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Kinda like Rip van Winkle, but not.

Tears form in her eyes just thinking of how her man still stays with her, caring for her no matter what state she is in.

“Every,” she starts, testing her voice after waking from such a long slumber. Her tongue rolls remarkably easily for someone who’s been in a coma for nearly a full century. “How many years has it been?”

Every stares at her in awe, seemingly shocked at her regaining her ability of speech. Nope. “Look, girl, I don’t know how hard you hit your head going out, but I ain’t not Every. And it’s been exactly seven minutes, pet.”

“What?”

“Yeah, what?” the not-Every Every lookalike asks her back sarcastically. Now that Lily knows she isn’t Every, she looks kinda like a woman.

“So you aren’t my Every?”

“Nah, my pitiful little pet, he left you here when he went to take a piss just a minute ago.”

There it is, the revelation that unlike her fantasized situation, Every is neither staying with her nor waiting for her to wake. Instead, he’s left her with a female version of him. Most likely a clone of his, her imaginative mind tells her. “Are you keeping me captive or something?”

This time, the woman blinks. “Why’d I do that, pet?”

“Because you keep calling me pet,” Lily states confidently, as if she is the smartest girl in the world.

That can’t be further from the truth.

“Nah. It’s ’cause I don’t know your name,” the woman answers, her head nearly hurting with how confused she is by Lily and her chaotic-ass mindset. “Why, you want me to call you bitch instead?”

She looks straight into Lily’s viridian eyes, a smirk now playing on her lips.

They sure do have chemistry. Too bad she isn’t the love interest.

Of this one, at least.

Then Every, the actual Every this time, walks out of the fucking toilet with no care for the world, still pulling up his slacks, looking weirdly domesticated. Lily sighs.

Honestly, she’d be a lot better off with this female version of Every, all sharp and stylish and smart-mouthed. Unlike Every now, who looks somewhat like a deadbeat dad. And he doesn’t even have a kid yet.

“Howdy, Lily,” the man says in an utterly carefree tone, reminding Lily-girl of why she loves him so much.

Because no one is as ignorant and brainless as he is.

How cute.



The metallic blue staircase twirls down like a drill, and they reach a vast hallway decorated with disco balls from the seventies. Or eighties. Or something. The little mirrors reflect all shades of blue, from ultramarine to aquamarine, across the trio’s skin. And into their eyes.

Lily shields her eyeballs from the flashing lights, which are starting to give her a headache, and another potential blackout. She stumbles along after the male and female versions of Every, tripping because her eyes are shielded.

Kinda unwise, if you ask anyone other than her.

“So who is she again?” Lily asks her hot CEO boyfriend, a little jealous, though more than anything confused.

“She’s my sister,” he finally corrects her, ending her insecurities.

“She’s your sister?” she repeats.

“Well, she isn’t my brother, is she?”

Lily takes a quick look at the tall woman in front of her, clad in a midnight blue evening gown and silver ornaments. Now, she’s starting to see the differences. The female Every has much longer hair, and the male one has cropped hair.