My Twin, His Obsession

The air in Demian Oliver' s apartment was thick and hot, our bodies slick with sweat. This was it, the secret celebration of our graduation, the moment I had waited for.

Then, in the peak of his passion, he whispered a name: "Finley."

Not my name.

My name is Finley Brooks. Finley is my younger twin sister.

My whole body went cold.

I found his phone, and a group chat called "The Conquest" revealed a picture of me sleeping in his bed, my back exposed.

Messages confirmed my worst fears: "Consider this a warm-up. Gotta get familiar with the family before I go for the main prize."

Two years of secret dates, stolen kisses, and whispered promises were all a lie. I was just a conquest, an appetizer for my own sister.

The humiliation continued at the graduation party.

My sister, Finley, publicly exposed the hickeys Demian had left on my neck, mocking me. Demian, the man I thought loved me, stood by and watched, his expression unreadable. Later, during a game of Truth or Dare, he publicly disowned me, forcing me to drink an entire bottle of vodka.

I didn't understand. Why was I always the target? Why did my own family, and the man I loved, choose to humiliate me so cruelly?

That night, I received an email: early admission to Crestwood Institute for Advanced Research, a secluded university thousands of miles away. It was my chance to escape, to become a ghost.

Chapter 1

The air in Demian Oliver' s apartment was thick and hot. Our bodies were slick with sweat, tangled together in the sheets of his bed. This was it, the secret celebration of our graduation, the moment I had waited for. His hands were everywhere, his breath hot against my neck.

In the peak of his passion, he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear.

"Finley," he whispered, his voice rough.

My whole body went cold. It wasn't my name. My name is Finley Brooks. Finley is my younger twin sister.

I stopped moving, my mind racing. "What did you just say?"

He didn' t seem to notice the shift in me. His hips kept moving against mine, a steady, demanding rhythm. "Nothing, baby. Just telling you how good you feel."

His hands moved to my hips, holding me in place, trying to pull me back into the moment. But his touch now felt wrong, like a violation. I pushed against his chest, trying to create space between us.

"No, you said a name," I insisted, my voice trembling.

He finally stopped, looking down at me with a lazy, satisfied smile that now made my stomach turn. "I said your name, Finley Brooks. Who else would I be thinking about?"

He kissed me then, a deep, bruising kiss meant to silence my questions, to overwhelm my senses. For a moment, I almost let it. But the wrongness of it all was a sharp, clear note in the fog of passion.

My body was exhausted. He had pushed me to my limits, and I felt drained, a deep ache settling into my bones. I didn' t have the energy to fight him anymore. He finally finished, rolling off me with a heavy sigh.

"I' m gonna grab a drink," he said, getting out of bed. "You want anything?"

I just shook my head, not trusting my voice. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I curled into a ball, the sheets feeling cold and strange against my skin.

My body was screaming with exhaustion. Every muscle ached. I felt fragile, used. Lying there, I heard a buzz from the floor. It was his phone.

He' d left it behind. It buzzed again, the screen lighting up. Curiosity, a sick, twisting feeling in my gut, made me reach for it. I shouldn' t. I knew I shouldn' t. But the name he' d whispered echoed in my mind.

I picked it up. The screen was lit with a notification from a group chat. The name of the group was "The Conquest." My heart pounded against my ribs.

A new message popped up. "So, did you do it? Did you finally get the ice queen?"

My fingers trembled as I clicked on the notification. The chat history opened, and I saw a picture he had sent just an hour ago. It was of me, sleeping in his bed, my face turned away from the camera. My back was exposed, vulnerable.

I scrolled up, my breath catching in my throat. The messages were a brutal chronicle of his intentions.

"Guys, I' m about to conquer the final frontier. The quiet bookworm, Finley Brooks."

"Isn' t that Finley' s sister? The hot one?" someone asked.

Demian' s reply was a punch to the gut. "Yeah. Consider this a warm-up. Gotta get familiar with the family before I go for the main prize."

