Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I walk through the school hallways. It's Wednesday, it's early, there are hardly any people outside of class.

But it's not just Wednesday, it's another Wednesday after she decided to break up with me. Why was I so stupid to think that someone could love me? I don't even understand why I let her fool me. I should have listened to the rumors.

Speaking of her. There she is, with her minions, flirting with a silly brunette next to her. They touch each other, smile, get closer. Oh... They're kissing. I lower my gaze to the floor. Did she really have to do that when I was walking by?

My steps become heavier, every beat of my heart seems to scream that I am breaking inside. How can it be so easy for her? So easy, as if she didn't care about anything. I always thought there was something different between us, that it was special, but now it all feels like a mirage that is fading away.

I look up surreptitiously, unable to look directly but wanting to memorize every detail, as if I could put it in a box and seal it away from me. Anger, sadness, and confusion mix in my throat, drowning out any words or meaning. And yet... here I am, silently watching the scene that consumes me.

I turn to the right and find MG trying to impress Lizzie. She barely pays him any attention, focused on her phone. Poor guy, she's my friend, but doesn't he get tired of trying?

"Josie!" Lizzie exclaims, looking up from her phone, looking annoyed. "I was looking for you! I can't find my lucky sweater and I have a test. I tried to bribe Dad, but he went off on another stupid mission with Hope and I have no other choice. I have class and you have to go find it."

"Um..." I have class too, and I have to take the same exam as her, but she needs it. "I'll look for it, Liz, don't worry."

Lizzie sighs as if I've just saved her life, even though she doesn't even look at me enough to notice. She puts her phone away, adjusts her backpack with an exaggerated movement—typical of her—and starts walking without waiting for my actual response. That's Lizzie: she demands, orders, dictates... and I obey because it's easier than facing everything that beats inside me.

"Thanks," she says at last, almost like a forced whisper. I don't even know if she's saying it out of courtesy or because Caroline raised her too well not to.

I watch her walk away and press the books against my chest, trying to use their weight as an anchor. Anything to keep from thinking. To keep from feeling. But the memories come back anyway, stubborn, relentless, with the same mocking tone Penelope used to say my name when she wanted me to confess something I wasn't ready to admit.

I take a deep breath. Lucky sweater. Exam. Perfect. Another normal Wednesday pretending that everything is fine when nothing, absolutely nothing, is. I start walking toward Lizzie's bedroom, even though I know it's going to take me longer than necessary. I'm exhausted from being useful, exhausted from being the good sister, the abandoned girlfriend, the girl who breaks down in silence.

And then, just as I turn the corner, I hear laughter. Laughter I know all too well. Penelope. Her. Again. I don't want to look, but my body betrays my intentions. I turn my face just enough to see her leaning against a locker, her crooked smile, that dangerous gleam in her eyes that always made me feel like she was really looking at me.

But she's not looking at me anymore. And it hurts. God, how it hurts.

I quicken my pace before my thoughts start to overflow. I need to find that sweater, I need to occupy my hands, my mind, my heart. I need anything that isn't thinking about Penelope Park seeming to be perfectly fine without me.

I close the dorm room door behind me, pressing my forehead against the wood for a few seconds.

"Just find the stupid sweater," I say to myself under my breath. "And stop shaking."

But even I don't believe it.

I start searching through Lizzie's things. Her side of the room looks cleaner than mine, which is saying something.

I go to her closet, but there's nothing there except clothes to wear out and three bags of new clothes. Why does she need that stupid sweater?

After half an hour, I manage to find it. It was too well hidden for Lizzie to find.

I rush out of the room. I only have a few minutes to get to the living room on time. I just have to walk faster and ignore the pain in my chest. I just have to...

"Jojo."

That name. That voice. I know them. There's only one person who calls me that: Penelope Park.

My whole body tenses up, the emptiness in my stomach begins to absorb everything, absolutely everything inside me.

"Don't call me that," I mutter angrily, my throat sore.

"Don't you like it anymore? You used to like it, especially when I knelt down and..."

"Shut up," I snap, but I feel so humiliated that she's highlighting the incredible and now unpleasant moments when we had sex.

Penelope smiles. That smile. The same one that always seems to know more than she says, the same one that melts me and destroys me in the same breath. But this time it doesn't feel seductive; it feels cruel. Deliberate. As if she were playing with me and enjoying every second of it.

"Wow, Jojo has fangs," she says in a light tone, as if my words hadn't pierced her, as if nothing I do could affect her. "I love it when you get like this."

"Penelope, go away," I whisper, though I don't know if it's a plea or a threat. My hands clench Lizzie's sweater as if it were a shield, but it's useless. Nothing protects me from her. It never did.

She takes a step toward me and the entire hallway seems to shrink. Or maybe it's me who's running out of room to breathe. Her perfume hits me first: that warm, sweet, annoying smell that clings to my memories like a plague. I hate it. I miss it. I hate it more because I miss it.

"Relax," she says, tilting her head, that sharp gaze running over me with insolence. "I just wanted to say hi. You ignored me every time I walked by you this week, I thought you were mad."

"I'm not mad," I lie so quickly that even I find it pathetic. "I'm busy. And you're... doing your thing. With your... friends."

The word "friends" sticks in my throat. Penelope raises an eyebrow as if she's noticed.

"Jealous?" she asks, and she says it so softly that I want to scream.

"Jealous?" I repeat quietly, almost laughing, but there's no humor in me, just exhaustion. "I don't have time to feel anything for you."

And it's the biggest lie I've told in weeks.

Penelope hears it. And for a second—just a second—her smile falters. Her expression softens, almost imperceptibly. As if my words had hit her too.

But she hides it. Of course she hides it. She's always quicker than me.

"Well..." she whispers, taking a step back, regaining her composure. "I'm glad you're finally getting over me."

That hurts. Much more than it should.

I don't respond. I can't. If I open my mouth, I don't know what will come out: tears, screams, confessions... something I'll regret later.

I just turn around, walk, almost run toward the living room. I feel her gaze burning my back, tearing away pieces of me that are no longer there.

And yet, even after all this... part of me wants her to follow me.

 

*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

 

I find Lizzie kissing a new guy, and she barely stops when she notices me standing there, but it doesn't take much for them to start kissing again. It's uncomfortable; I hate watching people kiss. They share saliva and lots of bacteria, or maybe it's just because I haven't kissed anyone since Penelope.

I miss her lips: soft, demanding, like her tongue... Enough, Josie! She broke your heart.

When they finally pull apart, the guy doesn't even look at me as he walks away. Am I that invisible?

"You found him," my sister says, smiling from ear to ear.

"Yeah, it wasn't hard at all." It was. "You should wipe your mouth".

Lizzie rolls her eyes, as if I were the one exaggerating, as if I hadn't just seen her devour the guy like he was oxygen.

"Please, Josie, don't start," she says, running her thumb across the corner of her mouth, wiping away the most obvious trace. "It was a kiss, not a crime scene".

Crime is exactly how it felt. Or, at least, how it looks from my angle: brutal, loud, and totally unnecessary.

"Besides, technically, you were late," she adds with that proud smile that's meant to look casual but screams, Yes, I'm fabulous, and you know it. "I would have waited for you... but you know, priorities".

"Priorities," I repeat, handing her the sweater.

Lizzie hugs it as if it were a sacred relic, shakes it a couple of times to make sure it's not wrinkled, and smells it—yes, smells it, as if that tells her something important—before putting it on over her uniform.

"Perfect," she says. "Now I can pass that exam".

"You could have studied..." I murmur.

"You could have stopped being passive-aggressive," she replies without looking back, starting to walk toward the classroom.

I follow her in silence, my steps slower, my breathing faster than it should be. The closeness to Penelope still hasn't gone away; I feel her stuck to my skin, my neck, my heart. As if she had left a ghost there.

Lizzie stops in front of the classroom door, turns to me, and looks at me with a seriousness I didn't expect.

"Josie..." she says, lowering her voice. "Are you okay?"

That question. The one I hate. The one everyone asks, expecting me to say yes, that everything is perfect, that nothing hurts.

I bite my lip, swallowing the truth, swallowing the tremor that almost escapes me.

"I'm fine," I reply, forcing a smile.

Lizzie looks at me as if she doesn't believe me for a second. As if she can see the broken pieces I try to hide under layers of false calm.

"If she did something to you..." she begins, and for a second I notice anger in her voice. An anger I don't quite understand.

"She didn't do anything to me," I cut in quickly, too quickly. "Just... let's not talk about Penelope, okay?"

Lizzie presses her lips together. There's something in her gaze that I can't quite figure out; something dark, painful... almost personal.

But she doesn't say anything else. She just pushes open the door, walks into the living room, and lets the conversation die there.

And I follow her, keeping everything I don't know how to bear locked away in silence.

 

*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

 

It's Wednesday again, another week. I'm in a better mood.

A new boy started at school: Rafael. He's cute and attentive, and he's the only one who doesn't try to hit on Lizzie, even though she tries to chase after him.

Rafael is with me in the garden, helping the little ones plant. Pedro constantly joins us to tell us something about children, he's very sweet.

My heart doesn't hurt so much anymore. I've been keeping myself busy all day so I don't have to think and so I'm tired enough to sleep. Not even in my dreams is Penelope able to torment me.

However, I see her every day. Some days more than others, but it affects me less. Or is it because I've been avoiding her too much?

"Hey, Jo, this flower is as pretty as you are," says Rafael, giving me a smile that makes my heart melt a little.

I can't help comparing him to Penelope: she's shorter, he's taller. She has a soft voice, he has a deep voice. She's a lady and he's... He's just a boy.

"Thanks..." I murmur, my cheeks red.

Rafael laughs softly, as if he doesn't want anyone else to hear, and carefully brushes away a speck of dirt from my cheek. His touch is light, gentle... nothing like Penelope's insistent, perfectly calculated touch. Rafael is easy. Safe. He poses no risk to my heart, he doesn't have that chaotic emotional explosion that overwhelms me every time Penelope appears in my field of vision.

And that's why I should let myself like him. That's why I should feel good here, planting flowers, listening to Pedro talk about a worm that "is probably a baby dragon," laughing with a guy who doesn't know that my soul is in knots.

"You're very pretty when you blush," Rafael says, placing a small pot in front of us.

I lower my gaze, feeling the heat rise to my ears. I shouldn't blush over something so simple... but I do. Because it feels good. Because it feels like a break.

"Rafael, your compliments are affecting my concentration," I joke, trying to sound more confident than I am.

He lets out a soft, warm laugh that mingles with the breeze from the garden and the scent of damp earth.

"Mission accomplished, then," he replies.

I roll my eyes, but I smile. And I'm surprised at how easily that smile comes, as if my body has forgotten for a second that I've been broken for months.

"Are you coming to the party on Friday?" Rafael asks suddenly, while Pedro runs after a butterfly. "I heard it's going to be big, and I thought... maybe we could go together."

My heart skips a beat. It's been so long since I've felt this, this kind of sweet nervousness. This possibility.

I open my mouth to answer, but before any words can come out, I hear footsteps behind me. Familiar footsteps. Too familiar.

And then, the voice.

Finally, I force myself to turn around. And there she is.

And then that horrible thought crosses my mind again.

Why does she always show up just when I start to feel like I can breathe?

"You should stop bothering her," Rafael says protectively.

It bothers me that she sees me as vulnerable. I hate that Penelope can break down all my walls in a matter of seconds.

This girl in front of me isn't the same one who kissed me in the middle of the hallway or told me she loved me. She said "I love you" first! I hate her so, so, so much.

"You've got yourself a little lapdog," Penelope exclaims, pouting. How many people has she kissed with those beautiful lips? I still remember when she was mine alone.

"I'm not her lapdog," he replies firmly, although I notice the barely perceptible tremor in his fingers. "I'm just making sure you don't bother her."

