A FEW DAYS LATER, Owen is on the roof. Earlier that night, as soon as I pushed away from the virtually silent dinner table and retreated into my room, I went to the window. Swept the curtains back to look at the stars.
But I saw my brother instead, dark form against the dark sky.
Now my hands open the window, my body crawls out, my mind screams at me to stay inside, my heart aches for my other half.
It’s amazing, all these parts of me, all this love and hate tangled up and coexisting.
I make my way over to him. He turns to look at me and I meet his eyes for a split second before gazing up at the tiny pinpricks of light dotting the sky. I feel him turn away, his chin lifting to the stars just like mine. We’re not even saying anything, but the tears come fast and hard and silent. There’s simply no way around this. No magic words to make it better. He can’t take back what he’s taken away.
“Once upon a time,” he says, and my breath stutters in my lungs. I don’t say anything and he goes on, his voice a cracked whisper. “Once upon a time, a brother and a sister lived with the stars. They were happy and had wild adventures exploring the sky. One day—”
“One day the brother broke his sister’s heart.”
He falls silent, but not for long. Owen never could shut up. “I didn’t—”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”
He sniffs and folds his arms, shaking his head at the ground. “I want things to go back to normal.”
I look at him. Finally look at him, his face and features so familiar, so like mine. “There is no normal, Owen. Not anymore. There’s only making it something other than this.”
He frowns. “How . . .”
“Tell the truth.”
His hand drifts up to his lip, fingers poised. But then his whole body stiffens as he drops his arm, pressing it against his side. “I did.”
“You don’t know what you did. What you’re still doing. Don’t you get it? You raped a girl, Owen.”
He flinches, but I don’t. I can call it what it is now. What it’ll always be.
“You took her choices from her,” I go on, “her body, her power. You took her ability to trust, her ability to be with a guy, maybe for years. And do you see what’s happening? Do you see how quickly the world turns against her? Do you see how strong she’s been at school, despite all that? You’re not going to ruin her. I won’t let you. She won’t let you.”
Tears course down my cheeks and I know I’m not just talking about Hannah anymore. I’m not just talking about Owen.
“But you’ll let it ruin you and me?” He waves his hand between us, his voice shaking just as much as mine. Matching breath for breath.
“I love you so much, Owen.” And I know it’s true. He’s my twin, my other half, forever. Nothing will ever change that. I’ll always love him. “But right now? I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t. You can’t take back what you did—”
“I didn’t. Goddammit, I didn’t do any of that.” He rubs at his forehead with both hands, hiding his face from me. Then his shoulders start shaking. “I didn’t do that. I didn’t.”
I step away from him, my arms aching to hold on to him. Even now. Even after everything. And I can’t do that.
“I can’t be the one to fix us,” I say. “I have to fix myself first.”
He glances at me, a question in his red-rimmed eyes.
I take a deep breath and I tell him a story.
“Once upon a time, a brother and a sister lived with the stars. They were happy and had wild adventures exploring the sky.”
Owen inhales . . . exhales. I feel him relaxing, as if this story somehow symbolizes the two of us getting back to normal.
It doesn’t. This is an entirely different kind of story.
“One day,” I go on, “someone Sister Twin admired, an important man in their starry community, asked her to stay behind after lessons. She did. Everyone respected him and Sister Twin believed in his protection, in his good intentions. She believed he would never hurt her.”
Owen stiffens. “Mara. What—”
“The man smiled and told her not to worry, but that he had to talk to her about a serious problem. Something that could ruin her future, disappoint her parents. To fix it, he asked Sister Twin to . . .” Here my voice knots up, but I swallow a few times, running through the story the way I’ve rehearsed it in my head for days. Next to me, Owen breathes loudly and I know his hands are curled into fists.
Because mine are too.
“He asked Sister Twin to do things she didn’t want to do. Things no grown man should ever ask of a girl.”
“Mara, stop.”
“When she didn’t comply, he forced her to do what he wanted.”
“Mar, holy shit. What is this story?”
“Sister Twin managed to get away from the man. She ran home and cried and never told a soul. She never thought anyone would believe her. The man punished her for running away, convincing her parents that she deserved it. And still, Sister Twin never said a word.”
“What is this? Are you . . . are you talking about . . . what are you talking about? Mara, please.”
He’s crying now.
I know he is, because so am I.
“She never said a single word about it to her family,” I go on, pushing through the tears. “Until right now.”
Owen reaches out and takes my hand, his fingers trembling as they curve around mine. Instead of yanking back, I let him hold on to that little part of me because I need him to hear this. I need him to hear me. To hear all of us.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I turn to look at him and I make sure he’s looking at me. Our faces mirror each other’s—eyes red and wide, tears wandering down cheeks, and noses sprinkled with freckles.
“This,” I say to him, and he frowns. I bring our twined hands to my face, pressing the back of his hand to my cheek. “This is a girl who thought no one would ever believe her. This is a girl who is not lying.”
He’s sobbing now, his cries rising between us to settle in the sky.
I untangle our hands and step away from him.
“Eventually, Sister Twin realized that she had to tell her story. Because that story was hers. Because she was worth the telling.”
“Mara . . .”
But he doesn’t go on. Just buries his face in his hands, a tiny boy made of stars.
And in that moment, Sister Twin breathes in a universe full of constellations, taking them with her as she leaves. Because she knows it’s time for the brother and sister to leave the sky for good.