"Damn, Oliver, you' re a savage. Using one sister to get to the other."

"She' s been holding out for two years," Demian had typed. "Told her I was saving myself for her. Guess she bought it."

The words blurred through my tears. Two years. Two years of secret dates, stolen kisses, and whispered promises. He was the most popular guy in school, the star athlete. I was just a quiet girl who loved books.

I remembered the day he first approached me in the library. He' d smiled, and my world tilted on its axis. He pursued me relentlessly, with a single-minded focus that I mistook for love.

He brought me breakfast, walked me to class, and sent me texts every night. He made me feel seen.

I' d had my doubts. It felt too good to be true. "Why me, Demian?" I had asked him once. "There are so many other girls."

He had cupped my face in his hands. "Because you' re different, Finley Brooks. You' re real. You' re the only one I want."

And I had believed him. I believed every lie. Tonight, our first time, was supposed to be the culmination of that love. But it was just a game to him. I wasn' t a person he loved; I was a conquest. An appetizer before the main course-my own sister.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I felt sick, disgusted. My body, which had felt pleasure just moments before, now felt cheap and soiled.

The doorknob turned. I quickly wiped my eyes and dropped the phone back on the floor, turning my face to the pillow just as he walked in.

"Hey, you okay?" He sat on the edge of the bed, his voice laced with fake concern. "You look pale."

He reached out to touch my face, and I flinched away from him.

"Don' t touch me," I whispered, my voice hoarse.

He frowned, his hand hovering in the air. "What' s wrong?"

He tried to lean in for another kiss, his intentions clear. This time, I found my strength.

I shoved him hard. "Get off me."

He looked genuinely surprised, then a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. "Fine. Be that way."

He stood up. "I' ve gotta go meet the guys for a bit, celebrate. I' ll be back." He grabbed his phone from the floor without a second glance and left.

The door closed, and I was alone again. I looked in the mirror on his wall. My neck and collarbones were covered in dark bruises, love bites that now looked like marks of shame.

I had kept our relationship a secret for two years. For him. I' d given him my trust, my loyalty, and tonight, my body. And it was all a joke.

My perfect, fairytale first love was a lie. A cruel, calculated deception.

It' s over, I told myself. A clean break.

Then a new, horrifying thought hit me. In his push to make tonight happen, he had convinced me we didn' t need protection. "It' s our first time," he' d said. "I want to feel all of you. I' ll be careful, I promise."

Another lie. I grabbed my clothes, my hands shaking so badly I could barely zip my jeans. I had to get to a pharmacy.

The late-night pharmacy was starkly lit. The pharmacist, an older woman with judging eyes, looked at the box of emergency contraception in my hand and then back at my face.

"Young people these days," she muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. "No self-control."

I ignored her, paid in cash, and left. I felt the burn of shame on my cheeks, a hot flush that had nothing to do with the summer night. I ripped the box open right there on the sidewalk, under the weak glow of a streetlight.

I remembered Demian' s words, his sweet promises about our future, about how he was only with me. He would never hurt me, he' d said.

Never again, I vowed to myself, my throat tight. I will never let him fool me again.

"Look at her. No shame at all."

The voice came from a woman passing by, her eyes fixed on the box in my hand. I quickly shoved it into my purse, my face burning.

I hurried away from the pharmacy, my steps quick and uneven. The city felt vast and lonely. I found a dimly lit bus stop and sat down on the cold metal bench.

With trembling hands, I took out the pill and a bottle of water I' d bought. I swallowed it dryly, the small tablet feeling like a rock in my throat.

A wave of nausea hit me, and I leaned over, gagging into a trash can. Nothing came up but bitter bile.

"Finley Brooks? What are you doing here?"

I froze. It was Demian. He stood in front of me, his face a perfect mask of concern. He must have finished celebrating with his friends.

"I was worried when you left," he said, his voice soft and convincing. He even managed to look hurt. "I called you, but you didn' t answer."

