My twin sister attempted suicide and was hospitalized. The bullies followed her to the hospital, taunting her and blaming her for what happened. Later, I went to school wearing the same face as my sister. The bullies were thrilled, but I was even more so, because I was a born monster. The only person who could keep my darker thoughts in check was my sister. This was my sister’s second suicide attempt. Without a moment’s hesitation, our parents called the police, their voices tremulous with fear and desperation. Yet, even in the face of the officers’ stern questioning, the main bully remained insufferably smug. “Why are you accusing me of bullying her? Maybe she was bullying me!” he taunted, his eyes gleaming with a cruel satisfaction. “Yeah, my daughter is so gentle, she wouldn’t even hurt an ant.” I watched the mother and daughter pair lie through their teeth on the hospital’s surveillance camera. My sister, who had greeted the day with a bright smile, now lay pale and frail on the hospital bed, her spirit crushed. The girl named Tasha Zayne, her demeanor a twisted mix of arrogance and malice, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “If she acts cheap, I’ll deal with her. Simple as that. What can you do? If you’re so tough, go ahead and lock me up!” After saying this, Tasha even stuck her tongue out at my sister, her expression a mask of unrepentant cruelty. There wasn’t a hint of remorse or fear in her eyes, Tasha’s mother met my mom’s gaze with disdain, quickly looking away. “Hmph, like mother, like daughter, they’re practically cut from the same cloth.” My mom let out a casual laugh. I knew she was angry. Michelle Lindh, one of Tasha’s loyal followers, found a twisted courage and turned her gaze toward my sister, her eyes narrowing with a mix of disgust and malice. “Slitting her wrists?” she sneered. “If she really wanted to die, she should have jumped from the 18th floor and made sure she splattered. What’s the point of slitting wrists if you can’t even die from it? I bet she’s just trying to scam us for money, right, Tasha?” “Hmph! She’s such a troublemaker” Tasha sneered. With insufficient evidence and since they were all minors, the incident ended with Tasha giving a half-hearted apology. At home, our little princess lay silently on the bed, completely lifeless, her body covered in wounds, big and small. My parents and I finally noticed something different. After a long silence, I said, “I’ll go to school in her place.” My parents understood what I intended to do. As I faced the mirror, the reflection that stared back at me was an eerie replica of my sister’s face.
My sister and I are twins, so identical that outsiders can never tell us apart. There were times when even our parents, who should have known us best, almost couldn’t distinguish between Naomi loves pink. All her school supplies and even her bedding are pink. As for me, I only love black. Mom often teased her with a wry smile, “Naomi, if you hadn’t come from my belly, I’d swear you were adopted.” Mom wasn’t entirely wrong. In our family, Naomi is the special one. She’s different from us, pure and kind by nature, and has been carefully protected by me and our parents. But I was born “sick,” a monster in the eyes of others, with only Naomi willing to play with me. For the safety of others, my parents kept me home to study. I didn’t mind because as long as Naomi was there, I never felt lonely. Our parents said Naomi was the family’s top priority. So, I’ve always protected her from the shadows. But we never imagined that after just a year of high school, she would end up like this. The doctor said we needed to take care of Naomi’s emotions. I stroked her forehead and whispered, “Naomi, I will avenge you.” Just then, a sudden phone ringtone broke the silence. Naomi’s face turned deathly pale, and she covered her ears, screaming. I took her phone and opened the message. It was a video showing Naomi being held under a faucet in the bathroom. Her wet hair clung to her cheeks, and her face was flushed red from being choked by the water. The culprit stood to the side, laughing. “If I catch you talking to him again, I’ll slash your face. Let’s see how you can flirt with the boys in our class then!” The video ended with a warning from the bully. Fury surged through my chest, nearly overwhelming me. I closed my eyes and shut off the phone. Naomi’s teeth chattered, and it took her a while to stammer out, “They took a lot of videos of me without any clothes on.” I patted her head gently, looking at her with tenderness. “Do you trust your sister?” Naomi nodded. I walked out into the backyard and used a hoe to dig a new patch of soil. Soon, someone else would be joining us here. Curses rang out nearby. “You’ll all be struck by lightning! You’ll die in the most miserable way!”
