The Twin Girl They Rejected

Prologue

I bit his lips as hard as I could. His reaction came instantly. He jerked back, his hands flying to his mouth, and I saw red. Blood. Trickling from between his fingers, dripping down his chin. He stared at me, eyes wide with shock, then narrowed with something far worse.

I'd made it worse. I knew I'd made it worse.

"I am sorry... please forgive me... I am sorry... Let me go..."

"Tie her up and plaster her f***ing mouth," he yelled.

They found ropes from somewhere. I don't know where. The storeroom was full of junk,, boxes, barrels, unused machinery piled up on both sides. They dragged me to a metal column and tied my hands behind it. The rope bit into my wrists. Then someone slapped tape across my mouth.

He came back to me, wiping the blood from his chin with the back of his hand.

"You little bitch... how dare you bite me... Get ready to pay the consequences."

He smirked. Then he started kissing my neck. Licking. Biting. I tried to turn away, but he grabbed my jaw and held me still. When I kept struggling, he started slapping me hard. Over and over. I lost count. My face burned. My head pounded like it might split open.

Then he grabbed my baggy sweater and pulled. It tore down the middle, exposing the t-shirt underneath. A tight one. The kind that clung to everything.

He stared at my chest. I could see it in his eyes. That look.

"She got big boobs, ah?? I love girls with big boobs!"

His hands came up and cupped me over the t-shirt. Rough. Disgusting. I wanted to throw up.

"Why the hell you hide all these treasures under these damn baggy sweaters all the time," he said, pulling my t-shirt up above my breasts. Now it was just my bra. My poor excuse for coverage.

"We are going to have so much fun... I can't wait to see your p***y..."

He started unbuttoning my jeans. His friends were cheering behind him. I could hear them. Four of them. All drunk. All out of their minds on alcohol and weeds. They'd been laughing at me since the beginning, since I'd crawled to the back wall and begged and screamed and cried.

The more I begged, the more they laughed. But I didn't care about the laughter. I didn't care about the hits. I didn't care about the humiliation. Because all the instincts I had as a girl were telling me something far worse was going to happen. Something that was happening right now.

He pulled my jeans down. The cold air hit my underwear. I heard him make an approving and exciting sound.

I closed my eyes. I couldn't stand watching my own body get exposed in front of their lustful eyes. I couldn't stand knowing what came next.

I preferred to die than lose myself to them. I wiggled. I tried everything to protest. But I was just a small doe captured by a pack of wolves.

His hands were on my waistband. Pulling and exposing it more. And then I heard it.

"Stop now!"

Everything stopped.

"Who the hell you think..." He turned around, his grip still on my jeans. I heard him stop. I heard his breath catch. "You!!"

I opened my eyes.

The least expected person in the world was standing in the doorway.

The drunk ones had already crawled out, scrambling on their hands and knees because they couldn't manage anything else. They'd disappeared into the corridor, leaving the ringleader behind with his pants half-undone and blood still drying on his chin.

My blood. No...his blood. From where I'd bitten him.

"This is none of your business," the ringleader said.

"It was none of my business? I felt he took a deep breath and added. "But now it is. Now get the hell out of here. Or I will kill every single one of you and put your shameful bodies for dogs to eat."

"But.."

"I think I should make myself more clear to you."

Then I heard it. A crash. A thud. One of the drunk ones, the one who'd been too slow to crawl out, went flying across the room and hit the wall. He crumpled like a sack of rubbish.

"Okay... okay, we are outta here. Forgive us."

The ringleader stumbled away. He didn't even look back at me. None of them did. They just ran, or tried to, their drunken legs giving out beneath them. They crawled through the doorway and I heard them crash into things in the corridor, panic making them clumsy.

Then silence.

I was still tied to the column. Still half-naked. Still shaking. And the least expected person in the world was walking towards me.

I pressed myself against the metal column and tried to remember how to breathe. My sweater was in shreds on the floor. My t-shirt was still pulled up above my breasts. My jeans were halfway down my legs. I was in my underwear. And it was him.

The last person on Earth I wanted to see me like this.