"Oh, how noble," she says, tilting her head slightly. "Did she tell you she usually gets herself into trouble? She doesn't need a guardian. She never has. She's pretty wild when she wants to be. And very sexy, in fact."

The dirt in my hands begins to slip. My fingers tense, my chest too. And if someone touched me right now, I'd probably explode in some kind of spontaneous emotional combustion.

My face is burning, so much so that I feel the blood rushing to my ears. Shit, shit, shit, I hate her sexual innuendos. Why does she have to bring that up?

"Penelope, stop it," I say, and my voice sounds so fragile that it makes me angry.

Her expression changes, and I see a flash of interest, or that something that always appears when I manage to set a limit. But it lasts only a second. Then she goes back to being herself: arrogant, hurtful, beautiful, unbearable.

"Why?" she asks, coming close enough for her perfume to envelop me, that scent I should have forgotten by now. "Does it bother you that I'm telling the truth? Or does it bother you that he's listening to it?"

Rafael takes a step forward, as if he could come between us, but I raise my hand to stop him. I don't want anyone to save me. Not from this. Not from her.

"Penelope," I repeat, more firmly this time. "Leave it at that".

Her smile sharpens.

"Oh. I see." She clicks her tongue, pretending to understand something I don't even understand myself. "So you do care what he thinks".

My face burns. My throat burns. The air becomes too heavy to breathe.

"Of course she cares," Rafael interjects, annoyed. "Because you don't treat her with respect."

Penelope looks at him as if she barely remembers he's there. As if he were a piece of furniture that suddenly started talking. She narrows her eyes, assessing him, gauging how much damage she could cause if she wanted to.

"Oh, Jojo," she finally says, ignoring him. "I really thought you'd go for someone more... I don't know, interesting".

That hurts. A lot.

Rafael frowns, but before he can open his mouth, I drop the dirt in my hands. I can't hold on to anything anymore, not even the damn ground.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, my voice breaking, almost childish. "Why can't you leave me alone?"

Penelope opens her mouth, ready to respond with one of her clever retorts, but something in my tone stops her. I see her hesitate. I see her blink. I see her swallow what she was about to say.

For a moment—a tiny, dangerous, intimate moment—she seems... hurt.

"I..." she begins, but doesn't finish.

Then she takes a step back, as if she had come too close to the edge of something she doesn't want to acknowledge.

"Forget it," she says, returning to her usual mask. "Have fun with the vase boy."

And she leaves.

She leaves without looking back, without giving me time to breathe, without letting the lump in my throat finish forming.

Rafael, confused, touches my arm gently.

"Josie... are you okay?"

And this time I can't lie.

I can't say yes.

I can't say anything.

I just stand there, staring at the spot where she disappeared, feeling something inside me opening up again, like a poorly closed wound tearing from within.

Why does Penelope Park keep breaking me without even touching me?

 

*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Friday arrives and finally it's party time.

Lizzie is dressing up in her sexiest outfit. Our father is away on personal business, which gives us free rein to party without supervision.

"I hope I meet some cute boys I've never seen at school before," she says as she applies a red lipstick I've never seen her wear before. "I want my hot teenage romance right now." I can't believe my sex life is as virgin as yours. I haven't even had oral sex.

I choke a little on my saliva because of her obscene vocabulary and because she has no idea how little she really knows about me.

"Lizzie!" I exclaim in a higher pitch than I would like. "Could you please refrain from saying those things while I'm here?"

She glances at me in the mirror, amused, as if she's just gotten exactly the reaction she was looking for.

"Oh, come on, Josie, we're sisters," she says in that theatrical tone of hers, putting the finishing touches on her lipstick. "We can talk about sex without your brain melting. Or... is there something you haven't told me?"

The question hangs in the air, dangerous. She doesn't know, she can't know, but every word she says stings like a thorn. If she knew the truth, if she knew what they did to me, with whom... she would probably hate me even more. Or worse, she would look at me with pity.

I swallow and look away at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I look normal. My hair is down, I'm wearing a beige sweater and a skirt. A version of me that doesn't even try to stand out. And yet, I feel every inch of my skin burning with the memories I'm trying to hide.

"There's nothing to tell," I lie, lowering my voice.

Lizzie raises an eyebrow, as if she doesn't quite believe me, but decides to let it go.

"Whatever," she says with a flirtatious smile, turning on her heels. "Although, if you think about it, tonight could be 'the night.'" You could loosen up a little, Jo. Dance, laugh, kiss someone who isn't a memory with legs".

The jab is subtle, but I feel it nonetheless. A reminder disguised as advice.

"I'll think about it," I reply, though the words taste bitter.

She shrugs and leaves the room, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume and an energy that is impossible to match.

I close my eyes for a second, trying to focus, but all I manage to do is bring the image of Penelope to mind. Her laugh, her mouth, the way she used to say my name before kissing me as if it were a secret only she could understand.

I shake my head vigorously. No. Not tonight. Tonight I'm going to try not to be Josie and her broken heart. I'm going to be someone who has fun, even if it's just for a few hours.

I grab my jacket, take a deep breath, and follow Lizzie out.

 

*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The party is lively, with music, dancing, and alcohol. No one seems to notice me, and that's fine.

Lizzie left my side as soon as I set foot here, so I just hang out with Rafael and his friends, who are nice guys.

"Do you want to dance?" he asks.

I say yes immediately, almost too quickly, but I don't care.

Rafael takes my hand with a gentleness that seems impossible amid the chaos of the party. The music vibrates on the floor, colored lights move across the walls, and everyone seems to exist in a reality where nothing matters except the rhythm.

We make our way through the crowd, and when we reach the center of the room, he places a hand on my waist. It's a respectful touch, almost shy. Comforting.

And for the first time in a long time, I let someone touch me without feeling like I'm committing treason.

I move to the beat of the music, clumsy at first, but Rafael smiles and little by little my body loosens up. His fingers move slightly up my back, and I look up to meet his eyes. They are beautiful. Calm. Without hidden storms.

"You're a good dancer," he says, leaning in close to speak in my ear above the noise.

"I'm trying," I reply, feeling my cheeks flush.

He laughs and turns gently, spinning me around with him. He holds me firmly, but without demanding control. And for a moment—a brief, brilliant moment—life feels light.

I close my eyes. The music, the heat, the movement... everything blends into one pleasant sensation. I could stay like this, just dancing, just feeling normal.

But then, when I open them, I see her.

Penelope, leaning against a wall, has a drink in her hand and her lips painted a red so bold it takes my breath away. Her gaze is fixed on me. Not on the crowd. Not on Rafael.

On me.

And she doesn't blink.

She doesn't smile.

She doesn't say anything.

She just watches me dance with someone else.

My heart stumbles to the beat. My chest hurts. Everything falls apart in a second, as if a shadow had slipped under my feet.

Rafael doesn't notice.

Penelope does.

She slowly straightens up, without looking away, as if my every move were a personal offense.

And I... I feel small again, trembling, trapped at that exact point where the party ceases to make sense.

Because it doesn't matter how many lights are turned on, how much noise there is, or how many new hands hold me.

Penelope Park walks into a room and my whole world is turned upside down.

Then she leaves. Penelope goes into the forest. I don't know if she's upset, if I've hurt her, but I care too much.

I leave Rafael's side, and he barely notices.

I rush out, pushing past bodies that are laughing, drinking, with no idea what it feels like when someone disarms you with just a glance. The air outside is colder, more real; it hits my skin and helps me catch my breath, which I lost when I saw Penelope disappear among the trees.

The party is left behind, fading away as if someone had turned down the volume of the world. The forest, on the other hand, breathes differently: damp, dark, alive. And she is there, somewhere, walking as if she were afraid of nothing, as if silence and darkness were old friends of hers.

"Penelope..." I whisper, more to myself than to anyone else.

I don't know why I follow her. I don't know why her departure hurts me when it shouldn't matter to me at all. I don't know why I'm still that version of myself who runs after her even though I no longer have her.

My footsteps sink into the soft earth. The lights of the party are far away, filtering through the trees like a blurred memory. And there, a few meters away, I finally see her.

Penelope has her back to me, leaning against a tree trunk, her arms crossed and breathing heavily as if she had been running.

"What are you doing here, Jojo?" she asks without turning around. Her voice sounds lower, rougher. Nothing like the teasing version from a few hours ago.

I stop.

I should go back.

I should say something cutting.

I should leave her like this, like she left me.

But my heart, my stupid heart, is beating so hard that it forces me to speak.

"You left," I say, trying to sound neutral, but a tremor escapes me. "I saw you... and you left".

Penelope laughs softly. I love that laugh.

"So what? Now you follow me every time I disappear?" Her voice tries to sound strong, but there's something fractured underneath, something I don't recognize.

I take a step closer.

"You seemed upset".

She finally turns her face toward me. Her eyes shine even in the dim light of the forest and are filled with something I've never seen so clearly before: jealousy, pain, or anger. It's hard to tell with her.

"Upset?" she repeats, tilting her head with a smile. "No, Josie. I'm delighted to see you dancing with someone else. It's... adorable".

The way she says it makes me feel like I've committed an unforgivable crime.

"Rafael is just a friend," I say, and I hate myself for the urgency with which I clarify it.

Penelope takes a step toward me.

Then another.

And another.

The tree is behind her now, and she is right in front of me, so close that her perfume surrounds me again, so close that the air between us becomes a tense line that could break with a sigh.

"Why should I care about that?" she asks, but her voice betrays her.

I watch her. I try to understand her. I try to figure out if this is anger, if this is pain, if this is just Penelope playing with me again.

But then she looks down at my mouth.
And I feel my heart drop to my knees.

"You shouldn't have followed me," she whispers, dangerously softly.

"I couldn't help it," I reply without thinking.

Her breathing quickens. Mine too.
The forest seems to lean in around us.

And for a second, just a second, I think she's going to kiss me. That Penelope Park, with all her chaos and pride and inexplicably complicated heart, is about to...

"You really are..." She swallows, clenches her jaw, and takes a step back. "You're amazing at ruining nights, Jojo".

And she turns.

She walks away.

She leaves me standing there, my heart beating so hard I feel like it's going to break again.

I don't even understand what I did. Why it hurts so much. Why she looks at me like that, as if I've burned something inside her.

All I know is that, once again, I'm losing her in ways I don't understand. And that she's walking away from the forest just like she walked away from me.

And I... I don't move. Because if I do, I know my legs will give way.

Damn, I still love her.

Chapter Text

Penélope.

Walking in the woods is relaxing, of course, until your feet sink into the mud and the feeling becomes unpleasant.

I return to Salvatore High School with a bottle in my hand. It's barely 11 pm, but honestly, I don't feel like going to the party anymore.

Seeing Josie was devastating, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't mark my territory or complain to her, because maybe this is the way she can be independent, so she can choose for herself, and if that idiot gives her the strength to fight, I'm not going to get in the way.

The bottle bangs against my leg with every step and the sound irritates me, but not enough to let go of it. It's the only thing I have right now that doesn't reproach me for anything.

The way back is empty; the lights of the boarding school barely peek through the trees, as if they too are hesitant to approach me.

I take a deep breath, even though the air smells of dampness and rotten leaves. And yet it's better than the mixture of perfume and guilt left behind at the party.

Because seeing her... seeing her was enough to leave me defenseless. To remind me that no matter how hard I try to get away, I always end up back at the same place: her.

And that makes me furious. And it hurts. And it destroys me, even though I would never admit it.

I quicken my pace. I want to get to my room, lock myself in, pretend nothing happened. Pretend my hands didn't shake when I saw her smile at someone else. Pretend I didn't have to turn around and disappear before doing something stupid, something selfish, something that would push her back towards me only to see her break again when I inevitably choose her over my feelings.

It would be so easy to claim her. So easy to tell her that I love her, that I miss her, that it hurts to see her with someone else. But the easy thing isn't always the right thing.

And I... I've already hurt her enough. Even though it kills me to admit it, this time I was the one who walked away. Not because I don't love her. But because I love her too much to see her die from the merger.

