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Chapter Nine

I'd been kidnapped.

My sister tugged a brush through my damp hair, starting from the roots. I yelped with pain and swatted her hand away. "Ouch," I said with feeling, slumping lower into the fluffy pink chair I'd been coerced into.

She had all but forced me into the shower, too. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd pulled out the bamboo shoots had I dared refuse. The government should really hire her for getting information with torture, she was born for it.

"Sit up," Clara ordered, smacking my shoulder with the hairbrush.

"Ouch," I said again. I rubbed at my shoulder and murderously muttered under my breath.

Watching her in the mirror, I saw her roll her eyes and put her hands on her hips impatiently. "I need to blow dry, I can't reach all your hair with you slumping like that."

A groan slid from my lips as I begrudgingly pushed myself back up to a sitting position. I clutched at the towel wrapped around me as it began to slip.

"You really ought to get that checked," Clara said. She pointed towards a mole on my shoulder before I had chance to re-cover it. "It looks weird."

"Thanks," I grunted. "But it's been there forever, it's nothing."

Shrugging, she finished off brushing through my wet hair — which from the pain level, felt more like she'd waxed it all off — and she began to blow dry. My sigh was swallowed up by the sound of the dryer but I stopped myself from slumping again — being smacked by that brush hurt.

The afternoon dragged on. I wasn't even allowed to get snacks or anything because she was adamant I'd 'ruin her masterpiece'.

"Why are you even bothering with this? It's not like anyone will be looking at me with you around anyway." I asked her this in hopes that she'd realised her time was being wasted and she'd stop.

No such luck. My sister rewarded me with a sarcastic look. "I care about the people I associate myself with. If you don't look the part, I don't look the part. This is for me, not for you."

Of course it was.

Unlike the night before though, tonight Clara actually asked my preferences on colours and styles, which was entirely unexpected. So used to her gas lighting, I wasn't sure if she was being genuine or if it was another manipulation tactic. I wanted to believe it was really her trying to make an effort.

A little later, I'd managed to weasel my way out of wearing the heels since we were decidedly not the same shoe size and had to wear bowling shoes anyway. The dress I couldn't argue my way out of. I felt a little bit more comfortable in my Converse at least.

Clara and I sat in the living room on opposite sofas, back to ignoring each other as usual, waiting for Remy to pick us up. I patted where my pockets usually were, searching for my phone, then remembered begrudgingly that I was wearing the dress. I'd been forced into using a tiny black bag to carry my things, which I'd left upstairs. Sighing inwardly, I heaved myself to my feet.

"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded.

"I left my phone in your room because I have no pockets on this stupid thing," I replied, snappier than was probably necessary, tugging at the black velvet that hugged my body. I felt claustrophobic and self-conscious. How does she wear this stuff?

She rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to her phone screen. "Jeez, period much? Get my topaz necklace whilst you're up there please, top drawer."

What the heck is a topaz?

I climbed the stairs with ease, eternally grateful to be wearing flats, and swung open Clara's bedroom door. Snagging the bag off the bed, I flicked my eyes around the room. At first glance I counted... four sets of drawers.

Really? 'Top drawer' was all she gave me?

Sitting on the edge of the bed with a grimace, I pulled open one of the bedside table drawers slowly. I caught sight of something and slammed it shut, jumping back up again. My eyes! Her necklace wasn't in there but something else that I do not want to talk about certainly was.

I'm going to need therapy after these last few days.

Circling to the next set of drawers, I peered into the plastic ones that sat next to her wardrobe without opening them. No dice — the only things visible were clean socks and underwear. The chest of drawers next to the door looked promising, so I wandered over and pulled open the topmost drawer.

I didn't find her necklace but what I did find made my heart break audibly in my chest. Sinking to the floor in disbelief, I grabbed for the stack of letters, wondering why she'd kept the evidence.

After flipping back to some of the earlier letters, it became clear. She'd crossed out my name and replaced it instead with her own. My guess was that she'd been going to try and take my place but the letters stated lower down that they'd stored my DNA from my blood donation already. Some of the later letters even stated they'd located my match.

It was Clara. The person that had stolen the letters so I couldn't have my appointment... was Clara.

My brain at first refused to believe it — my mother I'd expected this from; she'd tried to control my every move my whole life and made my life hell when I didn't comply, but my own sister. I guessed recently she'd been acting the same way, truly her mini me.

Tears betrayed me, stinging the corners of my eyes. The tell-tale sounds of her running up the stairs and bursting into the room came from behind me but I made no move to turn around. She'd remembered. I hiccupped a laugh at the thought and wiped my nose with my wrist, an action that my mother would have chastised me for.

"I can explain," she started. "Janie, listen to me-"

At last, I turned towards her. Her hands were raised as though trying to calm an agitated animal. The look on my face stopped her from saying whatever it was she was about to say, the words choking in her throat. There were tears in her eyes too but for once I didn't feel bad for her.

Every movement measured, I stood slowly, feeling every roll of my joints. Was this what being in shock felt like?

"Janie, please, say something, you're scaring me." My sister's voice was tiny, a small portion of the loud, overly confident persona she normally touted.

To both of our surprise, I smiled. I spoke just as slowly as I'd stood, deliberately, every word a calculated dagger. "After I leave this house, I want nothing to do with you. Ever again. You are dead to me."

"Please, let me explain," she begged. "I wanted it so badly and I know you did too, but-"

"But nothing!" I exploded and she flinched, her hand flying over her mouth as a sob escaped her lips. "You wanted something for yourself and as per usual you couldn't bear that someone else might have had a chance at it instead of you." My voice was so acidic I didn't even recognise it as my own. Even to my own ears I sounded like my mother. But it was true — Clara was selfish through and through and always had been.

A horn sounded from outside and I heard my phone go off in the bag that lay forgotten at my feet. Remy was here.

I threw the letters in my sister's direction and they scattered, paper and steamed-open envelopes flying everywhere. She visibly flinched but made no move to catch any of them.

"Here, since you wanted them so fucking badly, take them."

Any other time, she'd have screamed at me for making a mess but she just stood mutely as I swiped the bag into my hand and stormed from the room.

"Clean yourself up, you've ruined your eyeliner," I said bitterly as I started back down the stairs.