I just stared at him, my stomach churning.

"I was just buying some medicine," I said, my voice flat.

He saw the empty pill packet I' d dropped on the ground. A flash of something-annoyance? embarrassment?-crossed his face before he smoothed it over.

"Oh," he said, kicking the packet under the bench. "Well, let' s get you home. You look awful."

I didn' t move. The thought of being in a car with him, of him touching me, made my skin crawl.

"I' ll take the bus," I said.

"Don' t be silly." He reached for my arm. I pulled it away like I' d been burned.

His eyes narrowed. "What is your problem?"

"Let' s just go to the graduation party," he said, changing tactics. "Everyone' s heading over there. We can go together."

The idea was absurd. Two years he had insisted we keep things secret. Now he wanted to show up at the biggest party of the year together?

"You go ahead," I said. "I' ll meet you there."

I wanted to see it with my own eyes. I needed to see him with my sister.

He looked annoyed but finally shrugged. "Fine. Don' t be late." He turned and walked away without another word.

I sat on the bench for a long time, replaying the words from his phone in my head. A warm-up. The main prize. He had never planned to be with me. He' d always promised that once we graduated, we could finally be public. It was all a lie to get what he wanted.

The truth was laid bare in that group chat. He wasn' t just a liar; he was cruel.

I finally got up and took a bus to the party. The house was already overflowing with people, music blasting from the open windows.

I saw him before he saw me. He was standing by the pool, and my sister, Finley, was hanging on his arm, laughing at something he said. She looked radiant, the center of attention as always.

People were cheering them on. "Finally making it official, Demian?" someone shouted. "Finley' s been waiting forever!"

He just grinned, a smug, possessive look on his face as he looked down at my sister. I remembered all the times he' d dismissed my desire to go public. "It' s not the right time," he' d say. "People will talk. It' ll ruin what we have." What we had was nothing.

I walked into the backyard, my heart a heavy stone in my chest.

Demian saw me over Finley' s shoulder. His smile didn' t falter. He was a master of deception.

Finley turned and her bright smile widened when she saw me. "Finley Brooks! You made it!"

She rushed over and gave me a hug, her perfume cloying and sweet. "I was so worried you wouldn' t come."

Someone in the crowd behind her snickered. "Look at her neck. Someone had a good night."

My hand flew to my collar, but it was too late. The high neckline of my dress had slipped, revealing the dark bruises Demian had left.

Finley pulled back, her eyes widening in mock surprise. "Oh my god, Finley Brooks! What happened to you?"

Her voice was loud, drawing more attention. She reached out and pulled my collar down further, exposing the marks for everyone to see.

"Did you get into a fight with a vampire?" she asked, her voice dripping with fake concern.

The crowd erupted in laughter. Their eyes were on me, filled with judgment and amusement. I felt stripped bare, humiliated.

Demian stood a few feet away, watching the whole scene unfold. He didn' t move. He didn' t say a word to defend me. He just watched, his expression unreadable, as my sister tore me apart for his entertainment.

I looked at him, then at her, and forced a smile. "Just a really passionate mosquito," I said, my voice shaking with a rage I didn' t know I possessed.

The laughter around me grew louder. My forced smile felt like a crack in a dam, holding back a flood of tears.

Demian finally stepped forward, placing a hand on Finley' s shoulder. "Alright, that' s enough. Leave her alone." His voice was calm, authoritative. He was managing the scene, not protecting me.

The party host, a guy named Mark, clapped his hands. "Okay, okay, let' s play a game! Truth or Dare!"

The focus shifted, and I felt a small wave of relief. People gathered in a circle, and the game began.

A few rounds in, the bottle spun and landed on Finley. "Truth or dare, Finley?"

"Dare!" she chirped, always the center of attention.

"I dare you to get Demian to carry you piggyback around the pool three times!" a girl shouted.

Finley giggled and looked at Demian with wide, pleading eyes. "Demian, will you help me?"