I get lost in my thoughts and don't notice when I bump into someone.

"Watch where you're going," I scold, almost growling in annoyance.

"That's for you to tell me," Hope replies, calm but firm.

"Shouldn't you be moping in your antisocial corner?" I ask, trying to hurt her.

"God, Penelope, sometimes you're so unbearable," she replies.

I snort, leaning back against the wall, too tired to leave.

"So what are you doing here?" I ask, drinking from the bottle.

"What else would I do? It's a beautiful night, not everything is parties and stressful social gatherings," she replies, taking the bottle from me.

"You say that because you're never at those parties and you're too depressing to have fun".

Hope rolls her eyes, but she doesn't give me back the bottle, which only increases my irritation.

"And you're very good at ruining nice things," she replies, with that calmness of hers that always exasperates me.

"Are you talking about me... or Josie?" I blurt out without thinking.

"Not everything revolves around you, Penelope," she finally says, squeezing the neck of the bottle between her fingers. "Sometimes I just... look at you and think you could be better. But you choose not to be".

Her comment hits me harder than it should. I clench my teeth.

"Could you stop the moralizing? You're not my therapist".

"Of course not," she replies, turning away as if to leave. "But maybe someone should be. Because you're clearly not okay".

"I'm perfectly fine," I lie so naturally that it surprises even me.

Hope stops, turns to me, and looks at me with something that seems like... compassion. That expression irritates me more than any insult.

"You're not," she says softly. "And there's nothing wrong with that, Penelope".

"Can you stop talking to me like you care?"

"I do care, Josie," she replies without hesitation. "And you're part of that".

The sentence takes my breath away. Not because of what it should mean, but because of the guilt it carries. I hate myself for the part of me that is reassured knowing that Hope is also worried about her.

I want to pull away, push her, yell something hurtful at her. But my legs won't move.

"I didn't come here for you to psychoanalyze me," I say finally, unable to hold her gaze.

"I didn't come here to psychoanalyze you," she replies. "It's just a coincidence."

"How noble of you," I retort, full of venom.

"You're such an idiot sometimes," she replies, with a half-smile that isn't even cruel. She sighs, looks at the bottle, then hands it back to me. "You don't have to be strong all the time, Penelope. Take it from the antisocial girl."

I lift my chin defiantly.

"And who says I'm pretending to be strong?"

"Your eyes," she replies.

I remain silent. The night suddenly seems colder. And for a moment I think it would be okay... to let myself go. To say everything. To admit that seeing her with someone else destroyed me.

But I am Penelope Park.

And I don't know how to be vulnerable without my hands shaking.

"Go away, Hope," I murmur, taking another sip.

Hope doesn't move. She just watches me, and there's something in her gaze that bothers me because... because she seems to understand me.

"I'm not leaving you alone tonight," she says firmly.

And for the first time all night, something inside me... loosens.

"Do whatever you want," I whisper.

 

*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

 

A month has passed, Hope and I are sitting in the old mill, I have a joint in one hand and a bottle in the other.

We're both laughing and hitting each other because we're so drunk.

"Yeah, so I told him to back off because I'd be the alpha if I wanted to," she says, laughing as she smokes her cigarette.

Hope ends up being nicer than I thought; it turns out she does have personality after all.

"Alpha?" I laugh so hard I almost drop the joint. "Please, Hope Mikaelson thinking she's the dominant wolf... that's a new one".

Hope pushes me with her shoulder, barely able to do so clumsily because she's so drunk.

"I could be!" she protests. "I have... abilities. Powers. I'm a fucking trihybrid".

"Yes, of course," I reply, taking a swig from the bottle. "An incomplete trihybrid, how classy".

"Oh, shut up," she says, but she smiles. That smile is sincere, it's cute. She's not the Mikaelson everyone thinks they know. She's just a girl. One who has seen too much and yet still laughs with me at two in the morning in an abandoned mill.

I take another drag, exhaling toward the dilapidated ceiling.

"I never thought we'd end up like this," I say, tilting my head to look at her. "You and me. Laughing. Sharing... this".

Hope watches me with narrowed eyes, bright from the alcohol and smoke.

"Why? Because we were always saying horrible things to each other?" she asks.

"Because you were unbearable," I correct her.

"Oh, wow, thanks, you too," she replies, dramatically placing her hand on her chest.

We laugh again, so hard that the sound echoes off the old walls of the mill.

A comfortable silence falls between us, Hope glances at me sideways.

"Hey... what about Josie?" she asks slowly, as if she doesn't want to break the moment.

I feel a dull thud in my chest. It shouldn't hurt. But it does.

"What about her?" I reply, feigning indifference as I roll the joint between my fingers.

"You haven't been around lately," she says. "You don't even look at her".

"Maybe I don't want to ruin her life again," I reply, too quickly.

Hope frowns, realizing more than I want to show.

"Penelope..."

"Let's not start," I cut her off. "I'm... better off this way. And so is she".

Hope is silent for a few seconds. Then, without warning, she takes the bottle from me.

"You're so good at lying to yourself," she whispers, looking me straight in the eye.

My stomach churns. I want to insult her. To tell her she knows nothing. But she's too close. Too close. She's too much... her.

"I'm good in bed too," I blurt out to change the subject, and she laughs. "What would you say if someone asked you how long you've liked hanging out with the wicked witch?"

"I'd say since I found out you're not so wicked," she says, shrugging. "You're more... intense".

"Is that a compliment?"

"Maybe".

We stay like that. Inches apart. Breathing the same smoke- and alcohol-laden air.

Hope lowers her voice.

"Maybe you just need someone to see you without you acting like she did".

For just a moment, just one... I want to kiss her. Or let her kiss me. Because her presence gives me a strange calm. Because it's so easy to laugh with her. Because I want so badly to forget about Josie.

Something moves between us. Something electric, soft, dangerous.

"Hope..." I whisper.

She looks at my lips. And I... I don't pull away.

"Just one kiss," she whispers, neither of us thinking clearly anymore. "We're not going to destroy the world because of that".

I nod slowly, agreeing to a crazy idea.

Hope is so close that I feel her breath before her skin. Her warm breath brushes my mouth. It's been a long time since I've savored a kiss.

I realize I'm trembling just as her fingers move up to my cheek. They don't press immediately, just trace a soft line that makes my skin tingle. She touches me as if asking, "Is it okay?" without saying it.

Her lips brush mine first. It's a barely perceptible touch, so slow that I feel the texture before the actual kiss: warm, slightly dry from the cold of the forest, but soft as they open slightly to fit better with mine. The first contact feels like a shock running from my jaw to my fingers.

The kiss deepens, not because we seek intensity, but because we both stop thinking at the same time. Our lips move more firmly, more confidently, finding each other's rhythm as if we had done it before. The warmth increases and I can feel the moisture right where our mouths meet.

Hope sighs against me, and that soft sound vibrates between our mouths, making me lose any remaining control. Her hand moves from my cheek to my neck, her thumb resting under my jaw, holding me with a gentleness I didn't know she had. I grab her shirt, my fingers pulling her closer, because the space between us suddenly feels unbearable.

Our lips meet again and again in a slow but intense rhythm. There's a small wet sound when we move at the same time, it's sexy.

When we separate for a second to breathe, I feel a tiny thread of moisture break between our mouths, disappearing instantly. The air Hope exhales brushes my still wet and warm lips, and I swear I could stay inches away from her forever.

She kisses me again, intensely.

When we finally pull back, our lips are reddened, wet, and our mingled breaths fill the silence, but so does something else.

Something falls to the floor and shatters into a thousand pieces, making a popping sound that echoes in my ears.

I turn toward the source of the noise and my eyes widen as I realize who is staring at us.

Lizzie Saltzman.

Damn it.

Lizzie is NOT breathing.

Literally, she's not breathing. Her eyes are so wide open that she looks like an electrocuted owl, her perfect red lipstick trembling on her mouth as if she had just seen Santa Claus... murdering unicorns.

"WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SEE?" she asks, almost shouting, her gaze shifting between Hope and me.

She takes a step forward. Then another. Then she stops.

"WHAT KIND OF PARANORMAL HELL IS THIS?" she continues. Her voice echoes throughout the mill, probably throughout the forest, probably throughout the entire dimension. "NO, SERIOUSLY, LET'S BACK UP! LET'S BACK UP A MOMENT!" she points at Hope. "YOU HOPE ANDREA MIKAELSON." Then she points at me, with an accusing finger. "AND YOU SATAN".

Lizzie points at me again, then at Hope, then at me again. "YOU KISSED?! YOU TWO?! IN MY MILL?!"

Hope opens her mouth to say something, but Lizzie raises her hand, hysterical.

"NO! DON'T TALK! I need a damn second to process this." She places both hands on her temples as if receiving a prophetic vision of something dreadful. "Penelope Park kissing Hope Mikaelson. Hope Mikaelson kissing Penelope Park. THE MULTIVERSE IS BROKEN! THIS IS A SCIENTIFIC FACT!"

"Lizzie..." I try to say, still half drunk.

"AND YOU SHUT UP TOO!" she yells, pointing at the joint as if it were incriminating evidence. "That doesn't help. None of this helps!"

Hope runs a hand over her face, muttering something under her breath.

Lizzie moves closer, a manic gleam in her eyes.

"First: are you... dating? Are you dating?! Because if you are, I'm going to need an exorcism to rethink my whole life!"

"We're not dating," Hope says, raising her hands nervously. "It was a kiss. An impulsive kiss".

"IMPULSIVE?!" Lizzie almost screams. "HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN SEEING EACH OTHER?!"

"A month," Hope replies without thinking.

I stare at her, open-mouthed. So does Lizzie.

"A MONTH?" Lizzie repeated, in a tone so high-pitched that only bats could hear it.

"No! No!" I immediately interjected, waving my hands. "Not a month KISSING. A month... being... friends".

Lizzie looks at us as if we had just said friends when we really meant serial killers.

"You two?" she raises an eyebrow, incredulous. "Friends? That's not true".

"We don't need you to believe us," Hope says, shrugging.

Lizzie stands still for a few seconds, trying to process it. Then, slowly, her jaw relaxes.

"Okay... okay. Wait. I need... I need to take a step back." She turns away, takes a deep breath, then points at us again. "Penelope, you're... drinking with Hope. Smoking with Hope. LAUGHING with Hope. And you kissed Hope".

"Uh-huh," I say, uncomfortable.

"And Hope," she turns to her, "you, the most antisocial person in the world, are telling me that you let Satan KISS you?"

"She kissed me first," I reply without thinking.

"THAT DOESN'T HELP!" Lizzie stomps her feet on the floor as if she's having a dark Disney princess existential crisis.

The three of us remain silent. At this moment, I'd rather Lizzie speak than stay quiet. Hope scratches the back of her neck. I bite my lip.

"Okay." Lizzie takes a deep breath, as if giving an important order to her own brain. "This is how we're going to fix this:

1. Tomorrow, you two explain it to me when you're sober.

 

2. Today, I'm going to pretend I saw it wrong.

 

3. And for the love of all the beautiful men in the universe: DON'T TELL JOSIE!"

My stomach drops to the floor.

Hope and I look at each other at the same time. Lizzie notices. And her eyes widen even more.

"NO." She shakes her head vigorously. "No, no, NO. Don't even think about it. Don't even imagine it. Don't even consider it".

"Lizzie..." Hope whispers.

"ENOUGH!" Lizzie shouts, on the verge of a breakdown. "Josie already has enough romantic drama without adding 'my sister saw my ex kissing my... friend, enemy, nemesis, whatever the hell they are.'"

"I'm not going to lie to her," Hope says.

"Oh, dear..." Lizzie sighs, bringing a hand to her forehead. "Of course you're not going to say anything."

Hope swallows.

So do I.

Lizzie looks at us both... then presses her lips together.

"I'm going to throw up," she announces, and runs out of the mill.

Silence falls.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. She does the same.