He crouched down in front of me. He was close enough that I could see his face now. His eyes were focused on mine, not on my body, not on the skin I was desperate to cover, just on my eyes.

He reached for my mouth and peeled the tape away. It hurt. Everything hurt. My face was still burning from the slaps, and my head was throbbing, and my ribs ached from the kicks, and my lip was split and bleeding, and I was sobbing before I even realised I was making a sound.

"First, please.."

He covered my mouth with his palm. I stopped talking.

His touch made me shiver. And I hated that. I hated that minutes ago I'd been touched by them, by their rough disgusting hands, and I'd wanted to peel my own skin off. But his hand on my mouth did something different. Something I couldn't explain. Something I didn't want to admit.

He started pulling up my jeans.

I wanted to tell him to untie me first. I wanted to tell him I could do this myself. I wanted to tell him to stop making me feel so helpless, so exposed, so completely and utterly broken. But his palm was still on my mouth.

He pulled my jeans up gently. Buttoned them. Pulled my t-shirt down so it covered my chest. All without looking anywhere except at my face.

Then he reached behind me and untied the rope. My wrists came free, raw and red, and I rubbed them without thinking. He took off his jersey and wrapped it around me. It smelled clean. Like him.

"Let's go," he said.

His hand went around my waist, and he pulled me up. My legs gave out immediately. I couldn't stand. I don't know how long they'd had me pinned, hours, minutes, I couldn't tell. The only thing I knew was the cold floor and the dusty wall and their laughter and his voice.

He held me up. Leaning on him. His arm strong around my waist.

And from that moment, my entire life changed.

As he led me towards the doorway, I looked back at the storeroom one last time. I saw the boxes. The barrels. The unused machinery. The junk piled up on both sides. The metal column where they'd tied me. The floor where I'd crawled and begged.

I remembered everything.

I remembered the first kick to my lower abdomen. The pain that made me fall onto the cold icy floor. I remembered crawling away from him, my body aching from the countless hits he'd already given me. I remembered hitting that dusty wall, trapped by boxes and barrels on both sides, nowhere to go except forward; where he and his four friends blocked my way.

I remembered begging.

"Please let me go... I will do anything you ask... Please let me go..."

I remembered him laughing like he was insane.

"Why... you want to go... this is so much fun... isn't it?"

I remembered him kneeling in front of me. The smell of sweat and alcohol. His hand grabbing my face. His lips crashing on mine. His tongue forcing my mouth open. His saliva; alcohol, nicotine, disgusting, making me want to vomit.

Now this man led me out of the storeroom, out of that building, into the night air. I didn't ask where we were going. I didn't care.

All I knew was that from that moment, my entire life changed.

The football had barely left Jake's foot when the whole stadium erupted. I sat among hundreds of students, but my eyes were fixed on only one person.

Jake

He was the captain of the university football team, the kind of person everyone noticed the moment he walked into a room. Girls talked about him constantly. Even girls dating my brother, Shane, were secretly interested in Jake.

I wasn't there because I loved football. I was there because watching Jake play was the only time I could look at him without feeling as though I was doing something wrong.

He had no idea I was watching. He probably had no idea I even existed. And somehow, that didn't stop me from caring about him.

Maybe it was because, unlike almost everyone else in my life, Jake had never given me a reason to hate him.

My name is Sarah. And before you decide that your own life is difficult, let me tell you about mine.

I have a twin brother named Shane. He was born a few minutes before me, but those few minutes seemed to mean everything in our family.

Shane is tall, handsome and athletic. He is the goalkeeper for the university football team and one of the most well-known students on campus.

People love him. Girls follow him around. He can walk into a room and make friends within minutes. I can't. We couldn't be more different.

While Shane is confident and popular, I am the girl people barely notice unless they need someone to laugh at.

I am not beautiful. At least, nobody has ever made me feel beautiful.

I am terrible at sports. I am awkward around people. I don't know how to make friends, and I have never been the sort of person others want around them. Not even my own family wants me around.

Shane doesn't like people knowing that I am his sister. Most students at Queens University don't even know we are related. I can't completely blame him.

Look at the two of us and you would probably wonder how we came from the same family too.