"Of course," he said instantly, his voice warm. He crouched down, and she jumped onto his back. He carried her around the pool, the crowd cheering him on, complimenting his strength.

I turned away, my stomach twisting. I couldn' t watch.

Then the bottle spun again. It landed on me.

"Truth or dare, Finley Brooks?"

My throat was dry. "Truth."

"Lame!" someone yelled. "It' s graduation! Dare!"

The pressure was immense. "Fine," I whispered. "Dare."

A cruel smile spread across the face of one of Finley' s friends. "I dare you to either drink this entire bottle of vodka or kiss the guy you came with."

All eyes turned to me. They knew I came alone. They knew I didn' t drink. It was a trap.

I looked at Demian, a silent plea in my eyes. Just one word from him, a simple act of claiming me, would end this.

He met my gaze for a split second, then deliberately looked away, staring at the pool as if he hadn' t seen me at all.

"I' m not a part of this," he announced to the crowd, his voice cold and distant. "She can handle it herself."

The words hit me harder than a slap. Publicly, in front of everyone, he had disowned me. The humiliation was a physical thing, a hot, suffocating blanket.

My choice was made for me. I picked up the bottle of vodka. With shaking hands, I brought it to my lips and started to drink. The liquor burned my throat, my eyes watering.

The world started to spin. The faces around me blurred. I finished the bottle, slammed it down on the table, and stumbled away from the circle.

I fled to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes red-rimmed. A stranger stared back at me, a pathetic, foolish girl.

"It' s okay," I whispered to my reflection. "You' re getting out. Soon."

I decided right then. I was done. I left the party without saying goodbye to anyone and got on the first bus heading home.

On the ride, I pulled out my phone. I scrolled through two years of messages from Demian. Thousands of them. "Good morning, beautiful." "Thinking of you." "Can' t wait to see you."

I looked at the photos he' d sent, pictures of his smile, pictures of us in the rare moments we could be alone. It all felt like a lie now.

With a final, decisive tap, I deleted everything. His contact, the chat history, the photos. I wiped him from my digital life.

When I got home, the house was dark. But as I opened the door, my father was waiting in the living room. He stood up, his face a mask of fury.

"Where have you been?" he roared, and before I could answer, his hand flew out and struck my face. The force of it sent me stumbling back against the wall.

My mother and Finley appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. Finley had a smug, satisfied look on her face. My mother just looked disappointed.

"Your sister said you got drunk at a party and made a fool of yourself!" my father yelled.

"I didn' t..." I started to explain, but Finley cut me off.

"Dad, she did! She was all over some guy, and when he rejected her, she drank a whole bottle of vodka. It was so embarrassing."

"Look at you!" my mother said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Why can' t you be more like your sister? Finley is smart, popular, and knows how to behave. You just bring shame to this family."

I saw them then, standing together. A perfect family unit. My father, my mother, my sister. I was the outsider.

I noticed a travel brochure on the coffee table. A family trip to Hawaii. A graduation present. My name wasn' t on the booking.

"You' re not going," my mother said, following my gaze. "You need to stay here and reflect on your behavior."

It was always like this. I remembered my tenth birthday. We were supposed to go to Disneyland. But Finley fell and scraped her knee, and my parents cancelled the trip to stay home and comfort her. They bought her a new dollhouse to make her feel better. I got nothing.

"Get to your room," my father snarled, taking a threatening step toward me.

I retreated, locking my bedroom door behind me. I sank to the floor, the pain in my cheek a dull throb compared to the ache in my heart.

Just then, my laptop pinged. It was an email.

Dear Ms. Finley Brooks, Congratulations! We are pleased to offer you early admission to the Crestwood Institute for Advanced Research...

Crestwood. A prestigious, secluded university thousands of miles away. A place known for its rigorous program and for isolating its students from the outside world. A place to escape.

For the first time all night, a real smile touched my lips. This was my chance. This was my way out.