And we both murmur at the same time:

"Shit".

 

*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Lizzie.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

The devil herself was kissing Hope. Hope was kissing the devil.

I can't breathe, I can't breathe! I hate you, MG. Why the hell did I listen to him and come to the mill for a damn briefcase? I could have come tomorrow!

I feel nauseous. My chest hurts, maybe it's disgust.

Yeah, right, 'disgust'.

Hope's lips were so close to Penelope's that they almost worked together. Is that how she would kiss Josie? Is that how she could kiss me...? No, Lizzie, stop!

My brain is so oversaturated that I could swear I can hear the beep beep beep of an imaginary flat electrocardiogram. I'm collapsing. I'm REALLY collapsing. And I don't even have paper to write down all this trauma.

"Breathe, Lizzie," I tell myself as I pace around the hallway in circles, as if I'm trapped in a supernatural reality show where I'm the only one with two functioning brain cells. "You just saw Hope Mikaelson KISSING Penelope Park. It's not that big of a deal. It's not... Oh, no, it is a big deal. It's historically big. It's biblically big. Any minute now, an angel is going to come out and announce that the apocalypse starts tomorrow".

I lean against the wall. My heart is beating so fast that I feel like it's going to jump out of my ears.

"Okay, okay, think, Lizzie. Think." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "What does this mean?"

Bad idea. My brain plays an ultra-HD replay of that kiss. Ugh. That's... that's hot. NO. We're not going there.

I spin around, as if I can escape my own thoughts.

"What do Penelope's lips taste like?" I murmur, and my stomach lurches horribly.

I have to think about Josie. Josie. My sister. My twin. My other half. This is going to destroy her.

But all I can think about is that Penelope Park is... well... a bitch who always made me feel things I'm still trying to figure out.

I collapse into a chair in the hallway, as if my legs have decided to give out without warning. I'm shaking. My hands, my thoughts, my eyelashes, EVERYTHING is shaking.

"Okay, Lizzie. Focus." I point at myself. "This is NOT about Penelope. This isn't because you imagine her coming up to you, grabbing you by the waist and—" I cover my mouth with both hands. "No, NO, NO, brain, get that horrible scene out of my head right now!"

My eyes are burning. I don't know if I'm going to cry, scream, or summon a hurricane out of sheer emotional collapse.

God... what's wrong with me? Since when does seeing Penelope kissing someone else affect me? Since when... do I want...?

"NO." I slap myself lightly. "You don't like Penelope Park." Another slap. "You don't like Penelope Park." A third. "YOU DON'T LIKE PENELOPE PARK!" We're supposed to be over this, Lizzie.

A nearby door opens and MG pokes his head out. I jump out of my seat and fall in the process.

"Lizzie... are you okay? I heard you scream your own name three times like you were trying to exorcise a demon."

"I'M FINE!" I reply in a voice so shrill that I probably shattered glass in every dimension.

MG looks at me in disbelief and helps me to my feet.

"...Did you find the briefcase?"

"THE BRIEFCASE." I bury my face in my hands. "Um... No?"

MG blinks. His hand on my waist makes me uncomfortable, so I pull away.

"Lizzie..." he says in that soft voice that I might like if he weren't my friend. "What happened?"

"NOTHING!" I reply immediately. Too quickly. Too loudly. Too... everything.

MG takes a step back.

"Sounds like something did happen."

I just shake my head, so vigorously that I almost wrench my neck.

"Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. N-O-T-H-I-N-G." I open my arms as if I'm about to sing it. "I'm just living a normal, average, standard day, with no trauma, no existential crisis, no traumatic love scenes between people who should NOT be kissing.

"...Love scenes?" MG frowns.

"NOOOO," I shout, covering his mouth with my hand. Then I realize how close I am to him, jump back, trip over my own feet, and almost fall again. "I mean, NO. No scenes. Just... the mill is haunted. Or something like that."

"Lizzie," he says slowly, afraid to say the wrong thing. Did you have an episode?"

"AN EPISODE?" I put a hand to my chest, offended. "I'm not a TV show, MG! I don't have episodes. I have... moments."

"Moments?"

"EXTREMELY PRIVATE MOMENTS!" I reply. "Moments that are NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS."

MG sighs, accustomed to my... brilliant complexity.

"Look, if you need to talk, I can..."

"NO." I cut him off immediately. "I don't want to talk. I don't want to remember. I don't want to see images of people kissing in my head, especially..."

I bite my tongue. Too late. MG raises an eyebrow.

"Who?"

"NO ONE." I take a breath. "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't see anything. I don't feel anything. I don't think anything. I don't like anyone."

"Liz... I know you, more than I'd like to, and I think there is someone on your mind..." he whispers in a quieter tone this time.

I know he's in love with me, I notice things. But he's my friend... I can't break his heart.

MG takes another step toward me, and it makes my throat close up as if someone had pressed an extreme emotional panic button.

"Lizzie," he says with that softness that makes me want to pull my hair out. "If you like someone... you can tell me. I won't judge you."

And there it is. The blow. The phrase I don't want to hear. The pressure I DON'T want to feel.

"MG..." I whisper, swallowing hard. "It's not... It's not what you think."

"Then what is it?" he asks, so patient that it irritates me, suffocates me. "You look nervous. You're shaking. Something is affecting you, and I don't want you to be alone with it."

I hug myself, because if I don't, I'm going to end up grabbing MG by his shirt and screaming incoherently. I can't say it.

"It's not... it's not a boy," I finally say, in a voice so low that MG can barely hear me.

His eyes open a little, not out of surprise, but to force himself not to react badly, I think.

"Okay," he says, nodding gently. "So... it's a girl?"

I close my eyes. I take a deep breath. I feel my ribs melting.

Saying "yes" would be admitting too much. Saying "no" would be lying.

"MG... I don't know what to feel. I don't know what this is. I don't know why I feel this way."

He remains silent. He doesn't come any closer.

"It's okay not to know. Really, Lizzie. You don't have to label it today. Or tomorrow."

"I know..." But I don't really know. My head is a maze with no way out. "It's just that... I can't tell you who she is."

MG swallows, the lump in his throat obvious. He looks at me as if he already knows the answer and is desperately trying not to let it destroy his soul.

"Lizzie..." he begins carefully. "Is this someone you... want to be with?"

My hands are shaking. Horrible. Violent. As if my body wants to force the truth out.

I can't... She's my sister's ex-girlfriend, I hate her.

"I shouldn't want that," I say through clenched teeth.

"But... do you?" he whispers.

The exact question. The one that should never have been asked.

My eyes glazed over. Damn it.

"MG..." I look him straight in the eye, with the most brutal honesty I've shown in months. "I'm scared of what I'm feeling... I'm not like this... I don't like girls, and this is definitely not the best way to experiment."

MG stands completely still. And then, with the firmest voice I've ever heard from him, he says:

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me. Just... tell me if you need me to stay with you tonight. I don't want you to be alone and upset."

My breath catches in my throat. Tears threaten to fall. But I don't cry. Not yet.

"MG... you're amazing," I say, my voice breaking. "But no. I need to be alone. I need to process... this."

I don't say her name. Don't say her name, Lizzie. Don't say Penelope Park. Don't let it escape your lips.

Because if I say it, I lose control.

MG nods, though his eyes darken for a second, not with anger, but with something much worse: resignation.

"It's okay," he says softly. "If you change your mind... I'll be in my room."

When he turns to leave, I feel my whole body collapse forward, as if gravity suddenly decided to triple.

I cover my face with my hands.

"Why... why did it have to be her?"

Penelope Park.

The girl I shouldn't like. The girl I shouldn't look at. The girl who shouldn't have kissed Hope in front of me because now my head is a mess.

My heart is beating so hard it feels like it's going to break.

And for the first time, I admit something I should never have felt:

"I think I still like her..." My voice breaks. No, I don't just like her... I think she's killing me.

But then my heart weighs me down even more: Josie.

Josie doesn't know anything. I never told her, how could I? She looked so happy with her, so free. Sometimes I was jealous when I saw them together, sometimes I called her attention just to separate them, but overall, I liked seeing her happy...

 

ʚ Flashback ɞ

 

There was a new girl at the school entrance, and my father asked Josie and me to show her around, as we always did.

Her green eyes locked onto mine, and I felt my legs give way.

Then she looked away and saw Josie, and a smile escaped her lips when my sister became nervous.

"Penelope Park," she introduced herself, taking Josie's hand in hers and kissing the back of it, very elegantly. She just held out her hand to me.

We started walking down the hallways, and I explained what went on in each classroom, but Penelope Park had the disrespect to not look at me.

Not even once.

I turned around from time to time to see Penelope flirting with Josie. She was so brazen that it really annoyed me.

Her eyes were fixed on Josie, following her as if she were an adorable endangered species. And Josie, of course, looked better than ever.

"Here's the alchemy lab," I said, opening the door with an exaggerated gesture. "It's one of the best equipped in the whole..."

"Does it always smell like this?" Penelope asked, standing close to Josie.

JOSIE'S.

She wasn't even looking at the lab; she was looking at my sister's awkward smile.

"Well, yes," I replied, under my breath. "Because they do experiments here. Alchemy. You know, important stuff."

She didn't hear me. Of course she didn't hear me.

As we walked down the hallway, Penelope and Josie were laughing about something I hadn't said. Penelope was leaning toward her, too close. Ugh. It was DISGUSTING.

And the worst part was that it bothered me. A lot. Inexplicably.

"And this is the Common Room," I announced, opening the double doors dramatically (unnecessary, okay, but I needed to get their attention back, okay?). "This is where we spend most of our extracurricular time..."

Penelope just nodded.

"This is where the tour ends," Josie finished, having barely explained anything the whole way.

"Is this where I can get your number? Because I definitely want to keep talking to you," Penelope said cheekily, looking my sister up and down shamelessly.

Josie almost fell on her butt. Literally. Her cheeks turned so red that I thought she was going to faint.

I, on the other hand, almost choked on my own breath.

"S-sorry?" Josie stammered, pressing the folder she was carrying against her chest as if it were an anti-seduction shield.

Penelope smiled slyly, stepping forward to get a better look at Josie. I don't exist?

She knew exactly that she was leaving Josie in shock and me with an attack of something that was definitely not jealousy, it had to be irritation. Yes. Severe irritation.

"Your number," Penelope repeated softly but firmly, leaning slightly toward her. "To coordinate, you know... anything I need from school. Take another tour with you. Have you accompany me. Or hang out."

"Hang out"?

HANG OUT?

Good heavens, how rude.

Josie opened her mouth, unable to articulate anything coherent. So I, the responsible sister, the protective twin, the voice of reason, stepped in.

"I'm supposed to be the one doing the tours," I blurted out, crossing my arms like a human barrier between her and Josie. And if anyone needs numbers, well... mine are available for school matters."

Penelope didn't even turn to me. She didn't even look at me.

"Josie..." Her voice was a damn devilish whisper. "Will you give it to me?"

Josie, who was clearly no longer processing oxygen, ended up handing her cell phone to her with trembling hands.

"O-of course."

Penelope took the phone, unlocked it with a confident movement, typed in her own number, and handed it back.

"Call me whenever you want," she said, and worst of all, she ACCOMPANIED IT with a wink.

TO JOSIE.

IN FRONT OF ME.

The world stopped. One second. Two. Ten. I was in the midst of a silent breakdown, and no one seemed to notice.

"Thanks for the tour," Penelope said calmly, not exactly addressing me, but not ignoring me entirely either. "See you later."

And she walked away. Just like that.

Josie sighed as if she had just met the love of her life.

I snorted so loudly that I probably kicked up dust from the last century.

"What?" Josie said, her cheeks still rosy.

"Nothing," I replied, too quickly. "Just that girl is... unbearable."

That was a lie.

She wasn't just unbearable.

She was dangerous.

And I had no idea how much she was going to complicate my life from that first tour.

Chapter Text

Josie.