Queens University is the most prestigious university in the country, and somehow, I managed to earn a full scholarship there.

That is probably the only thing in my life I am truly proud of. Studying has always been easy for me.

I can remember things quickly, so I don't need to spend endless hours preparing for exams. My grades have always been high, and throughout school, I won awards and received recognition for my academic work. But none of that mattered at home.

My parents never came to my prizegiving ceremonies. They never looked proud when I brought home another award. They never seemed interested when my report card was filled with A's. But if Shane managed to get a C in one subject, suddenly that was something worth talking about.

My parents always had enough money for Shane. They paid for his education because they believed his football career was important. As for me, they stopped supporting my education years ago.

They told me they had to concentrate on Shane.If I wanted to study, I had to find a way to pay for it myself. So I did. I started taking part-time jobs when I was thirteen.

While other children my age were playing with friends after school, I was working. And when I came home, there was still more waiting for me:

Cooking.

Cleaning.

Washing clothes.

Doing the dishes.

Everything.

Nobody in my family thought they should help. My parents said I should be grateful they allowed me to live under their roof and gave me food. According to them, doing every household chore was how I showed my gratitude. I didn't even have a proper bedroom.

I slept in the storeroom. There was a small space in one corner where I kept the few things I owned. I didn't need much because I couldn't afford much.

The room had no proper heating or cooling. During the summer, I would lie there sweating.

During the winter, I would spend the night shivering beneath whatever blankets I could find.

I can't remember the last time my parents bought me clothes. Most of what I wear comes from second-hand shops.

A few old T-shirts. Loose sweaters. Jeans. One pair of shoes. That is almost everything I own.

If I ever need something nicer for an interview or a special occasion, I sometimes borrow a pair of shoes from my mother.

I always pay for that favour later. Usually with bruises. I don't wear make-up either. Not because I dislike it.

I simply don't have money for it. So when people see me at university, this is what they see.

Messy hair. An unkempt face. Oversized clothes. Old shoes.

A scholarship student who looks as though she doesn't belong at Queens University. To them, I am the awkward nerd who somehow got lucky enough to study among them.

My family treats me no better. They beat me whenever they decide I deserve punishment. And the worst part is that I don't even need to do anything wrong.

If my parents have a bad day, I become the person they take their anger out on. If Shane is angry, I am blamed.

If they are in a good mood, sometimes they punish me simply because it makes them feel even better. Shane became worse when we grew older. He didn't limit himself to treating me badly at home.

At school, he became my biggest bully. Everyone loved Shane, and everyone knew he hated me. So bullying me became an easy way for people to get closer to him.

University didn't change anything. If anything, it became worse. Shane continued humiliating me whenever he wanted, and other students joined in. Some wanted Shane to like them. Others hated the idea of a poor scholarship student receiving praise from lecturers while they had money, connections and better clothes. I became an easy target.

Every day, I woke around four in the morning to finish assignments, study or complete whatever work I had left. By the time I finally went to sleep, my body was exhausted. But physical exhaustion was never what hurt the most. It was the words.

The insults.

The humiliation.

Being treated as though I was nothing more than a servant in my own home. That was what broke something inside me little by little. Sometimes people ask why I don't simply leave. Why don't I get a job, rent a room and build a new life?

The answer is simple. I'm scared. As awful as my life is, these are still the people I have known since I was born. Leaving everything behind feels more frightening than remaining where I am. So I endure it. Every day. And I keep going because I have two reasons.

The first is my education. I want to become a computer engineer. I want a good job. I want enough money to leave that house and never have to depend on anyone again. Studying is my way out.

Then there is the second reason. Jake. The most handsome man I have ever seen. He is the captain of the football team and one of the best students in our batch.

Lecturers admire him. Students respect him. Girls want him. But unlike Shane, Jake doesn't seem interested in collecting admirers. He keeps to himself and doesn't have many close friends.

He could have almost anyone he wanted, yet he doesn't seem interested in chasing after them. That is one of the reasons I find myself thinking about him so much.

It isn't simply because he is handsome. Jake and I are in the same batch. We study the same subjects.

We have sat in the same lecture halls. We have walked past each other countless times. Yet we have never actually spoken.

