My Unwanted Mate

Chapter 3. The Girl Who Died

Veronica

I am the worst person in the world. My sister is dead and I lied to our brother that she was coming back. I even pretended to be her. I continue to stare at her but it doesn’t make her wake up, because she is not like me. I am the freak in the family and that’s what killed her. Bart beat her up to death thinking it was me and she would be alive in the morning despite all odds. I can’t even imagine the fear she must’ve felt even though I know it first hand.

My eyes dart to the clock on the wall. It is painted with a spray of blood, blood which, in case it was mine, Bart would’ve made me clean myself and somehow make me feel guilty about it. It is four-thirty a.m. now. I realize I can’t stay here, I have to leave and never come back. There is nothing I can do for Geneva anyway.

A stupid, dangerous thought rushes through my head. I can still fix it. Not her. She is dead because of me and I will live with that guilt for the rest of my life. But… Victor doesn’t have to lose his sister, that grandma Luna Genevieve doesn’t have to die of sorrow because her granddaughter got killed by accident. Ian can have his friend to gossip about that Dragon man w*hore as much as he wants. They can still be spared the pain of losing their beloved Geneva. I will take the pain away from them.

I’m acting on autopilot now, all rational thoughts have left me. 

I pick up Geneva’s bag and phone from the floor and stuff them in my backpack. Then I delete the conversations with her from my own phone and put it on the floor next to her. I stand up and smash my phone, not giving a f*uck when the screen cracks to salt. Next, I fish out my wallet and after I take the few bills inside, I throw it in the pool of blood.

I don’t have much time. Wherever Bart went to, he will be back any minute now and if he finds me here, if he finds there are two of us, it will be the end of me too. With trembling hands, I go to the bathroom and wash away the blood from my hands and face as well as I can, not daring to look at myself in the mirror. Then I go and change into clean clothes and find the stash of bills I hide in the crack on the wall behind my bed. The bloody clothes I stuff in a plastic bag and throw them in the dumpster behind the apartment building.

By the time I am finally outside, the day is slowly creeping over the sky, painting it in shades of grey and orange, and purple. The air is crisp and fresh and after hours of breathing in the smell of blood, I am somewhat relieved. It is the first lungful of breath I take and my mind clears a little. God, what have I done? I’ve left my dead sister lying helpless on the floor of my stepdad’s apartment and am about to take over her life. I have no idea why I am doing it, but I am too tired and scared to give up now.

Instead, I head towards the nearest bus stop and take the bus downtown. It is almost an hour drive and I watch as the sun finally rises and its warm light chases some of the shadows dancing in my mind. Everything in me screams to go back, that there is still time to do the right thing, and every time the bus reaches a new stop, I consider doing it. I never get off the guts and go back. At this point it feels like I am watching a train wreck and I am unable to stop it.

Finally, I reach my destination. I lift the hood from my head as it is too hot now, even if it is this early in the morning. I walk the remaining distance to the hotel where Geneva checked in, and I never look back as I do it. No one pays me any attention when I walk through the lobby. I head for the elevator, remembering her say something about the fifth floor. 

Once the elevator doors close behind me and, as I am the only one inside, I go through the stuff in her bag and find the key card with the number 528 written on it in a bright shiny color.

I am at the door a minute later. I am not even surprised when the lock actually clicks and I am let inside a nice cozy room with a large messy bed and stuff scattered all over the floor. The clean freak in me wants to scream at the sight, but then I remember it is my sister’s mess and I suddenly don’t mind it.

It lasts only for a few minutes before I find myself picking up dirty clothes and socks and folding them in a pile to put them in the suitcase later. I even make the bed and the longer I stare at it, the more I feel the exhaustion taking over. I haven’t slept for more than 24 hours and during the last of them, I was a trembling, terrified mess. I still am. I am not even thinking when I lay on the bed covers just as I am with my clothes and the shoes on, and fall asleep almost immediately. One might say it is really cold-blooded to even think of sleep after witnessing the death of my own sister and taking her place in her hotel room, but I am too tired for it.

My mind simply shuts down and doesn’t come back online until the late afternoon when the annoying noise of Geneva’s phone wakes me up from my dreamless slumber. My eyes dart open and my head feels floating over the surface of consciousness as I reach blindingly for the phone.

The realization it is not my phone that I find on the nightstand and the memories of all that happened last night flood me. So, it wasn’t just a bad dream after all. With a loudly beating heart, I stand to a seating position, my head resting on the wall behind me, and press the button to receive the call without even registering the hot guy on the picture of the caller ID that says Jared.