I wake up too early; I haven't been able to sleep very well lately.

I turn to look for my sister, but she's not there.

Where has she gone so early? Lizzie never leaves too early, and she makes too much noise getting ready for me not to notice.

I feel like she's hiding something from me, but I can't figure out what she's guilty about.

 

I put on my slippers and tiptoe to the bedroom door. The hallway is silent, too silent.

I go downstairs, expecting to find her in the kitchen devouring the leftovers from dinner, as she always does when she accidentally wakes up early, but the place is empty. The coffee maker is cold. Not a single cup is out of place.

Lizzie doesn't wake up early.

Lizzie doesn't disappear.

So... what's going on?

I look out the windows. The sky is still purple, heralding the dawn. The grass glistens with dew. Everything seems so quiet that it makes me uncomfortable.

I cross my arms without realizing it. I have that familiar feeling in my stomach. It's like when I was a child and I felt that Lizzie was hiding to cry without me seeing her.

Twin connection.

"Lizzie..." I whisper, getting no response, obviously.

I bite my lip, uneasy. I check the living room, the library, the terrace. Nothing.

But something is out of place.

Her lucky sweater is on one of the couches in the common room.

If she left it there... she left in a hurry. A big hurry.

I look back at the front door. It's closed, but the doormat is slightly moved. As if someone had left quietly, not wanting to be caught.

My throat tightens a little.

What the hell is she up to?

And why do I feel... guilty? It's not mine. It's hers. That weird vibe that's been echoing in my head since yesterday.

I wish it wasn't so easy to feel it even when we're not together.

I grab the sweater from the back of the chair and wrap it around my arms, unsure.

I want to believe she's okay. That she just went out for a walk, or to... I don't know, exist dramatically at sunrise. Something typical of Lizzie.

But my magic doesn't lie when it comes to her.

And something happened.

I take a deep breath and step toward my room,

 

*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

 

Lizzie walks into the classroom minutes before the bell rings, and everything in me tenses up when I see her.

It's... Lizzie, yes. But it's not my Lizzie.

She looks dull. As if any word could break her. And that, for someone who normally radiates energy, is alarming.

She plops down in her seat without making any dramatic comments, without complaining about the color of the blackboard, without even taking her lipstick out of her pencil case.

Nothing.

She just sits there. She looks at her notebook. And she doesn't say a single word.

My fingers grip the edge of my desk. I feel that soft but insistent knot in my stomach, the one that only appears when Lizzie is pretending to be okay.

I lean toward her a little.

"Liz..." I whisper, making sure no one else can hear us. "Where were you this morning?"

She doesn't even look up. That hits me harder than any answer could.

"I slept badly," she murmurs, so quietly that I can barely hear her.

That's a lie.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask again, gently.

This time she looks at me, but her eyes are misty, as if she had spent the whole night thinking too much about something she doesn't want to tell me.

"I'm fine, Josie," she replies, offering a tiny, forced smile. "Just... don't get involved in my business."

The bell rings. The teacher enters. And Lizzie sinks back into her notebook, as if she wants to disappear inside it.

But I keep looking at her, worried. Because no matter how hard I try to convince myself, Lizzie is not okay.

And for the first time in a long time, I have no idea why.

What could have happened to her? And why won't she tell me? She always wants to tell me everything.

I try to pay attention to the class, but I can't. My gaze is fixed on my sister. Lizzie doesn't bat an eyelid the whole time.

Not even when the teacher asks a question that she would normally answer just to show off.

She's gone. She's not herself, and that's what scares me the most.

When class finally ends, I pack up my things faster than usual. Lizzie takes her time, as if every movement costs her twice as much, but she still tries to get up before I can stop her.

I don't let her.

I gently take her wrist.

"Lizzie, can we talk?"

She stands still, stiff for a second. Then she pulls her hand away abruptly.

"Josie, seriously... don't get involved, it's fine."

"That's not true," I reply without raising my voice. "I know you. And something's wrong."

Her gaze drops to the floor, and I can see her fighting something. Her lips tremble slightly. It's so slight that anyone else would ignore it... except me.

She leaves the classroom before I can speak again.

And I follow her.

The hallway is full of noise from students leaving for their next class, but Lizzie keeps walking like a ghost, dodging everyone without really seeing them.

"Liz," I try again when I catch up to her. "I'm here. You can tell me anything."

She stops suddenly.

She takes a deep breath. Once, twice. Her shoulders rise and fall as if she's struggling to hold herself together.

"Josie, stop. I told you not to get involved in my business, okay? Leave me alone."

The way she says it breaks me in two.

"Did they hurt you?" I ask, almost breathless. "Did someone say something to you? Dad? Someone in class? Rafael? The boy...?"

I don't finish the sentence because she interrupts me.

"No! That's not it. Leave me alone!"

"Then..." I take a step closer. "Was it you? Did you hurt yourself?"

She blinks. And for a moment, just a moment, I see the truth: a flash of pure pain.

A huge secret she doesn't want to let go of.

"Shut up and leave me alone, Josie!" she yelled at me, yelled at me like never before.

The hallway suddenly falls silent. Everyone stares at us with judgmental eyes, full of prejudice and irrelevant ideas.

I take a step back, surprised, but before I can respond, she raises her hand to silence me and presses it against the wall.

"I said leave me alone!" she exclaims, and her aura lights up in a way I haven't seen since we were children and she lost control out of fear.

"Lizzie... no," I manage to say.

Too late.

A burst of energy shoots from her palm.

I know two things for sure:

It's not a planned spell.

It's not calculated.

The force hits me in the chest like a hot wave and throws me against the farthest lockers. The impact stuns me, knocks the wind out of me, leaves me seeing white spots, forces me to hold on to the metal so I don't fall. I touch the back of my head tremulously, my fingers stained with red ink.

But it's not red ink.

It's blood.

Too much blood.

It hurts, it hurts so much.

Lizzie freezes. She doesn't move.

This has only happened six times, but it has never hurt so much.

My head was bleeding profusely. Drops began to fall to the floor immediately.

"No... no... no..." Lizzie whispers, so quietly that I can barely hear her.

Her face has lost all color. Her lips tremble, her pupils dilate as if she had just witnessed a crime... as if she had committed one.

"Josie," she finally says, but it doesn't sound like a call: it sounds like a plea.

I try to take a step toward her, so she doesn't panic, to reassure her that I'm okay, that this isn't as bad as it seems, that I'm not going to blame her... but my balance fails me and I grab hold of the locker.

A murmur runs through the hallway.

Someone runs for help.

Lizzie takes a step back. Then another. And another.

"No... I... I didn't mean to..." Her voice breaks, and that hurts me even more than the blow. "Josie, I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

Before I can respond, my eyes connect with a pair of green eyes in the crowd, the ones I love and hate so much.

It's Penelope.

Her expression is not what I expected. She is not surprised. She is not shocked like the others.

She's furious.

The crowd parts as she advances, as if her mere presence burns the space around her. And even though she hasn't said a word, everything about her screams danger.

"Move," she orders a boy standing right in front of me. He obeys immediately.

Penelope has never been one to rush for anyone. She never loses her composure, never lets herself appear anxious.

Except now.

She crouches in front of me, so close that I can feel her magic pressing against the air. Her hands, which are always sure and precise, stop a millimeter from my face, as if she's afraid to touch me and hurt me more.

"Who did this to you?" she asks, and though her voice is soft, her anger is intense.

I don't answer.

I can't.

Because Lizzie is behind her, frozen, her mouth trembling. Her hands are raised slightly, as if she's afraid to get closer and make things worse.

Penelope keeps looking at me, waiting for an answer. Her eyes drop to my bloodstained hand, then to the stain forming on the floor, and something in her jaw tenses.

"Josie," she repeats, lower, more intimate, so full of concern that it takes my breath away. "Tell me who it was."

I take a deep breath. I shouldn't, but I do. I look at my sister.

Penelope follows the direction of my gaze, and when her eyes meet Lizzie's, the entire hallway seems to freeze.

Lizzie takes another step back.

Penelope stands up slowly, with that calmness of hers that doesn't mean calm at all, but quite the opposite: it means storm. It means contained fire. It means someone is about to regret something.

"It wasn't her," I say, quickly, without thinking, because I know what's going through her mind. I know very well how destructive she can be when she thinks someone is hurting me.

Penelope doesn't look at me when she hears me. She's still staring at Lizzie.

Hope appears in the crowd at that moment, breathing rapidly, with an alert expression. Seeing Penelope standing there, tense as a bow ready to shoot, she frowns.

"Penny..." she murmurs, putting a hand on her arm.

I raise an eyebrow at the confidence they seem to have in each other. Penelope hates that nickname.

"It was an accident," I manage to say, my voice still weak. "Lizzie... she just lost control."

Penelope finally looks at me.

And in that second, the fury on her face transforms. It doesn't disappear, but it changes. It mixes with something darker.

"She needs medical attention now," Hope says to the others. "Take her to the infirmary. Quickly."

Several hands help me up, but before they take me away, Penelope does something I didn't expect.

She takes my hand.

Her grip is gentle.

"I'm coming with you," she says, without asking permission, without questioning, without caring about anything else.

 

*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

 

The nurse is checking my wound. She said it wasn't serious when I arrived, but that I need immediate attention.

She put gauze on my head and is now reviewing some tests.

Penelope hasn't left for a moment. She's sitting there, staring at me. Her eyes flash with concern. She's constantly moving her feet and changing position.

"Calm down, Penelope," says the nurse. "Josie will be fine. The wound will heal in a few weeks, and we can use magic to remove the scar."

"What if they give her vampire blood?" Penelope asks.

"You know that's forbidden on the premises," the nurse replies.

"So what? She's bleeding! Her parents are the damn directors. Doesn't that give her preferential treatment?"

"It's not allowed."

"I don't need vampire blood," I murmur, more to stop the argument than out of true conviction.

Penelope turns to me so quickly that I can almost feel the wind blowing through her hair.
Her eyes... God. They're fire wrapped in concern.

"You don't need it?" she repeats, incredulously. "Josette, they opened your head like you were a toy."

I hate it when she uses my full name in moments of stress. It makes me feel naked, as if she can see all my thoughts without permission.

The nurse sighs, probably used to dealing with dramatic magic students.

"She'll be fine. We've stopped the bleeding, and the results show no serious concussion. She just needs rest."

Penelope snorts as if she doesn't believe a word.

"Rest? Her sister slammed her into some lockers and you want to give her some damn tea and a nap."

"It's exactly what she needs," the nurse replies, unperturbed.

Penelope rises from her chair with a sudden movement, as if she's holding back something stronger than anger. She runs a hand through her hair and sits back down, but now closer to me.

Too close.

The kind of close that reminds me why it hurts so much to see her.

She says nothing. She just looks at me. And suddenly I find it hard to breathe.

"Pen..." I begin, but she stops me with a gesture.

"Lizzie had no right. No matter what's going on with her. She had no right to touch you. Not like that."

I look at my hands on the sheets. They have dried bloodstains that I haven't wanted to clean off.

"It was an accident," I whisper.

"Accidents don't split your head in two," she replies, hurt, frustrated... scared.

Her words hang between us like a spell that no one wants to break.

The nurse, perhaps sensing the tension, walks away to look for something in the cabinet, giving us the privacy we didn't ask for.

Penelope looks down at my fingers. Hers move slightly, as if she wants to take them... as if she had done so before... and stops halfway.

"I won't leave you alone," she whispers, more to herself than to me.

And it hurts me, more than the wound.

"Thank you..." I murmur, playing with the blanket under my feet. The stretchers are quite comfortable.

She raises an eyebrow, confused.

"Why?"

"For being here with me," I reply, letting out a slight smile.

"I would never leave you alone, Jojo, you know that I..." She suddenly falls silent. She almost said it. Almost. But no. She swallows, as if the words were stuck in her throat. She straightens up in her chair, crosses her legs, uncrosses them, crosses them again. She's nervous. Penelope Park. Nervous. In front of me. "...you know I care about you," she finishes, lowering her voice in a way I've never heard before.