I doubt he even knows my name. Still, whenever I look at him, I feel there is something about him I understand. Everyone sees the cold, distant side of Jake.

I see something else. I see someone who seems lonely. Someone who keeps people away. Someone who might be hiding a softer side beneath everything he shows the world.

I don't know why I feel that way. Maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm wrong. But I can't shake the feeling that, somehow, Jake and I are more alike than people would ever believe.

He is simply living a life that looks completely different from mine. And there is another reason I can't help being drawn to him.

He never bullies me. That might sound ridiculous. But when you spend your whole life being mocked, insulted and hurt, someone treating you with ordinary kindness can feel extraordinary.

Jake has never laughed at me. He has never joined Shane. He has never looked at me with disgust.

So I started noticing him. Then I started looking for him. Soon, watching him became part of my routine.

I attended almost every football match. Not because I cared about football.

I went because I could sit in the crowd and watch Jake without anyone knowing what I was doing. I could look at him for ninety minutes and pretend, just for a while, that I belonged somewhere.

That was my little secret and nobody knew. My life continued in the same miserable routine.

Wake up. Study. Work. Attend lectures. Do household chores. Endure Shane. Go back to the storeroom.

Cry when nobody could hear me and then do it all again the next day. Nothing ever changed.

Until one day.

One ordinary day that should have meant nothing. Something happened.

At first, I thought it was nothing more than a simple act of kindness. I didn't realise then that those few seconds would become the one thing I held on to when everything else in my life felt impossible. And I certainly didn't know that, one day, it would become my life.

"Drink and smile."

I stared at the little note beside the cup, unable to understand why someone had left it for me.

The hot chocolate was still warm. I looked around the abandoned tenth floor, but there was nobody there. The old lecture rooms were empty, and the corridor outside was silent.

Then my phone buzzed. An unknown number.

"Hope you enjoy your favourite drink. Don't worry, this isn't a prank. Go home safely."

I read the message twice.

My fingers tightened around the phone. Who knew this was my favourite drink? And more importantly, who knew I was here? I had come to this floor because I needed somewhere to hide. I always needed somewhere to hide. But today was different. Today, I wasn't hiding from students. I was hiding from my family.

Only a few hours earlier, I had believed I already knew how little my parents cared about me. I had been wrong. That morning, I woke with a terrible headache.

There were no lectures because two classes had been cancelled, and I had planned to spend part of the day working at the café where I had a part-time job.

Instead, I remained in bed. After several hours of sleep, I woke at about three in the afternoon. There was a football match that day.

A visiting university team had come to our campus for a friendly game. Normally, I would never miss it.

Watching Jake McMiller play was one of the few things that could make me forget my life for a while.

So I washed, dressed in my usual clothes and picked up my bag. I had barely reached the living room when I saw my mother sitting on the sofa.

She was crying. My father was beside her, holding her hand. Both of them should have been at work.

I stopped. My mother wasn't someone who cried easily.

"Mom, what happened?"

She looked at me. Something in her face made my stomach turn. My father tried to stop her when she rose from the sofa.

He wasn't quick enough. She came towards me and started striking me. I had no idea what I had done.

"Mom, please. What did I do?"

I apologised even though I didn't know what I was apologising for. Then her hands went around my throat. I struggled for air.

"Do you want to know what you did?" she screamed. "You were born."

For a moment, I couldn't understand her. Then she said the words that would stay inside my mind forever.

She said she should have killed me before I was born. My entire body went numb. Not because I was being strangled. Because I had just heard my own mother say she wished I had never existed.

"Lisa, let her go!" Dad shouted.

She refused. She told him she wanted me dead. She said the only reason she had never done it was because she was afraid something might happen to Shane.

Then she said something even worse. They could have given me away after I was born. They had considered sending me to an orphanage. But they had chosen to keep Shane.

My twin brother.

The boy who had always been more important to them. The boy they had chosen before either of us had even been born. My father eventually pulled my mother away. I dropped to the floor, coughing and struggling to breathe.

My mother continued screaming. She wanted to get back to me. She kept calling me names. I tried to stand. My legs refused to cooperate. I reached for the table and pushed myself up, only to fall again. All I wanted was to escape.