I shouldered Naomi’s schoolbag. From now on, I was Naomi Wyth. Annie became Naomi. As soon as I stepped into the classroom, a book flew at my face. I dodged to the side. “Tasha told you to bring breakfast, and you didn’t. You have a death wish?” It was Michelle—Tasha’s loyal little minion, the one whose laughter pierced the video like a venomous knife. Her cruel delight in the suffering of others was palpable, a dark pleasure that twisted her face into a sneer of sadistic glee I ignored her and walked straight to Naomi’s seat. The wooden desk was carved with all sorts of insults: “bitch,” “whore”… “Still admiring those words we carved just for you? Not enough? How about we carve them on your face?” Michelle’s grin grew even wider when I stayed silent. She sauntered up to me, her beady eyes gleaming with malice as she looked down, her smile morphing into a cruel sneer. “I think that’s a brilliant idea,” she drawled. “Tasha will absolutely love it.” Something feral simmered in my veins, seething and coursing through my entire body with a mind of its own. It was a wildfire of rage, and I had no intention of quelling it. Without a moment’s hesitation, I surged forward, my arm cutting through the air with a fierce intent. The slap exploded with a thunderous crack, reverberating through the room like the roar of a storm. A vivid, crimson handprint bloomed across Michelle’s face. “You dare hit me? Just wait until Tasha gets back—you’re dead!” Her voice turned shrill, like a broken chord. The other students, caught off guard, froze, their smiles fading. I narrowed my eyes. “Why aren’t you laughing anymore?” Michelle raised her hand, about to strike back, but the class bell rang. She shot me a venomous glare and returned to her seat. I stuffed the schoolbag into the desk. My hand touched something wet. The desk was filled with greasy snack wrappers, emitting a sickening stench. The homeroom teacher, Ms. Rosetta, walked in. She glanced at me before saying, “Naomi, class has started. Why aren’t you sitting down?” “My desk is full of trash Tasha and her friends stuffed in, and the chair is covered in glue.” I watched as her expression stiffened. She slowly lifted her gaze, snorting, “Are you saying Tasha did this to you?” I said nothing, just stared at her quietly. She scoffed, her laughter tinged with contempt. “Impossible!” she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. “Tasha is the top student in the grade—she would never do something like this. Even if she isn’t here today, I won’t let you besmirch her name!” Michelle shot me a smug look, nodding slightly, her lips curving into a smile. “Ms. Rosetta, she’s just jealous of Tasha. Everyone knows Tasha’s a good student.” “Sit down. If you don’t want to learn, don’t disrupt the others,” Ms. Rosetta snapped at me. I flipped the desk over, revealing the trash inside. The greasy wrappers spilled onto the floor, drawing gasps from the class. Michelle’s eyes blazed with venomous defiance. “Maybe you’re just lazy and have a secret love for snacks,” she sneered, her voice dripping with scorn. “You probably didn’t even bother to throw out your trash and now you’re trying to pin it on me!” Ms. Rosetta’s gaze was contemplative, her expression settling into a thoughtful frown. “I find it hard to believe Tasha would target you,” she said slowly, her voice carrying an edge of reluctant wisdom. “If she did, perhaps it’s time for you to reflect on why. There’s an old saying: it takes two to tango…” I dashed forward, delivering another sharp slap that resounded through the classroom. I smirked at the teacher. “Ms. Rosetta, does this sound like a one-sided slap to you?” No one expected me to be so bold. Even the teacher was stunned. Her face flushed a furious crimson, veins throbbing in her neck as if ready to burst. “Naomi!” she roared, her voice trembling with rage. “How dare you lay a hand on your teacher!” Her words were a torrent of indignation, each syllable punctuated with a fierce determination. “I’m calling your parents! You’re not staying in this school!”