I stare at her. Much longer than I should. Much longer than is safe for my own heart.

Penelope doesn't look away either.

And for the first time since she walked into the infirmary... she doesn't seem to be fighting anything. She's not defensive, she's not ready to make a sarcastic comment or find an excuse to turn everything to her advantage. She's... vulnerable.

"You care about me," I repeat in a whisper, as if tasting the words might help me understand them.

Penelope swallows again. Her fingers cling to the edge of the chair. The nurse continues to search for something in the back, paying no attention. The place is almost silent, except for our breathing.

"You don't have to say anything," she finally says, in a voice that doesn't belong to her, so soft that it seems as if speaking any louder might break it. "Just... don't scare me like that again."

My chest tightens. I want to touch her hand. I want to tell her it wasn't her fault, that Lizzie is wrong, that everything is wrong... but all I can say is:

"Pen... why didn't you leave?"

She blinks, and something in her expression changes. As if she had just opened a door inside herself that had been closed since she broke up with me.

"Because I saw you were in pain," she whispers, leaning slightly toward me. "And I didn't... I didn't think. I didn't want to think. I just wanted to get to you."

My heart is beating so hard that I wonder if she can hear it. I lean toward her too, just a few inches, as if my body were moving on its own.

She notices.

Her back tenses. Her lips part almost imperceptibly. It's the first time in months that she's been this close, not counting the party.

She's so close that I can feel the warmth of her breath mingling with mine.

So close that the soft perfume she always wears envelops me again, like a memory I had been unsuccessfully burying.

"Josie..." she says, and my name comes out of her mouth like a secret she should never have lost.

Her hand reaches out, and I wait for her to take mine, but it remains suspended in the air, uncertain.

I don't think.

I can't.

I let my hand move forward just a little, enough for our fingers to touch, just enough to feel fingertip to fingertip.

That tiny touch is like a fire. A whisper of something we know all too well. An "I miss you" that no one says out loud.

Penelope takes a deep breath, so deep that her shoulders rise and fall.

Then she leans in a little closer. Very slowly. Too slowly. Her eyes drop to my lips for just a second.

And I know what she's thinking.

I know what I'm thinking.

I know what we've been avoiding for months.

My lips part involuntarily. The space between our mouths is minimal now.

A blink.

A sigh.

A movement that doesn't come.

Penelope closes her eyes.

And I do the same.

The universe seems to hold its breath.

But just when the distance is so small that I feel the warmth of her mouth brush against me...

"Penelope Park!" the nurse exclaims suddenly, as if she had been pricked with a needle.

Penelope jumps. She pulls away immediately, so quickly that the chair scrapes across the floor. I open my eyes, stunned, or perhaps a little disappointed. The taste of her lips (which never reached my mouth) begins to linger on mine.

The nurse walks toward us with a chart.

"Don't invade the patients' personal space," she scolds sternly, completely oblivious to the moment she has just destroyed.

Penelope runs a hand through her hair, smoothing it as if to hide the tremor in her fingers.

"I wasn't," she lies, her voice not quite working.

I keep looking at her.

She can't look back at me.

Not now.

Not after that.

But I know she felt it. I know I did too.

And I know, with painful clarity, that if the nurse had taken two more seconds... everything would have changed.

 

*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

 

Penelope.

 

I was going to kiss her. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

Josie left with her father, who, by the way, is an idiot. He took too long to come get her, knowing she was bleeding out. And he still had the nerve to give me that "why are you here?" look when he found me standing next to her stretcher, as if I had to ask permission to worry about her.

Idiot.

They're all idiots.

Except her.

I'm left alone in the infirmary when they finally take her away, and the sudden silence hurts my ears. There's a faint smell of alcohol, healing magic, freshly laundered linens. And her.

I can still feel her in my hands. The slight tremor when she tried to get up. The warmth of her body when I got too close. The exact moment she tilted her head... just as I was doing the same.

I would have kissed her.

I could have sworn she would have responded.

I run a hand over my face. What utter stupidity. What an idiot I am. What a mess of a person. Because Josie... Josie still looks at me like I'm going to break her. And yet she was letting me get close, opening up that sacred space that no one touches, not even her damn twin sister.

I walk down the empty hallway. The lights are on, but everything feels dim, as if the whole school has held its breath after what happened.

All I can think about is Josie.

How her lips trembled when I said, "I would never leave you alone." How she came closer. She. Josie Saltzman came closer to me.

The scene repeats itself in my head like a badly cast spell:

The nurse had left for a few seconds. The room was filled with a kind of intimate silence. I was sitting on the edge of the stretcher, close enough to feel the uncertain rhythm of her breathing. She lifted her face toward me, her eyes still bright with fear, and then I felt it. That stupid spark that always appears when our eyes meet for too long. A spark that never went away, even after I broke her heart.

Josie turned her head slightly, as if hesitating. I took a deep breath, too deep. My body made the decision before my brain did: to lean in. Just a little. Just enough so that our foreheads almost touched.

I saw her mouth open, tremble. Her eyelashes lowered for a second. And that was it. Right there, in that tiny moment when everything in the world aligned... that's where I would have kissed her.

God, it would have been so easy.

I just had to move forward a few millimeters. Just one.

One.

But that damn old woman ruined it.

Of course.

The big party pooper.

And I had to jump back as if I had been sprinkled with holy water.

I punch the wall of the hallway with my fist. Not hard, just enough to release some of the fluttering in my chest.

"Damn it..." I whispered.

I stood still. And I felt something strange: a soft fear of what almost happened, of what I want to happen, of the possibility that Josie wants it too.

Because if she wants it... If she wants it, then I'm not ready. I have to take care of her first, the merge is still in effect, nothing has changed.

But I need to see her. I need to make sure she's okay.

I look everywhere for Hope. Damn antisocial girl and her secret places at school. Where is she when I need her?

"Why do you look like you're about to kill someone?" Hope asks, appearing behind me.

"Damn it!" I jump. "Don't do that."

"Sorry," she smiles crookedly, hugging me around the shoulders. "Is Josie okay?"

"She's fine," I reply, although my voice comes out so tense that it sounds more like a growl. "Well, not fine, but she's not bleeding anymore, so... she's alive."

"I understand," she whispers, taking me by the waist. "I left Lizzie asleep in her room. She was going crazy over what she had done to Jo. It was hard to restrain her, especially with everyone watching what happened... Poor Josie."

"Yes, poor Josie, not Lizzie," I reply coldly. "Did you even see her baby eyes in the infirmary? It hurt me to see her like that. And then Alaric shows up super late, he's an asshole."

Hope rolls her eyes with that affectionate exasperation she only uses with me, as if she had already anticipated my inner storm before I even knew it was going to explode.

"Penelope... You can't turn into an ogre every time someone makes a mistake. Alaric was in a meeting with the Board. What did you want him to do? Teleport?"

"Yes," I reply without hesitation. "Teleport. Do something useful. Anything."

Hope pulls me closer to her, forcing me to lower my voice. We look like a couple.

"You're upset," she whispers, her fingers playing distractedly with the edge of my jacket. "And it's not... it's not just because of Josie's injury, is it? What happened?" she asks.

At first I think about denying it, as usual.
Pretend I don't care. But the image hits me again: Josie gasping for breath, her hair stuck to her forehead with blood, looking at me as if I were the only stable thing in a spinning room.

And then... that second. That damn second when her mouth was so close to mine that it would have taken only a blink for it to happen.

My throat closes up.

"I..." I take a deep breath, frustrated with myself. "I almost kissed her."

"Almost?" she repeats.

"Yes." I run a hand through my hair, nervous. "She was there, so... so fragile and strong at the same time, so her... and I... I'm out of my mind, Hope."

"Penelope." Hope takes my hands, forcing me to look at her. "You're in love."

"No!" I say too quickly, too loudly. "I don't... I don't... Hope, she hates me. She thinks I left because I wanted to, she thinks I abandoned her, that I didn't love her enough. And on top of that, this thing with Lizzie, and now she's hurt, and I... I just wanted to make sure she was okay."

My breathing quickens.

Hope looks at me.

"Pen," she whispers softly. "What did you feel when you almost kissed her?"

The answer comes without permission, from the center of my chest.

"Fear," I admit. "And desire. Both at the same time. As if... as if I had lost her long ago, but she was still mine for a second."

Hope looks down, a small gesture that almost no one would notice... but I do.

"Well," she says, resting her forehead on my shoulder in a knowing way. "Sounds like you're in trouble."

"I'm in a mess," I correct her.

"So..." she says. "What are you going to do?"

I think about it. Or I think I think about it. The truth is, the answer was already written in me from the moment I saw her collapse on the stretcher.

"I'm going to see her tonight," I say firmly. "It doesn't matter if her father wants me out of there or if Lizzie wants to scratch my eyes out. I'm going to see her. I'm going to talk to her and I'm going to tell her what I have to say."

Hope smiles that slight smile that escapes her only when she approves of something she doesn't want to admit.

"I knew you'd say that."

"Aren't you supposed to be my voice of reason?"

"I am," she replies, amused. "It's just that... sometimes reason says, 'do whatever you want.'"

The silence that follows is comfortable. As rare as it is necessary.

And then I say what I've been keeping to myself for three nights:

"Hope... thank you."

She tilts her head.

"Why?"

"For being here," I reply softly. "With me. Always."

Hope smiles slowly. She moves a little closer.

"Always and forever, Pen," she whispers.

And for a moment, just a moment, the tension between us is almost as intense as what I felt with Josie.

But this time, I'm the one who breaks the moment.

"Let's go," I say, letting go of her before things get out of hand. "I need to prepare what I'm going to say to her."

"A speech?" Hope laughs.

"Let's call it... a plan."

And as we walk down the hallway, we both know that tonight is going to be a disaster.

But an inevitable one.

Chapter Text

Lizzie.

 

I can't cry.

I can't cry.

I can't cry.

If I start, I won't be able to stop. And if I don't stop, I'll break something else.

I'm sitting at the edge of the lake, my hands clenched between my knees, breathing as if the air were thick and wouldn't let me in. The place is silent... too silent. The kind of silence that echoes.

I don't want to see Josie. I can't see her. Not after... that.

The image comes back without me wanting it to: Josie, standing in front of me, asking me if I was hurt, if something was wrong. Always so concerned, always so willing to break down for me. And me... I threw her against a locker.

My magic got out of control.

Again.

No.

Worse. Much worse than all the other times.

When I rest my forehead in my hands, I feel the burning in my eyes, but I keep telling myself I'm not going to cry. I can't afford that luxury. Not now.

I know everyone saw it. The whole hallway. The explosion, Josie flying backwards, the blood running down her head in thick lines.

God. My stomach churns.

If I close my eyes, I see her confused face. If I open them, I still see her blood.

And both scenarios destroy me.

"All right, Lizzie," I whisper to myself, trying to take a deep breath. "Breathe. Breathe. You're not dying. You didn't kill her. It's okay. It's okay..."

But it doesn't sound true. It doesn't sound enough.

I clench my fists until my nails hurt. What if this time I had killed her? What if another inch to the left had knocked her unconscious? What if she hadn't gotten up? What if... what if one day I can't control myself?

What if that day comes and she's nearby?

That terrifies me. More than any monster, spell, prophecy, or whatever else happens at this school.

I hear footsteps and immediately tense up, as if someone had touched an open wound. I don't want to see her. I don't want to see anyone. Much less...

Hope?

She sits down next to me without me saying anything, because apparently Hope Mikaelson finds formalities difficult.

"Hey," she murmurs in a very low voice, too kind to be Hope. "I brought you some tea."

I don't move. I don't even blink.

She doesn't look at me with judgment, or pity, or exaggerated concern. She just... looks at me. Without fear.

Because, of course. She doesn't have any. She is Hope. She fears nothing.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asks, crossing her arms.