Eventually, I managed to get back on my feet. I grabbed my backpack and ran. I didn't look behind me. I couldn't. I had already heard enough. More than enough. I don't remember how I reached the university.

By the time I arrived, it was around half past four. The football match had already started. Normally, I would have hurried towards the field. Not that day.

I walked into the faculty building and took the lift to the tenth floor. Almost nobody went there. There were a few old lecture rooms, but most of the floor was used for storage.

For me, it had become a hiding place. A place where nobody searched for me. A place where I could cry without someone asking questions.

The moment I entered my little corner, everything I had been holding inside broke apart. I cried until my head hurt. My mother's words kept returning. They had wanted to kill me before I was even born.

They had discovered they were having twins and decided that only one child should remain. They had chosen Shane. They hadn't even known whether the second baby was a boy or a girl. They had simply decided that I was the one they didn't want.

Why?

What had I done?

How could I have deserved that before I had even opened my eyes? I already knew my parents preferred Shane.

I already knew they didn't love me. But knowing they had once planned to give me away was different. It destroyed the last little piece of hope I had been carrying. I had spent years telling myself that perhaps they would eventually accept me.

Perhaps one day they would look at me and see their daughter. Perhaps one day I would matter. Now I knew better. I had never been wanted. And suddenly, I felt more alone than I ever had before.

Where could I go?

Could I return home and pretend I hadn't heard anything? How could I look at my parents again? But if I didn't go back, where else could I stay?

I had no money for a proper place. No close friend I could turn to. No family member waiting to take me in. So I remained there, crying and thinking about what I was supposed to do.

I don't know when exhaustion finally took over. When I opened my eyes again, the room was completely dark. I reached for my phone.

Nine o'clock.

I slowly sat up and gathered my bag. That was when I noticed something on the table.

A cup.

I switched on my phone's torch and saw that it was hot chocolate. Still warm. I stared at it.

Who had brought this? I looked around the room. Nobody. There was a small note beside it.

"Drink and smile."

I nearly laughed.

Was someone trying to play another stupid prank on me? People at university had done things like that before.

They would pretend to be kind, only to humiliate me later. I didn't trust surprises anymore. Then my phone vibrated. Another message from the unknown number.

"Hope you enjoy your favourite drink. Don't worry, this isn't a prank. Go home safely."

I stared at the screen. How did this person know? Hot chocolate was my favourite. I had never told many people that.

Could this still be a prank? I picked up the cup and smelled it. The familiar sweet smell reached me, and I suddenly realised I hadn't eaten anything since morning.

I took a small sip. It was delicious. For the first time that day, something felt good. I looked at the message again.

"Who are you?"

I typed my reply.

"Thank you for the drink. It was really nice. But who are you?"

I carried the half-empty cup with me as I headed towards the lift. There was still no answer. When I finally left the university, I had no idea what I was going to do.

Part of me wanted to disappear. Another part knew I had nowhere else to go. I could sleep at a bus stop.

Maybe a station. Maybe somewhere on campus. But eventually, my feet carried me towards the bus. And before I knew it, I was going home.

When I opened the front door, my parents and Shane were sitting together, watching television. Nobody asked why I had been gone so long.

My mother only looked at me and shouted about dinner. They had ordered food because I hadn't prepared anything.

She called me useless and continued complaining. I said nothing. I walked straight to my room.

After washing, I sat at my little table. Sleep wouldn't come. My mind kept returning to the same words.

'I should have killed you.'

I closed my eyes.

Then my phone vibrated. Another message. My heart began beating faster as I picked it up. The unknown number had replied.

"You will know who I am when the time is right. Until then, call me whatever you want. Good night, Princess."

Princess.

I stared at that one word. Nobody had ever called me that. Not my parents. Not Shane. Not anyone. I knew it was only a word from a stranger.

It shouldn't have mattered.

But after everything I had heard that day, after spending years feeling unwanted and invisible, that tiny act of kindness reached a part of me I thought had gone empty long ago. My eyes filled with tears.

For the first time in my life, someone had made me feel special. And I didn't even know who they were.