The day my sister finished her SATs, she clung to me, nagging me to buy her a Miu Miu slip dress. So I grabbed her by the hair and put her in the hospital.
It was because, in my last life, my heart had ached for the ten brutal years she'd spent buried in textbooks, so I'd gritted my teeth and blown more than half a month's salary on that dress.
But the very next day, I became the criminal who had lured my own sister into selling her body, the one who'd driven her to jump off a building.
The investigators threw down a stack of screenshots, every one of them an intimate video of her in that slip dress, posted from an account registered under my ID card.
I fought to clear myself, but every payment record on my sister's phone, every transaction from her clients, was linked to an account tied to my bank card!
Even my ever-attentive boyfriend turned on me, claiming I'd been forcing my sister to sell herself the whole time.
My mother sobbed until she nearly fainted, clutching my sister's corpse, jabbing a finger at me and screaming:
"You animal! You'd sell your own sister for money? I should never have given birth to you!"
My father snatched up a rolling pin and broke my leg with it, pointing at the front door and ordering me out.
I had no way to defend myself. I was thrown into prison, where my furious cellmates beat me to death.
When I opened my eyes again, my sister was burrowing into my arms, shoving the product page for that dress at me.
"Sis, I just want this one dress. Buy it for me, please!"
——
I gripped the phone, the Miu Miu logo on the screen stabbing at my eyes until they ached.
My sister, Olivia Harding, was still squirming against me, dragging out the last syllable, soft and long.
"Sis, all my classmates have one, I'm the only one who doesn't. You're the best."
In my last life, it was that one line, "You're the best," that emptied my wallet without a fight.
And not just that. I'd pulled all-nighters for months tutoring her in math for the SATs. For that delicate stomach of hers, I'd come home from work every day and spend three hours simmering a special diet to settle it.
And what did I get in return?
A shattered shinbone. Cold fists and feet in a prison cell. An injustice I never managed to clear, all the way to my death.
I looked at Olivia's innocent, pure face, so much like my mother's, and my stomach heaved.
"Crack!"
I lost my grip, and the phone hit the floor, the screen splintering instantly.
Olivia froze.
I didn't give her time to react. I seized a fistful of her freshly dyed, light-brown hair and slammed her head hard into the wall.
Another dull thud.
It soothed me far more than the sound of the phone shattering.
"Ahh——!"
Olivia screamed, collapsing to the floor with her arms over her head, blood seeping out between her fingers.
My mother came rushing out of the kitchen, the spatula slipping from her hand to the floor.
"Amanda Harding! Have you lost your mind?!"
She threw herself down and gathered Olivia up, the look she gave me full of shock.
My father bolted out of the study too, jabbing a finger in my face, his lips trembling with rage.
"You, you little monster! She's your own sister!"
My own sister?
I laughed.
In my last life, this was exactly how they'd been. One cradling Olivia's corpse and cursing me as an animal, the other breaking my leg and ordering me out.
I ignored their roaring, calmly picked up the smashed phone, and dialed 911.
"Hello, I'd like to report an incident. I just hit my sister. She's bleeding."
The dispatcher on the other end clearly went still.
I kept going. "The address is Goldwater Residences, Building 3, Unit 1, Apartment 1202. I think there's something wrong with me mentally. I'm requesting an involuntary psychiatric hold and police involvement."
With that, I hung up. Under my parents' shock-frozen stares, I walked to the entryway and fished my father's car keys out of his coat pocket.
"Before the ambulance and the police get here, I'll take her to the hospital myself."
I hauled the limp Olivia up, ignoring her wails and struggling, and dragged her toward the door.