I swallow hard. The words get stuck. But I manage to get them out, barely a whisper:

"No... I don't want you to see me like this."

Hope raises an eyebrow.

"Lizzie, I've seen you in your unicorn pajamas. This isn't too much for you."

I try to smile, but my mouth trembles.

She doesn't touch me; she knows I can't handle that right now. She just stays close. At just the right distance.

"It wasn't your fault," she says softly.

And that... that breaks everything.

My throat closes up. My shoulders shake before I can stop them. And I feel the first tear slide down, hot, heavy, inevitable like an avalanche.

"I hurt Josie," I whisper, covering my face with my hands. I HURT her. Josie. Do you understand what... I can't... Hope, I can't..."

Hope takes a deep breath.

"It was an accident. You were scared. You were overwhelmed. You didn't mean to hurt her."

"But I did," I cry into my palms. "Everyone saw me. They were... they were looking at us like I was a monster."

Hope hesitates for a moment.

Then she says something I didn't expect:

"You're not to me."

That breaks me down even more.

She moves a little closer. She doesn't hug me, she doesn't force me, she just stays with me while my breathing shakes and my mind repeats over and over the image of Josie falling to the ground.

I don't know how much time passes. Seconds, minutes, years.

But the only thing I know is that now I'm not alone here crying.

And I'm grateful for that.

After a few minutes that felt like hours, and the cold begins to bite my skin, I manage to calm down a little.

"So... why did you react like that?"

Hope's question interrupts my thoughts.

What can I say? I don't even know why I'm like this.

I'm lying. Yes, I do know. I've been like this since Penelope... God, Lizzie! You hurt your sister because of that bitch.

"It wasn't because of Josie..."

The wind stirs the lake water into small, rapid waves, as if even nature is restless.

I swallow hard. My fingers close around the fabric of my skirt, pulling it tight until I hear the thread stretch.

"Lizzie..." Hope tries again, more gently this time. "If this wasn't about Josie... then what was it about?"

I can't say. I don't want to say.

Because as soon as I think about it too hard, as soon as I form the word, as soon as I let it out of my mouth... it becomes real.

And if it becomes real, I'll break again.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but the tears still come. I can't hold them back anymore. Not at this point.

"I don't want to say it," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I don't want to."

"Hey... Don't worry, I'll keep your secret, I promise."

But how can I confess that to her? I can't admit that it bothered me to see Hope kissing Penelope.

That would be a serious mistake.

Even though I hate Hope, she has the right to kiss whoever she wants, even if that someone is Penelope Park, my sister's ex-girlfriend and the bitch I like. I don't even like girls!

"I'm upset about something I saw," I mutter against my will. Damn Hope, she makes me say things I don't want to say.

Hope raises an eyebrow, thoughtful.

"What did you see?"

I can't tell her.

No. No. No.

"I've been like this since I saw them kissing!" I shout.

Well, I said it. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"What?" Hope looks at me confused. It takes her a few seconds to understand. "Oh, me and Penelope. Lizzie, but we agreed to keep it a secret, and don't worry, Josie won't find out."

But it's not because of Josie that I'm like this. I'm the worst sister in the world!

I shrink. Literally. My spine curves forward, my shoulders hunch, as if I could hide inside myself.

I don't want to say it.

I can't say it.

But the truth is pushing against my teeth, desperate to come out after so many months locked in a dark room.

"It's not because of Josie," I whisper.

"Then..." she murmurs patiently, moving a little closer. "Because of who?"

I open my mouth to say "no one," but all that comes out is a terrible, choked, broken sound. I feel the tears coming back, hot and treacherous.

I wipe my face quickly, furious with myself.

"I don't want to say," I repeat, louder.

"You don't have to say if you don't want to," Hope replies softly, as if talking to a wounded animal. "Just... does it hurt?"

I can admit that. I can admit that. I nod. Once. Slowly.

"A lot."

Hope tilts her head, her eyes softening a little.

"Lizzie... that kind of pain doesn't seem like just anger."

I want to insult her. I want to yell at her. I want to deny it. But my voice comes out so small that I don't recognize myself:

"I felt... like..." I swallow. "Like someone had taken something from me that I never had."

Hope blinks. She's quick, I know. And the look on her face tells me she understood more than I intended her to.

"Lizzie..." she murmurs, with a caution I've never heard from her before. "Do you... like Penelope?"

My stomach clenches. I can't say it.

But I already said it. I already said it. And God... it hurts so much to admit it that I feel like I'm falling apart inside.

"I..." My voice breaks. "I don't... I don't know what I feel, okay? I don't know! All I know is that seeing her with you made me want to throw up. And I hate that. I hate it. Because it shouldn't matter to me. It shouldn't..." My breath shakes. "It shouldn't hurt like this."

"Lizzie..." she begins, very slowly. "You're not a bad sister for feeling things."

I shake myself indignantly, even though my eyes are still filled with tears.

"Yes, I am," I say. "How can I... How can I feel anything for someone who was with Josie? Who hurt Josie? Who made her suffer? It's disgusting!" I'm disgusting! She made me feel that way even when they were together!

"You're not," Hope says immediately, firmly, not letting me slip through that crack. "Feeling things doesn't make you bad. Hiding them until they destroy you... that can hurt you, but you're still not bad."

I cover my face again, frustrated to the core.

"I don't want to feel this. I don't want to. I... I can't love her. Not her. Not after everything. Not when Josie..."

The sentence dies, as if I've touched a bare wire and been electrocuted.

"Lizzie..." Again that strange tone in her voice, soft, almost human. "I understand."

"No," I shake my head. "You don't understand. Nobody understands. Penelope is..." I bite my lip, searching for words that don't sound like a confession. "It's Penelope. She's cruel and sarcastic and manipulative and..." I gasp for air. "And I hate her."

Silence falls between us.

"Whatever you saw... it doesn't mean what you think it means. Penelope and I are complicated. But no..." She bites her cheek, uncomfortable. "...it's not real."

And that... that hits me in a way I don't understand.

"Why are you saying it like that?" I ask, resentfully. "What does 'complicated' mean? What does 'not' mean...?"

I stop.

I'm afraid to hear the answer.

Afraid it will be worse.

Afraid it will be better.

Hope thinks for a second before speaking. An eternal second.

"It means that Penelope... doesn't look at me the way you think she does. We're just friends, there are no feelings involved. She doesn't look at anyone that way, if that's any consolation."

My breath catches somewhere between my throat and my lungs.

"What about Josie?" I ask, even though I fear the answer.

"That's a complicated question..." She pauses, and I almost feel like she's going to say something good. "And I don't want to hurt you, but... I think the only one who can soften Penelope's heart is Josie." Definitely not good.

The whole world seems to stand still.

Even the water.

Even the wind.

Even me.

I don't know what to do with that. With the truth so exposed, so naked, so impossible to hide even if I want to tear it from my skin.

"I don't..." I whisper, choked up. "I shouldn't care."

"But you do care," Hope replies. "And it doesn't make you a monster. It doesn't make you bad."

I close my eyes tightly. Very tightly.

But the image comes back just the same: Penelope kissing her. The way my stomach twisted. The rage, the nausea, the confused pain. And I know Hope sees it on my face, because she says:

"Lizzie... you're not alone in this."

And for some reason I still don't understand, that sentence breaks something inside me in a different way: it doesn't hurt at all.

"What the hell can I do?" I ask.

Hope sighs.

"You start by not running away from what you feel anymore."

"It's hard not to run away from what I feel because it's wrong. I don't even like girls!"

"But you like Penelope, and she's a girl."

"I don't like Penelope..." I murmur with what little pride I have left.

"Lizzie. You're saying a lot of things that aren't true... and you know it."

I stiffen. Of all the things I thought possible, talking about my sexuality with Hope Mikaelson is definitely the least likely on my list.

"I don't..."

"Yes. You do know," she cuts me off, but not harshly. "If you didn't like her, you wouldn't be here crying because you saw her kissing someone. You definitely wouldn't be so..." She looks at me for a second. "...upset."

"I'm not that bad," I lie. Fatally. Ridiculously. Obviously.

Hope raises her eyebrows, as if she can hear every beat of my racing heart.

"Don't try to lie to me," she says.

I look away toward the water. I see myself reflected on the surface: my red eyes, wet cheeks, broken expression. Pathetic.

"I can't feel this," I whisper, almost breathless, again. Maybe if I say it constantly, it will become real. "It's not right! I shouldn't like her, you know that. She's horrible. She's manipulative and heartbreaking. She... she broke Josie's heart. She hates me. I... I hate her. I hate her!"

My voice breaks right there, just like a dry branch.

Hope lets out a very soft, almost imperceptible sigh.

"You don't hate her."

"Yes... I do hate her."

"No," she insists, with that firm certainty she only uses when she is ABSOLUTELY convinced. "You hate her because you like her. And you've liked her for much longer than you want to admit."

I feel my heart pounding so hard in my chest that it could break through my ribs.

"I shouldn't want... what I want," I whisper.

"And what do you want?" Hope asks.

"I want her to look at me the way she looks at Josie. I want... I want her to... to see me. Just once. To stop treating me like a nuisance. To... to stop ignoring me." The tears come back. I can't stop them. They fall with a low, choked sob. "I wanted her to choose me," I confess at last. "And she didn't. Instead, she ruined my life a thousand times over. She insulted me. She manipulated me. She drove me crazy just for fun! How... how the hell am I supposed to...?"

I can't say it again.

But Hope understands.

"We don't choose who hurts us," she replies, shrugging. "Believe me, I know. Very well."

That makes me look at her.

And there she is.

Hope Mikaelson.

The strongest girl I know, though she would never say it out loud.

The same girl who carries the weight of a thousand tragedies and yet is still here, sitting next to me on the damp ground, as if nothing else matters.

"You're not a monster for feeling jealous," she adds. "Or for wanting her to choose you. We've all wanted that at some point."

"It's not just that," I say, my voice breaking. "It's not just... jealousy. It's just that..." I rub my eyes. "I can't feel this way about her, Hope! I can't. It's... it's too much." It's... it's wrong. She only sees Josie. She only wanted her.

"Wanting isn't always fair. Or equitable. Or reciprocal. Sometimes it just... happens. And it hurts. A lot."

"I want the pain to stop," I admit, "But I can't make it stop."

"Then start accepting it," Hope says, and that answer surprises me so much that I stare at her. "Stop fighting with yourself. Stop punishing yourself. You're not going to stop feeling just because you force yourself to."

I sigh.

I don't know if I'm crying out of sadness, embarrassment, or because of how absurd it is to have this conversation with HOPE MIKAELSON.

But I admit it. I let it out. And when I do, it's like tearing off my skin.

"But you don't understand... I always wanted her... to choose me. Once. Just once. Even if it was in secret... even if no one knew..." I hug my stomach, as if that's where it hurts the most. "I just wanted her to see me."

"Well, she did see you, Lizzie."

I look at her, confused.

"Not the way you wanted," she continues. "And not enough for how you feel. But you weren't invisible to her."

"It doesn't matter, she'll never love me romantically."

"But you're being selfish," she says, shifting the perspective of the conversation a little.

"Why?"

"Don't you see? I know it hurts and I know you can't control it, I told you," she pauses for a second, as if thinking about the best way to say it, "but you want what Josie finally has, or rather, had."

I remain silent, this is new. This pain feels different, it's more raw.

"I know this isn't the right time, but you need to hear it anyway: you always want what Josie has." Those words destroy me, but Hope continues. "You notice all her tastes in guys and choose them first. Maybe you don't realize it, but you do. And well, Penelope is different. She's the one who makes you doubt your sexuality."

"What... what do you mean?"

"Lizzie... you always take up space. And I don't mean that to hurt you. You're strong, you're intense, you're brilliant. But that... sometimes it leaves Josie gasping for air."

I open my mouth to defend myself, but Hope raises a hand.

