WHEN HIS HEART GOES WRONG

POV: ERICA

Hundreds of guests waited to see me walk down the aisle in lace and lies. The limousine waited outside, ready to ride me into a future I never wanted.

Instead, I gripped my dress and bolted through the back door of the bridal suite.

I was sprinting through the crowded streets of Sierra, heels in my hand, heart dragging behind me like a bruised, broken thing.

It hurts. But I didn't shed a tear.

I didn't cry when my stepmother zipped up my wedding dress this morning with a victorious grin.

She had wanted nothing but to marry me off. My marriage would remove the only threat to her son inheriting my father's wealth.

I didn't cry when my father looked me in the eye and said, "I know you don't love him. But you must marry him."

Having Hays as a son-in-law will elevate his status, increase his influence, promote him, and boost his market value. My father would rather sacrifice my happiness than see that not happen.

I didn't even cry when my supposed husband-to-be, rich, arrogant, Leonard Hays, texted me minutes ago saying: "I won't be available today. Let's go through with the wedding next week."

As if I were property. As if I had no say.

But I cried when Nathan said: "He'll find us, Erica. And he'll have just killed. I can't risk it."

He refused to run with me when I told him Leonard had made a mockery of me; he has postponed our so-called wedding like it was a mere date. Nathan refused to cease that heaven-sent opportunity to finally have me to himself.

I've always known he feared Leonard; most people do, but did he really believe Leonard could kill us?

Nathan's words gutted me. He didn't sound like the man I fell in love with. I tried to understand, tried to accept that he was no match for Leonard. But his complete surrender made me question whether he ever truly loved me.

Nathan, the only man I ever loved. My best friend. My Almost. Gone. Just like that.

And now, so was I.

I didn't know where I was going; I just knew I had to get out. Out of the town. Out of the prison of expectations.

Now here I was, hours later, in a strange city, standing outside a noisy park, barefoot and dazed, wondering what the hell came next.

That's when I saw her.

Perhaps I was hallucinating. The heartbreak, the exhaustion - they had to be playing tricks on me.

Because the woman across the street, laughing with her friend, looked exactly like me.

Same face. Same height. Same everything.

I blinked. Looked again. And she was gone.

Maybe I was losing my mind after all.

*********

Later that night, I sat at the bar counter of a dimly lit nightclub, pretending I belonged in a world that didn't ask questions. My makeup had faded. My curls had collapsed.

"Give me something strong," I told the bartender. "Something that'll move me like them." I gestured at the crowd, dancing like nothing could touch them.

With a curious glance at my outfit, he slid a short glass toward me. I downed it in one gulp.

I exhaled hard, sliding the glass back with a scrunched face. That made him smile.

"More, please," I added.

The second drink was stronger. I coughed slightly.

"You'll be dancing soon," he said and moved on.

A few minutes passed. No dancing feet yet. Maybe the alcohol was bluffing.

Just then, a man nudged me.

"No, no... not this again," he said, annoyingly but friendly. "What the hell are you doing in a wedding dress?"

I blinked at him. I didn't recognise his face. Had he seen me before? Hell, that wouldn't be good for my escape.

"Do we..."

"Come on, Eric," he cuts in. "I told you, no transformations tonight."

"It's Erica," I said, confused and slightly alarmed.

"Ptff!" He hissed, shaking his head. "Changed your name, too?"

I leaned in, impatient. "Do we know each other?"

"And here comes the drama," he sighed, eyeing me like I was exhausting. "Stay far away from me tonight, Eric. I don't want anyone thinking I brought my bride to the club."

He stormed into the crowd before I could say another word.

Drunk creep.

Still not in the mood to dance, I raised a finger. The bartender, without asking, poured me another drink and brought it over.

This time, I couldn't finish it in one go. The burn was deep, slow, and dangerous.

I turned back to the dance floor, watching bodies sway and spin, waiting for alcohol to take hold.

Then someone slid into the seat beside me.

"Strange dress..." he said, voice smooth.

I glanced over, thankfully, not the drunk creep.

"You must have a lot going on," he added, inserting himself casually into my space.

I studied him. He didn't look drunk. But something about his tone - too familiar, too casual - made me uneasy.

"We could go for another round," he said, flashing a cheesy grin. His tone made it clear he wasn't talking about drinks.

"Another round?" I asked, needing to be sure.

"Yeah. I'm always down for screamers like you."

"I beg your pardon?" I narrowed my eyes.

"You were begging for more just minutes ago," he said, grabbing my *ss and leaning in. "I can make you beg even more."

