Page 31 of Melancholia

It’s always hard to blow it out. Always so fucking difficult to sever my temporary connection to her, the one time of the year I let myself really miss her, until the ache in my chest intensifies to the point it feels like I’ve been stabbed.

My hand comes up to splay against my chest, fingers trembling. “I miss you,” I say again, voice breaking. “Fuck, I miss you so much.” She was my other half. My twin. My literal reflection.

Finally, I lean over just enough to do it, though I watch the flickering flame for another minute. Just a few more seconds, I tell myself. She deserves that. At last, however, my lips part, and I blow a small puff of air against the flame.

It wavers, then gutters out. Easily and quickly, just as tapping on my door makes me nearly levitate from shock, and dread curls in my stomach.

I don’t move at first. Instead, I rack my brain, trying to decide if the knock was real or if it was in my head. There’s a solid chance Elaina’s standing on the other side of that door, and honestly, I’m not sure if I can handle that right now.

Not with the faded taste of strawberry still burning the back of my throat like acid. I know I’m not really still tasting it. There’s no way. But that doesn’t make it any less real every time I swallow and taste the artificially fruity sweetness of the birthday cake.

The knocking comes again. Light, curious tapping rather than something belligerent or demanding. That solidifies the fear in my mind, though I’m not sure why she doesn’t just show up behind me.

A jump scare is exactly what my brain would do to me tonight.

There’s no use putting it off. With the way I'm so focused on this, if it is Elaina, she won’t go away just from me ignoring her. Not wanting to have to wait for sleeping meds to kick in, I cross the small space to the door, gripping the knob and pulling on it. “Elaina, I can’t, please—” The words are out of my mouth before I see who’s standing on the other side of the door. But when I do, the rest of the sentence dies on my tongue.

Amir tilts his head curiously, barely visible in the dim light of the landing above the coffee shop and dressed all in black. “Who’s Elaina?” he asks in a soft voice.

12

My brain slows down, moving at a glacial pace as it tries to reconcile the man standing on the other side of the door. I glance back at the blown-out candle, like it’s going to give me answers, before looking at him again.

Fuck it.

“My dead twin.” The words are flat and unhappy as they leave my lips, though I can’t help looking down for a sign of his dogs or any other weapon he might have on him.

Seeing what I’m doing, Amir slowly lifts his hands in surrender, like he’s showing me he’s unarmed.

Not that I’m convinced.

“Your dead twin,” he repeats. “Interesting. I heard from Hestia that you didn’t seem to be into the birthday party they planned for you. Now I know why.” He glances into my apartment, craning forward and into my space like he has the right. I can’t help stepping back, and he just…takes advantage of that to walk in like he owns this place.

I suddenly feel like the one who doesn’t belong as I stand there, hovering at my door with the knob in my hand. “Leave,” I murmur, but he doesn’t even look my way. He just strides around the dimly lit one space, gazing down at the still smoking candle on the table.

“You haven’t told anyone.” It isn’t a question. He reaches down to pick up the lighter and flicks it on, then off, before lighting the candle in a quick, effortless motion.

Closing the door behind me, I make a noise of disapproval, but he just shoots me a glance before setting the lighter beside the purple candle once more. “About me,” Amir clarifies. His gaze flicks down to the little flame, then back to my face. “This is for her? Your twin, Elaina?”

I don’t answer right away. I just stare at the flickering light, itching to blow it out again, then whisper, “Why are you here? I haven’t told anyone. I haven’t done anything⁠—”

“If we assume bad things only happen to those at fault, then suddenly the world makes a lot less sense,” he cuts me off smoothly. Movement makes me look up from the candle to register Amir striding toward me without pause.

“What do you want?” I demand, taking a step back, trying to get out of his way. Not that he lets me. Amir’s hand comes out to grip my wrist, and he keeps me close to him, sending my heart into a fluttering frenzy of fear and the need to escape. “I asked what⁠—”

“Don’t act like this with me,” Amir cuts in smoothly. “I know you’re afraid of me. And you’re reacting like a cornered animal, all bristling fur and bared teeth.” He studies my face as if there’s something interesting there to find, before giving a soft little huff of a laugh. “My little mortician is so different outside of the comfort of her workplace.”

The way he uses those words—my little mortician—has something shivering up my spine, but I try to push everything away to focus on him and making him go away.

“I’m just trying to get you to tell me what you want so you can go away,” I breathe, the words slow and careful. “I won’t pretend I want you here.”

“Oh, no?” His smile curls into something a little darker. “Are you sure? Because all week I’ve been hearing from Hestia just how interested you are. How you’re my type. How I should take a chance to get to know you better. She even invited me to your little party today. But I thought you might not want me there.”

My fingers flex in his grip, and I glance down between us at my hands before looking back into his honey-gold eyes that are bright even in the dim light of my apartment.

“I was trying to learn about you,” I relent finally. “You can’t blame me for that. I wanted to learn what kind of person you are. Or at least, what Hestia thinks you are.” I can’t help glancing around the apartment, some part of me convinced that Elaina is still going to show up. Like somehow the candle will summon her ghost from the recesses of my mind.

“True,” he agrees. “It’s actually quite prudent of you, since you’re so afraid to ask me yourself.”