"Listen to me. I'm not blaming you. You're not bad. You just... act without realizing it. You've been doing it for years, Lizzie." She nods, gently, almost respectfully. "You walk into a room and you fill it, you take it all in. It's part of who you are. And Josie... Josie always made herself small so you could shine a little brighter."

"That's not true," I murmur, quietly, unsure of my own voice.

"It is true," Hope corrects me, with that tone she uses when there's nothing left but the truth. "And you're not the only one who sees it that way. Penelope said it first, remember?"

Yes. Of course I remember. She literally threatened me in the gym.

I hated it. I hated her. I wanted to rip her tongue out when she said it.

But hearing it now (from Hope, from someone who has no reason to lie to me) is worse. Much worse.

"I never..." I pause, swallowing hard because it hurts. "I never wanted to hurt Josie."

"I know," Hope says instantly, without hesitation. "No one said you wanted to. But you did it anyway."

"I always thought... that Josie had more than I did," I whisper, surprised by my own words. She always got attention, affection, she was everyone's favorite... and I was always the disaster.

 

"And you believed they didn't love you," Hope says. "But that doesn't mean it was true."

I close my eyes and everything burns. Because yes. It's true.

I always wanted what Josie had. The calmness. The sweetness. The way people looked at her as if she were a refuge. The way Penelope... looked at her.

And yet... yet I never thought I was taking her space away.

"I didn't know... that I did that," I admit.

"That's why I'm telling you," Hope replies softly. "So you can see it. So you don't punish yourself for feeling what you feel... but also so you don't ignore what's going on around you. It's not just jealousy, Lizzie. It's not just pain. It's also this pattern of yours... of wanting what Josie has, because deep down you believe you can't have it for yourself."

"And what you feel for Penelope... doesn't have to fit into any box yet. You don't have to define yourself. You don't have to say 'I like girls' or 'I'm this or that'. It's not a race. It's not urgent."

I bite my lip. The word "girls" makes me dizzy.

"But... Penelope is a girl," I murmur, as if that were enough to bring my world crashing down. "And... and this doesn't make sense. I've always been... you know. Boys. Only boys."

"And that's okay," Hope says calmly. "But liking a guy in the past doesn't prevent you from feeling something for a girl now. It doesn't erase anything. It doesn't take anything away from you."

"I don't want to... define myself that way."

"Then don't."

"You seem to be very knowledgeable on the subject," I smile slightly, giving myself space to regain some confidence.

"I had my sexuality crisis too," Hope shrugs.

I really like this Hope.

"Who was the unlucky one?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Josie."

WHAT!?

"DID YOU SAY JOSIE!?" I get upset in a good way. "What do you mean you liked my sister Hope!?"

"Shh, someone might hear you," she shushes me, smiling. "It was years ago, ok? We were kids and she was really sweet."

"I can't believe it," I exclaim, all the sadness leaving my body.

"If I find out you say anything about this, I'm going to ruin you, Lizzie."

"Oh, please, Hope Andrea Mikaelson, I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be afraid of me," Hope replies.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I raise my hands. "The almighty tribrida had a crush on my twin sister."

Hope rolls her eyes so hard they look like they're going to pop out.

"It wasn't a crush. It was..." She pauses, searching for words. "A hormonal mistake. A childish slip-up. It's over now."

"Sure, sure, a 'hormonal mistake.' Did you write her poems too? Secret diaries? Did you sigh when she did magic?"

Hope opens her mouth, ready to defend herself, but closes it again. Her silence is a confession stronger than any words.

I burst out laughing.

"OMG! YOU WROTE HER POEMS! I CAN'T DEAL WITH YOU!"

"If you keep talking, I'm going to become a murderer."

"Relax, Mikaelson. Your secret is safe with me."

Hope narrows her eyes.

"Really?"

I nod... albeit with a smile that clearly promises future torture.

"I swear."

Hope sighs, resigned.

"You're impossible."

"Thanks," I reply, more softly, and for a second our eyes meet without sarcasm. "And... seriously. You were so cute."

Hope looks away again, feigning toughness.

"Don't get used to it."

 

*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

 

Josie.

 

I'm in my room. The nurse told me I had to rest, so I tried to listen to her as much as possible. My father brought me some medicine and left quickly, leaving me in an empty, silent room so I could think.

But the funny thing is, I don't want to think at all. Because if I think too much, then things get on top of me.

Lizzie hurt me. That's a key fact, and I can't just forget it.

I wrap myself in the blanket; it hurts to lay my head down. I wish Penelope were here; she was so nice in the infirmary, and my God, she almost kissed me! My heart was about to explode until the nurse ruined (or saved, at best) the moment.

Her eyes were fixed on me, worried. She stayed all afternoon until they took me out of there, even then she didn't leave. Could she be any nicer? Yes, of course, when we were dating she was very thoughtful.

I almost forgot that she broke my heart, almost.

I settle into bed, trying to ignore the small twinge in my temple. I wish Lizzie hadn't hurt me, but I know it wasn't on purpose.

Then I hear two knocks on the wooden door.

My heart races without permission, because for a second I think it could be her.

But no one comes in.

It was just the air, or my imagination playing tricks on me again. Perfect. Now I'm hearing things too.

I sigh, pull the blanket tight around my chest, and force myself to look at the ceiling. I need to calm my mind. I need to rest. I need...

A soft, almost timid knock interrupts my thoughts.

I don't want to get excited. I shouldn't.

But even so, my voice comes out barely audible:

"...Penelope?"

The first thing I see are her green eyes, so beautiful that I melt.

"Sorry for coming without warning," she begins, "I wanted to know how you were, and since you have me blocked on your phone, coming here was the best option."

I blush. Yes, I blocked her a few days after we broke up, when I was sure I wouldn't get any messages asking for forgiveness.

Penelope stands in the doorway, as if she doesn't know whether she has the right to come in or not. That image alone makes my chest tighten. She's never been so shy with me...

"Uh... come in," I say, settling myself a little, even though my head hurts.

Penelope enters slowly, closing the door carefully. I don't know if she's doing it so as not to disturb me... or so that no one will see her here. Neither option helps to calm my heart.

She's carrying a paper bag in her hand.

"I brought you this," she says, placing it on the bedside table. "They're... your favorite cookies. The ones you buy when you've had a horrible day."

I stare at her, not knowing what to say. She knows today has been a horrible day. She knows too much about me.

"Thank you..." I whisper, because if I speak any louder, my voice will surely tremble.

We fall silent again, and it's uncomfortable. Can she hear my heart beating desperately?

"Does it hurt a lot?" she finally asks, in a tone so soft that I almost don't recognize it.

Softness. From Penelope. Great, now I really am delirious.

"A little," I admit, looking down. "The nurse said it's normal after... well, you know."

A sound of disapproval escapes her lips.

"And did Lizzie apologize to you, or is she making this about her?" she asks, clearly annoyed.

"It's not... like that," I murmur. "She... it's not her fault. When Lizzie is confused, she does stupid things."

Penelope snorts.

"She did more than something stupid, Josie. She hurt you. And I don't want to sound dramatic, but she has no right to..."

"Penelope," I cut her off, trying not to sound so... needy. "I'm really tired. I don't want to fight about Lizzie right now."

"Okay," she says. "I won't bother you with it."

She takes a step closer, then another, as if she expects me to kick her out at any moment. How ridiculous. How unfair. She never doubted me like this... before everything fell apart.

"I just wanted to make sure that..." She waves her hand. "That you were okay, I guess."

A laugh escapes me, very quietly, because it hurts a little, but also because her awkward way of admitting she was worried makes me feel good.

She looks up when she hears me laugh, and her expression changes. It softens. It opens up. She looks at me as if she has just given herself permission to feel something she has been holding back for weeks.

"I don't know if I should stay," she says, her voice trembling slightly.

And there it is: the real question behind her words.

Do you want me to stay?

Can I still be close to you?

I look away at the ceiling. I can't hold that kind of gaze right now. Not when my whole body is already aching and she's coming at me with that vulnerability that always melts me.

"I don't know if it's a good idea," I reply, being too honest for my own good. "But I don't want you to leave either," and that's not for my own good.

Penelope hesitates for just a second before moving. She takes two more steps and ends up at the edge of my bed.

Her fingers curl around the edge of her jacket, a nervous gesture I've never seen her make before.

"I don't want to hurt you," she says finally, but there's something in her voice, something broken, that makes me look up. I already did once and..." She bites her tongue, swallows. "I don't want to do it again."

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying, "You made me happy too." Because it would be true.

"No... you're not," I manage to say, because the idea of her leaving now turns my stomach. "Not now."

Penelope nods. And then, without asking me anything, without pressuring me, she just plops down on my bed. At a safe distance. Almost frustratingly safe.

"Do you want me to stay here?" she asks again, quietly, wanting to be sure.

I look at her. I wish she hadn't. I wish I could ignore the way the tension in her jaw tries to control itself, or how her green eyes search mine with a mixture of fear and hope I've never seen in her before.

"I can't promise I'll be ready," I admit, feeling the lump in my throat tighten. "But... yes. I want you to stay."

Penelope lets out a breath as if she's been holding it since she walked in.

"Then I'll stay," she says, so simple, so sincere, that it completely disarms me.

I shift a little, trying not to show how much it hurts to move my head.

"You know what's funny?" I whisper, because the heavy silence between us is already making me more dizzy than the blow.

"What?" she murmurs.

"That... I thought you wouldn't come back. Not like this."

Penelope looks down. Her fingers interlace, restless.

"I... didn't think I would either," she admits. "But seeing you in the infirmary... Josie, I almost died. I couldn't..." She shakes her head. "I couldn't not come."

My heart is beating so hard that I almost feel dizzy again.

She looks at me. I look at her. And for a moment, for a single, fragile moment, everything is as it was before.

"Penelope..." I say softly, not knowing what to say next.

She leans forward slightly, slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal.

"Can you hug me?" The question slips from my lips.

Penelope doesn't respond immediately. For a second, I just see her blink, as if my question had pierced through the armor she always wears. Then, very slowly, she nods.

She moves with a delicacy I didn't know she possessed. She first rests one knee on the mattress and then leans toward me, making each step clear before taking it.

"Of course," she whispers, barely audibly.

When her arms wrap around me, they do so with a gentleness that once seemed normal. There is no pressure, no urgency. It is an embrace that asks permission with every inch, that envelops me without squeezing me, that holds me without demanding anything.

Penelope's right hand rests on my back, warm, firm but careful. The other slowly moves up to my shoulder, settling just where it hurts the least. And then, when her chin barely brushes my hair, I feel myself exhale for the first time in hours.

The rhythm of her breathing is steady, calm, and filters through the space between us, calming that internal tremor that had been haunting me since the infirmary. I move a little closer, not because I need it to stop hurting, but because her closeness brings order to the chaos in my head.

Penelope reaches down and, very carefully, adjusts my blanket so I don't get cold.

Almost without thinking, my fingers cling to the fabric of her jacket. I don't squeeze her; I just hold on.

"Don't worry," she whispers. "I'm here."

Her words wash over me like a sedative. The tension in my neck eases. The weight on my chest lessens. My breathing slows, deepens, matching hers, as if my body has finally found something to lean on.

The pain in my head is still there, yes. But it's distant. As if it were on the other side of the room.

Penelope caresses my shoulder once, just once, with her fingertips, very gently. Then she leaves her hand still, respecting my boundaries, my space, my fragility.

"You can rest, Josie," she says. She doesn't order it. She offers it.

And my body accepts before my mind does.

I feel my eyelids grow heavy, my thoughts fade away, my breathing settle into the perfect space between his chest and my forehead.

The world becomes warm. Safe. Quiet.

And so, surrounded by her arms, by that affection she tries to control but always slips away, I let myself go.

I fall asleep on her chest, breathing the rhythm she lends me. And Penelope, I know even in my sleep, doesn't move an inch. She just holds me. She just stays.