My arms throbbed from the burns, but I barely paid attention to them. I made my way back to my room, grabbed the first-aid kit from the cabinet, and soaked a cotton ball with alcohol. The moment it touched my skin, pain shot through me so hard it stole my breath.
Even so, it hurt far less than watching Viktor slowly erase me from his life.
There was a time when the smallest injury would send him into a panic. If I got so much as a paper cut, he'd act as though I'd suffered a life-threatening wound, dragging me off to the infirmary while I laughed at him for being ridiculous. Back then, I secretly adored it. His concern made me feel cherished. Important.
Now, he hadn't even noticed the burns on my arm.
Hadn't asked a single question.
He'd simply turned around and walked away with my sister.
Like I wasn't there.
That night, I lay in bed and finally stopped fighting the tears. They slipped down my cheeks and landed on the burns, making them sting all over again. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood, trying to keep myself from crying out loud.
But no physical pain came close to the ache sitting in my chest.
The following days only confirmed what I already knew.
I'd been pushed out of my own place in Viktor's world.
My twin never left his side. She attached herself to him so completely that he couldn't move across a room without her finding an excuse to pull him back.
At dinner, she poked his arm and pouted dramatically.
"Viktor, feed me some shrimp," she whined. "It tastes better when you do."
I sat quietly, moving food around my plate without eating much.
Without hesitation, he picked up the shrimp and fed it to her.
She smiled and leaned against him, completely comfortable.
As if I wasn't sitting right there.
Later that evening, they settled on the couch to watch a movie.
She tucked herself against his chest and whispered, "Hold me tighter. The scary scenes make me nervous."
His arms immediately tightened around her.
No hesitation.
No second thought.
Nothing.
Whenever I happened to walk past them, she'd look up at me with that fake, innocent smile.
"Alina, you promised, didn't you?" she'd ask sweetly. "You don't mind us being close?"
Every time, I forced the same small smile.
"Of course not."
Eventually, it became my answer to everything.
I wasn't even sure anymore whether I was pretending or if I'd simply stopped caring.
The truth was, my body was failing faster every day.
The one person who could save me was my own sister.
The woman who shared my blood.
The woman who was supposed to be my donor.
Instead, she dangled that possibility over my head like a prize, always close enough to see but impossible to reach.
And I kept losing.
---
That evening, I stood in front of the mirror.
The woman staring back barely looked familiar.
My skin had turned pale.
My body looked fragile.
I wasn't even sure how much longer I'd be able to stand on my own.
That's when I made up my mind.
I needed one last photograph.
A picture for my funeral.
If Viktor ever forgot my face completely, at least there would be one image left behind. One version of me that still looked alive.
Still smiling.
Still me.
At the photography studio, the photographer smiled politely.
"You have very elegant features," he said while adjusting the camera. "Is this for an ID? Graduation photo?"
I looked directly into the lens.
Outside, I appeared calm.
Inside, I already felt like a ghost.
"It's for my funeral."
The photographer blinked.
His hands faltered for a moment.
I didn't explain.
Didn't elaborate.
I simply sat there as the flash exploded in front of me and imagined the photograph sitting on top of my coffin one day.
Afterward, I waited near the counter for the printed copy.
Then I heard laughter.
A familiar laugh.
Low.
Warm.
His.
Followed by my sister's bright giggle.
My entire body stiffened.
When I turned around, I saw them entering together.
Arm in arm.
Looking exactly like a happy couple.
"Alina?" My sister widened her eyes in exaggerated surprise. "What are you doing here?"
I slipped the photo into my pocket before she could see it.
"Just had a picture taken for an ID," I replied evenly. "What about you?"
She immediately leaned into Viktor's side.
"We wanted a photo album," she said happily. "We did a photoshoot a few days ago. We're just here to pick up the prints."
Viktor glanced toward me.
"She insisted," he explained. "I only went along with it because she kept asking. When you're healthy again, we can make our own album."
My chest tightened painfully.
Still, I simply nodded.
I couldn't trust my voice.
A staff member called them over to review the photos.
I quietly turned toward the exit.
Before I could leave, my twin grabbed my wrist.
"Come help us choose," she said. "You always have better taste than I do."
Before I could refuse, she pulled me toward the computer screen.
The moment I looked up, I wished I hadn't.
There were dozens of photographs.
Them holding hands.
Them smiling at each other.
Them standing beneath a sunset while he kissed her.
Them dressed in matching white outfits while he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
Every picture felt like another knife sliding into my chest.
"Which one do you think is best?" she asked brightly. "Which one looks the happiest?"
I couldn't answer.
My throat had completely closed.
Then suddenly—
CRASH!
A deafening sound tore through the studio.
Shelves tipped over.
People screamed.
Everything happened at once.
Viktor immediately threw himself toward my sister, covering her body without even thinking.
Meanwhile, the corner of a falling metal shelf slammed into my shoulder.
Pain exploded through me.
I screamed.
Warm blood soaked through my blouse almost instantly.
"Viktor! It hurts!" my sister cried dramatically, clutching a tiny scratch on her arm.
His face turned white.
"You're bleeding," he said in panic. "We need to get you to a hospital."
Without hesitation, he scooped her into his arms and rushed toward the exit.
For a brief second, he looked back.
Our eyes met.
I was trapped beneath the shelf.
Blood pooled around me.
One second.
Two seconds.
Then he looked away.
And left.
I eventually forced myself to stand.
The room spun around me.
Still, I somehow managed to drag myself to the hospital alone.
The doctor frowned deeply while stitching the wound.
"Why didn't someone bring you in immediately?" he asked. "You lost a significant amount of blood. This injury isn't minor."
I clenched my jaw as the needle pierced my skin.
"I didn't have anyone to bring me."
The doctor hesitated.
Then he said, "That's strange. A young woman came in earlier with nothing more than a small scrape. Her boyfriend was terrified. He demanded every possible test."
A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it.
"That boyfriend was mine too."
The doctor froze.
After that, he didn't ask another question.
He simply finished the stitches in silence.
Late that night, I was sitting in my room changing the dressing on my wound when the bedroom door opened.
Viktor stepped inside.
The moment he saw me struggling with the bandages, he stopped moving.
His eyes immediately landed on the stitched wound.
The color drained from his face.
"Alina..."
His voice cracked.
He crossed the room in seconds.
"What happened to you?"