I slapped him hard.

He stumbled back, shocked.

"What the f*ck?!" he barked, too stunned to say anything else. After a long glare, he stormed out.

Disgusted, I left the counter and plunged onto the dance floor. The music throbbed in my chest, syncing with my fury. I let myself go, twirling and swaying, trying to shake it all off.

And then the ground began to rumble beneath me. The ceiling lights spun wildly. I followed, dizzy and loose, like my head might detach from my neck. The alcohol was finally kicking in.

Drunkenly, I crashed into someone's back.

"Sorry," I mumbled, laughing as I turned to face the person-only to freeze.

Staring at me... was me.

Me again?

"Hoo!" I giggled.

"Eric!" The drunk creep reappeared, charging toward me. "Did you follow me again?" he snapped. Then, he turned and saw the person I was staring at.

His eyes went wide. Wider than mine.

"What..." he started, then rubbed his eyes violently, like trying to wipe away the alcohol. "Okay. I'm wasted. I'm done drinking!"

He laughed nervously and staggered away.

"Me too!" I called after him, lifting my hand in the air.

But I staggered. My vision spun. I stumbled, landing on the reflection of me.

"Mmm," I hummed, sinking into it.

I closed my eyes and let the alcohol take over completely.

POV: ERIC

Nothing is more important to me than a night in a clubhouse, drinking without limits and taking in as much 'rod' as I can. It is the only activity that can pause my unhappy reality and, for a few hours, elevate my spirit and put a genuine laugh on my face.

Don't get me wrong, I laugh. I laugh a lot. But the laughter I share in the clubhouse is my most authentic.

And do you know what else is fun about clubbing? I get to transform into a beauty, an astounding woman, abandoning my Eric life effortlessly.

Nothing brings me greater joy than seeing my best friend irritated at the female version of me. Lucas's only moment of hating our friendship is when I dress like a woman, cling to his arm like a lover, and walk into a club. His frustration makes me laugh heartily.

"Don't laugh at my displeasure, Eric." he always complains, but that has never made me go easy on him. He's begged me to stay away from him when I birth my drag queen because it scares girls off-they assume I am his girlfriend. But I never heeded.

Aside from my mother, Lucas is the only good thing I have in my life. With no stable job, relationship, or home, he is the reason my life still feels livable. No matter what I do, having Lucas share in it makes it easier.

Don't get me wrong again-I am a chef. An excellent one, if I may boast. But I can't seem to hold down a job for long. I always get fired for skipping work. I lack the passion and patience to do the same thing over time. If it is not clubbing, drinking, or fuvking, I lose interest quickly.

Relationships? Same thing. I am open to being with one person forever, but he hasn't come along. Every relationship ends before it even begins. As for housing, I sleep anywhere I find, Lucas's place sometimes, but mostly in hotels. I stopped renting apartments after wasting a year paying rent while practically living in hotels.

Money, you might ask? It comes easily enough. I wouldn't say I am rich, but I am not poor either. I live this reckless life off a few stocks I invested in. They yield enough to keep me going. And oh! Lucas made those investments for me. You thought I did that myself? Ptff.

I don't know how to do anything profitable and meaningful for myself. It often feels like I am walking in shackles. Like I am living under a curse. More like I am a puzzle still missing its final piece. Every day, I hope to find whatever it is that will give my life some meaning. And lately, I feel like I am close.

"Let's have a drink," I told Lucas after countless gaming rounds at his apartment.

He looked up from his controller, weighed me whole, then returned his focus to picking a new game, asking if I was alright. "You have been oddly quiet," he added.

"Do you think there is something from my past life I need to remember to live normally?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, barely interested. Not that I blamed him; this wasn't the first time I'd asked.

"You know what I mean." I insisted.

"No, I don't. Eric..." He set the controller down and walked to the wine cellar. "...we just finished a ton of games which I beat your *ss at each, of course, and now we are about to drink on an empty stomach...And that is normal."

"Lucas, sometimes I..."

"Here." He handed me a bottle of beer. "Drink up and tell me what you wish to eat. Or I will order pizza like a normal person."

I smiled at his thoughtful but regardless conversation. "Keep acting like a twenty-three-year-old me with no job, no lover, and no permanent residence is normal until I infect you with my abnormality."

"You don't get it, do you?" His forehead deepened. "I am already infected by your chaos. All I want right now is to be in a club, drinking and dancing with no restraint."

"And fuvking!" I chimed in, grinning.

"Eric," he said sternly, setting down his beer. And trust me, I knew what he was going to complain about.

