. She swallowed and paced back, giving him a nod that he returned before he rounded on us again.

"Young ladies, where have you been?" he asked, voice like thunder. "You've worried your poor mother to pieces, and I have half a mind to—"

"We were at a party." My sister squared up to Dad without flinching, matching his hard gaze with a defiant one of her own—and when he looked to me, lips parting to berate me because he knew damn well I was to blame for this, my sister stamped one foot against the ground. "And it was my idea.

Dad blinked. "It was… what?"

"Abbot," I grated out between my teeth. I grabbed her by the elbow. "Abbot, what the hell are you—?"

"Language!" Mom said.

My sister wrenched her arm away and hissed, "Shut up." Eyes on fire, jaw made of steel and will, to Dad she aimed the question, "Still mad? Aren't you always saying I need to get out more?"

"Well." He pushed his glasses up his hooked nose with a finger. "I didn't mean in the middle of the night."

"Yes—sneaking out?" Mom cupped Abbot's face in her hands, smiling even as she scolded. "We expected better of you."

Better of you, but not of your sister, went the unspoken subtext. But although I winced, no one said a word.

No one but Abbot, at least. She only nodded, looking suddenly contrite. "I understand," she said with utter solemnity, that faker. "And I'm sorry especially for dragging Costello along with me." She looked over her shoulder, identical eyes meeting mine with a flash of hidden meaning. "It won't happen again."

Our gazes held for what felt like a hundred years—and I had to wonder what, exactly, she was promising me.

The fact that I had to wonder at all said just as much as her meaning-laden gaze did.

We used to be able to speak without words. But those days were over now.

Mom soon hugged me, wrapping one arm around my sister and the other around my neck, kissing our temples one after the other. "Good," she said, and she took a long, wet sniffle. "But you're still grounded, Abbot."

My twin nodded. "I understand."

"For… a month." She wasn't accustomed to grounding my twin; I was normally the one who caused trouble, which meant it came as no surprise when she turned her dark eyes my way. "And you're grounded, too, Costello. Two weeks, for going along with your sister."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Fine. Sure."

Our mother beamed and held us close again. Dad came forward and held the three of us in his strong arms, and underneath the crushing wall of his chest, Abbot pressed her forehead to mine and smiled. But why was she looking at me like that, like we'd shared some private joke and had gotten away with murder for free? Our parents never grounded her; she didn't have the right to look this happy with herself; she didn't have the right to hold that mischievous amusement in her dark and glittering eyes, when she had been punished. But maybe being punished didn't matter to her so much. There was a first for everything. Maybe this was just a novelty to her. Our parents always did expect better of her than they did of me. She had better grades, better behavior, better everything, and she could smile even when getting grounded for a whole entire month (though it's not like that introvert had anywhere to go or whatever) so I squeezed my eyes shut and buried my face in our mother's shoulder, so I wouldn't have to look at that face that looked just like mine and yet was able to smile even in times like these, smile the way that I just freakin' couldn't—

"Tigger."

That voice did not belong to my sister. It didn't belong to my mother, or my father. But who—?

"Tigger. Tigger." A hand closed over my shoulder and gave it a light shake. "Kagome?"

I blinked, and the light of my house changed from warm gold to cool silver, the sound of water replacing the beat of my father's steady heart as I awoke.

Just like that, my sister—my twin, my family, my heart—was gone.

NOTES

There was supposed to be another half of this chapter, but I've been sitting on the above scene for literally 5 months and just wanted to haul off and post. Next time we'll get another chunk of Kagome's POV.

Kagome's twin was mentioned in LC a LONG time ago (chapter 16!) and at other points in this story, too (especially in the updated chapter 01). I had a bit of a mental block in place when it came to writing this chapter, mostly due to fleshing out NQKagome's past. Wanted her sister to feel very real, and it took me a while to get to know her. These twins are very different people, that's for sure, but I felt it was important to get a look at Kagome's past. We see Keiko's past a lot, after all, and Kagome's matters just as much. Writing this story halfway from her POV finally gave me the opportunity to explore it.

MANY THANKS to all those who chimed in with a review of this story since I last updated (quite some time ago). I have another four chapters planned; hoping to get the next one out faster than this one took, LOL. You all are the best: xenocanaan, Kaiya Azure, Iheartlife888, tryingtogetridofthisaccount, Laina Inverse, C S Stars, Lady Ellesmere, Viviene001, ahyeon, Minirowan, MyHeartBeatingMWMI, Biku sensei sez meow, Shadowed Replica, Konohamaya Uzumaki, Arkytior's Song and three guests!