Emperor of Mayhem

t h i r t y - n i n e

// T H E F A M I L I A R S T R A N G E R \\

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"Who is Rana?" I did ask over dinner two nights later.

This was a question I had sworn within me to carry along to my grave because I knew asking it meant he would know how I felt and knowing how I felt meant I had unknowingly been too open about my feelings.

But I asked anyway.

At first, he was quite taken aback. I mean, I didn't blame the guy. The question had come out of nowhere.

"Rana is my little sister."

He had replied to me that night.

"Why do I find it hard to believe you?" I remembered asking. There was just something off about it. How come I had never heard of her until I had to find that sketchpad myself?

"Why?" He had set his fork aside to give me his attention though with a tired sigh, "Why don't you believe me?" He prompted when I dodged his question by shoving food into my mouth.

What was I supposed to tell the man? Hey, I don't think it's possible for a man to dedicate such a time for his sister so my sixth sense believes there is another woman?

Was that supposed to be my reply?

Wouldn't that mean I was a jealous, pathetic and psychopathic woman?

Which relationship, by the way? He only told me he loved me. It wasn't as though he asked me to be his girlfriend. Wait, why in the world was I thinking of becoming the girlfriend of a man eight years older than I was?

God, I must have been really crazy.

"Because you guys don't have the same jaws?" Sadly, that was my pathetic reply and he chuckled.

"Really?" He had raised his perfect brow, a smile resting under the curve of his lips, "Is that really it?"

"She's prettier than you." I added, biting my lower lip as quickly as I lost my confidence.

"That's because she was adopted." He shrugged.

"I mean, she wasn't legally adopted." He added and my stomach dropped, "There were no paper works. But she was still my sister nonetheless."

I didn't know why it was hard for me to accept it as it was. It still didn't sound right to my ears.

"Where is she now?" I asked the next question which happened to have been sitting on my tongue from the very day I saw that sketchpad.

Perhaps she was traveling around the world and would claim her place on return.

"She's dead." I heard him say instead, his tone quite saddened, "Died in an accident...staged accident, rather."

I felt awful for opening scars that were probably healing. And I hated myself a little more because somewhere in my heart, I felt a bit of relief realising there was no threat like I had thought.

"What do you mean by a staged accident though?" I was, of course, curious.

"When she was found, she was tied down by the driver's side." He confessed, his eyes suddenly hard as they stared across at me, jaws in a tight line I feared for his teeth, "The same way you were when you were found after the accident."