"I want that too," he continued, "but guess what? I can't have it. I won't have the chance to experience it!"

I pouted sadly, except I do not have mercy for him. "Great. You should remain decent."

"Seriously, Eric, I haven't had a good club fuvk since BC. I don't even remember what it feels like to have a girl ogling me across the counter, pulling me into a stall, and blowing my mind."

"Aww..." I pouted again, obviously mocking him.

"Eric!"

"No, Lucas. I am not going clubbing without my pretty dress. NEVER!"

"I am not saying you shouldn't. I am just asking for space. Let me enjoy myself. Don't scare the girls away."

"I will be bored without you."

And I mean it. The only time I can keep to myself is when I am in some secluded corner of the club getting busy. Other than that, clubbing without Lucas is boring. No matter how much I drink and dance, going back to Lucas after having a corner session is the most satisfying.

Let's be clear: I am not in love with Lucas, and he is bloody straight. We have zero romantic attraction. I just value his companionship more than anyone else's.

Yes, I know. It is selfish-hogging Lucas, knowing it gets in the way of his fun. But it is not entirely my fault. Lucas can get a girl while I am off doing my thing, but the moment I return, the girl bails. They all feel intimidated by my beauty, even after Lucas introduces me as his best friend.

"Eric," he said tenderly, "you can look at me, smile, and laugh, but from a distance. I really want to enjoy myself tonight."

I agreed. I'd keep my distance. I wouldn't search for him, not even to share a smile or a glance. I wanted to be selfless for once.

But the peace didn't last. Lucas confronted me in the hallway outside the restroom.

"Tell me if you are in love with me," he snapped. "Because I don't get why you won't stick to our deal!"

"Lucas, I don't know if you are drunk, but I am here for myself, not for you," I said, stepping aside for a couple to pass.

"I might be drunk, but not too drunk to miss that you have been following me everywhere!"

I fumed at his uncalled attitude and loud voice. He was attracting eyes to us. Though I am not sure if they are staring so much at my beautiful looks or our display.

"I am not following you, Lucas," I whispered so that only he could hear.

"Then who was that at the counter minutes ago? Your twin in a wedding dress?"

Wedding dress? Counter? Me? I haven't even had a drink yet; I have just been dancing and, well...doing other things.

He is drunk! That statement confirmed it. But I couldn't forgive the public humiliation.

"Now, who is in love with whom?" I said loudly. "Your stupid feelings have you seeing me in every pretty woman."

His jaw dropped, but I wasn't finished. "Too bad for you, lover boy, I am not in love with you and will never be!"

Lucas's eyes rolled uncontrollably in shock, but I walked away before he could swallow his saliva. I stormed into someone at the door, who stood looking as shocked as Lucas, except I knew where his countenance came from.

"My name is Eric, and I am a MAN!" I yelled in his face.

Well, the craziness didn't end there. Walking into the crowd to join the dance, intending to forget dealing with Lucas, I met the guy who'd "sent me to heavens" earlier. He was dancing alone.

For the record, I never talk to guys I've messed around with twice. But tonight, I needed a familiar face. I reached for him, and unbelievably, he shoved me.

"What the hell?!" I snapped.

"Now you wanna dance with me after slapping me at the counter?

"..."

I pinned. The counter...again? And with an annoyed stare, the guy walked away.

Still processing. Someone bumped into me from behind. I turned, only to face...myself.

Paralysed with shock, I didn't move. Not even when the other "me" collapsed in my arms.

ERIC:

"I've been calling you all night! Where the hell did you drop your phone?" I said through clenched teeth, trying not to wake the person in bed.

"I'm so drunk..." Lucas mumbled from the other end of the phone. "Who is this?"

"It's past noon, Lucas. Get your *ss over here," I said in a low tone, staring at the other me, still sleeping deeply. "Hurry."

"Eric?"

"Yes, it's Eric! Snap out of it, man!"

"Ha! And yet you claim not to be in love with me," he said, his voice still groggy but clearer. "Apologise, lover boy."

"This is not the time, Lucas. Come meet me at Queens Cot."

His footsteps echoed over the line. Lucas had likely gone into the spare room I use whenever I sleep over. It's our thing-calling each other into different rooms by phone-but the thing is, I didn't sleep over last night.

"Where are you, Eric?" he asked again, realising I wasn't anywhere. His voice was now fully awake.

"Queens Cot. Room 316," I confirmed.

"Why aren't you here?"

"Just come. Please, Lucas. I'm losing my mind."