My mom arrived at school quickly. As soon as she saw me, she gave a slight smile, as if to say, “Well done.” In the office, Ms. Rosetta was venting her frustrations to my mom, complaining about how disobedient I was. “All I did was reprimand her, and she dared to hit me? In all my years of teaching, I’ve never seen a student so disrespectful!” My mom tilted her head slightly, casting an indifferent glance at the teacher, her gaze filled with deep disgust. “Ms. Rosetta, don’t you think you might be the problem here? Why did Naomi hit you and not the other teachers?” The words struck a familiar chord. I chuckled. The teacher was rendered speechless by my mom’s half-smiling face. Finally, she blurted out, “Let’s go see the principal. Let’s see if they’ll keep this worthless student or me!” “Sure,” my mom agreed. The moment we saw the principal, my mom rushed forward, shaking his hand eagerly. “This little incident shouldn’t bother the principal. Naomi’s so thoughtless. How about this: my husband and I have decided that as long as the student comes from a poor but honest family, we will sponsor them through graduation.” The principal’s eyes lit up. “Really?” My mom nodded, then glanced at Ms. Rosetta with a challenging look in her eyes. “We wouldn’t joke about something this important.” “That’s great, that’s great. This really isn’t a big deal. Kids will be kids, sometimes a bit naughty. Naomi just accidentally hit Ms. Rosetta. Ms. Rosetta has taught here for so long, she’s seen all kinds of students. Naomi’s just a little mischievous, nothing more. Right, Ms. Rosetta?” The teacher trembled with rage, her mouth twitching, but eventually nodded. The words she had planned to use to get me expelled got stuck in her throat. She couldn’t swallow them, nor could she spit them out. Her face turned ashen. I smiled lightly. This was only the beginning. I was sure that my sister had once reached out to the teacher, hoping she would help pull her out of the mire. But she hadn’t lifted a finger, instead aiding and abetting the bullies. My poor sister, did you see? Sometimes the methods you despise are the ones that truly work. Even when she was driven to the point of suicide, she never told me or our parents about what was happening at school. When we asked, she always brushed it off, saying that the teachers were good and that her classmates were nice. Even now, she still protected those demons. She knew that if they fell into our hands, death would be a mercy.
Tasha Zayne returned. It seemed she had heard about my “transformation” from her classmates—how Naomi Wyth had changed so much that she even hit a teacher and made a scene with the principal. She kicked over my desk. “I take two days off, and you suddenly think you’re something special? Let me see which hand you used to hit Michelle.” I didn’t even bother to look up, just slapped her across the face. “See? I used both hands.” Tasha’s fingers clenched into a fist, her knuckles cracking. “You bitch! How dare you hit me!” She lunged at me, and we started to fight. Her tactics were childish—pulling hair and scratching arms. It didn’t take long for her to lose the upper hand. I dragged her into the bathroom and pushed her head into the sink. The scene reminded me of my sister. She, too, had been held under the water, unable to breathe. Michelle stood frozen at the bathroom door, too scared to move. It wasn’t until Tasha screamed that she finally grabbed a mop and approached. “Michelle, what are you waiting for? Help me strip her clothes off! I’m going to make sure she gets her own video circulating online!” Tasha’s eyes were filled with hatred as she screamed, her face contorted in rage. “If you beat me fair and square, I’d have some respect for you. But you resort to such underhanded tactics, it’s disgusting.” Michelle, taking advantage of a moment when I was distracted, struck me hard on the back with the mop. Tasha managed to free herself and pinned me down. “Bitch! Slut! How dare you hit me!” she snarled, her nails raking across my face. Only when she saw the blood did her fury morph into a twisted, sickening pleasure. A dark satisfaction gleamed in her eyes as she savored the moment. “Now,” she sneered with a cruel edge, “let’s see you try to flirt with the boys!” The taste of blood filled my mouth. But instead of fear, I found myself smiling. “Are you targeting me because I’m prettier than you? Are you jealous that all the boys in class like me?” I guessed right. The moment I said this, Tasha’s expression changed. “Is that why you have this seductive look on your face? Are you desperate for male attention?” Everyone knew my sister was beautiful. It was no secret. Our family had always made an effort to maintain our looks. We had our own methods. Looking at Tasha and Michelle, I couldn’t help but laugh so hard that I doubled over. People like them would make excellent beauty products.
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