“Hey, babe,” said Jared grumbles in my ear. “Long time no see, as they say.” He adds with an intimate, suggestive voice. Did Geneva have a boyfriend? How did I miss that?

“H-hey,” I reply hesitantly and wait for him to lead the conversation now that I can’t hang up just like that. God, why did I answer?

“So, you gonna leave me hangin’? Aren’t we supposed to be chosen mates and all? Aren’t you happy to hear me?”

I don’t like the way he speaks to her. To me. Her. Anyway. That teasing tone is not appreciated and if it was pointed towards the real me, I might’ve let it slip, but for some reason, my scrambled mind forces me to put him in place. In Geneva’s name. I let Bart kill her, but I won’t let anyone put her down. 

“Actually, no,” I reply sarcastically. I don’t know who that is, but I don’t like him. F*uck him and his sexy tembre. “Your tone is not appreciated. What do you want?”

“Well, aren’t you grumpy today? Just coming to remind you you owe me, babe. Don’t forget to pay once you are back, or we’re gonna have a little problem.” The causal way he says it doesn’t hide the dark tone he suddenly takes and the threat in his words doesn’t escape me.

“Yeah, sure. When haven’t I?” I wave him off, eager to put an end to this torture. The splintering headache is killing me and I really don’t want to talk to this person anymore.

“Just sayin’. Two K, cash. See you at the bonfire.” After that he hangs up, leaving me with an open mouth. Did he just say my sister owed him two thousand? And what was this about chosen mates, star-crossed lovers or whatever?

Unable to contain my nervousness, I jump to my feet and start pacing through the room, trying to figure out what to do. My stomach grumbles as I haven’t eaten for god knows how long, and I feel lightheaded and tired despite the almost ten hours I slept. It is almost dark outside and I bite at my fingernails, as the clock ticks away, leading to the moment when Victor said he’d be there to pick me up. To pick Geneva up.

Just so I have something to do, I unlock Geneva’s phone and go through her pictures. There are thousands of photos there: Geneva with her cheerleader uniform at some school's football game; Geneva with a taller older man who seems both dangerous and like the sweetest guy I’ve seen. Victor, I guess by the resemblance we hold; an older lady who looks graceful like a queen with her elegantly styled grey hair and the pearls around her neck; a friends group at some party, a taller boy with high sharp cheekbones and a haunted look in his eyes, a look I sadly recognize - family trouble is written all over his face; another group picture and… my breath hitches in my throat. My eyes are suddenly glued to the green-eyed, dark-skinned guy at the back. He seems like he doesn’t want to be in the picture, and Geneva, who is squeezed between him and the family drama guy, looks like she can’t escape fast enough. She looks… disgusted for the lack of a better word. Like the green-eyed boy stains her with his presence. Isn’t it that Dragon guy from last night’s picture? An ex maybe? Whatever he is for some reason I can’t look away. He is extremely handsome in this picture, even dangerous with his pinched eyebrows and his biker’s jacket. He looks like he is offended by Geneva’s attitude, and the expression in his eyes is hard and threatening. Still, my gut clenches at the sight of him. He seems closed off, yet, for some reason, the scowl on his face only glues my eyes to the screen.

The phone buzzes in my hands and I almost drop it on the floor. There is a new text.

Are you alive? Did you find what you were looking for?

The sender is added as Dragon. A second later, a new message comes through from the same sender. 

Look, we don’t have to talk if I disgust you that much. Just let me know you are alive so I don’t have to feel guilty for you dying out there.

I am frozen in place. My fingers tremble and I don’t know what to do. Did this Dragon know where Geneva was headed? Did he give her my contacts, or is it just a coincidence and my stupid brain tries to guilt me out into believing it is somehow related to me. That somehow, that Dragon is on my tail and it is pointless for me to lie like this. 

Princess? Dragon’s text reaches through. Princess? I scroll through their chat and am surprised to realize there are no other texts between them up until this moment. 

I press the bar and type a response hoping to get him off my tail.

Everything is fine. Didn’t find anything though. Victor is coming to get me home soon. 

I can only hope I didn’t mess it up. Who the hell are all these people bothering her with their weird demands all day? At least I remember the way my sister responds to texts and that she never makes any spelling mistakes. Just as I am relieved that I got away, there is pounding on my door. Victor is here. My heart sinks to my feet.