After the madness of meeting someone who looked exactly like me, I had brought her to a hotel. I didn't have time to search for Lucas. I acted like it was nothing, but I've been pacing all night, refusing to sleep, creeping out of my own skin.

Staring at her-him? Is it a guy dressed as a girl, or an actual girl in a wedding dress? Help me, Lord!

A knock jolted me. Lucas stumbled in, sweaty and disoriented.

"What? What?" he asked breathlessly.

"Did you run?"

"I took the stairs. You sounded urgent," he said, panting. He grabbed my shoulders, turning me toward the room. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been last night. I only wanted to spite him for embarrassing me in a restroom full of hot men. Regret washed over me.

"I am sorry, Lucas," I whispered, feeling the anxiety slip away. "And I love you."

"Eric," he said, pulling me closer to his face. "Why do you sound like you are about to confess to murder?"

I could explain why I was sorry, but Lucas didn't rush here, unwashed and unchanged, to chit-chat.

"There's someone in the bed..."

Lucas marched past me to the bed. "You brought me here because you're shocked you took a girl from the club?"

That would've been funny if the situation weren't so insane.

"Look at her," I said.

"Long hair, a woman..." he began, leaning in. "Did you pick up someone's bride?!"

"Look closer."

Lucas huffed, but the moment he caught the face, his knees buckled. "What...Why are you sleeping and standing at the same time?!" he stammered, shaking like a drenched puppy.

"Exactly."

"Oh my God! What is happening?" he murmured. "I'm drunk. I'm fuvked!"

"You're not drunk, Lucas." I helped him up. "I've been here all night, staring at my sleeping self. I've gone mad, haven't I?"

"Where am I?" a voice came from the bed.

Lucas and I turned. The figure sat up. Our eyes met...and three identical screams filled the room.

She pressed herself to the wall. Lucas and I clung to each other like preschoolers at a horror movie.

"It's not real. It's not real..."Lucas muttered.

"Who are you people?!" she shouted, eyes locked on me. "And why do you look like me?"

Lucas turned to me with teary eyes. "I told you to stop dressing like a woman. You've brought a curse upon us!"

"Who is a curse?" she snapped, climbing out of bed.

Lucas and I clung to each other again and screamed like children.

******************

Seated in tense silence, Lucas trembled with a teacup while she and I studied each other like mirrors, trying to out-reflect.

"So... you're a man?" she finally asked.

"And you're a woman."

"How are you possible?" she asked, settling into her chair like she owned the room.

Her charisma was undeniable. Even from just a few words, I could tell she was bold, poised, and unnervingly confident.

"How do you look exactly like me, even as a man? Was that a makeover?"

I sighed, settling back and borrowing her boldness. "I don't need a reason for a makeover."

She rolled her eyes. From an outside view, we must've looked like rivals-jealous, identical rivals.

"I remember talking to you at the club," she said, turning to Lucas.

"Not me," Lucas denied frantically, sipping his tea without making eye contact.

But I knew he had. That was the incident that sparked the restroom mess. And Lucas's denial? Hilarious. I'd never seen him this rattled.

"I'm Erica, by the way," she said, ignoring Lucas entirely.

"Eric."

"And you want me to believe that?"

I didn't blame her. If I had said "Eric" first, and she insisted on being "Erica," I would've doubted it too.

I reached into my bag and handed her my ID.

She scanned it, her expression dropping. "Born April 25th?"

"It's right there, unless you're suggesting it's fake."

"Possibly," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Because I can't believe it's a coincidence. We shared the same birth date?"

"Great! Hallie and Annie," Lucas muttered, still avoiding eye contact.

I turned to Erica. "Does that make us twins?"

"No way!" she snapped, pacing. "There's no way I wouldn't know I have a twin!"

"Same here."

"This is ridiculous." Erica rubbed her temples. "We're not siblings. We just look alike. That's all!

As much as I wanted to deny everything, too, it was hard. She was like me. More than just looks. The way she paced, the way she spoke. Even her voice-slightly higher than mine, but I could match it if I tried. She could match mine, too.

"You think my mother gave her up for adoption?" I asked Lucas.

Erica's sharp eyes met mine. Her expression flickered.

"We could ask her," Lucas offered. "Call her."

"I don't believe this nonsense," Erica snapped after a long pause. "But...I don't think you should call anyone yet."

"Why not?"

From what I'd seen so far, I could already tell-Erica was temperamental.

"This is madness," she blew out a long, trembling breath. "But...we should find out ourselves."

"There's a way," Lucas said, now standing and fully invested. "I know a hospital that'll give us results in a few hours."