After the Crash, Our Pain Bond Shattered

I was born with a curse, a twisted form of pain empathy. Any injury my identical twin sister suffered would register in my own body, magnified ten times over.

Growing up, my sister Giselle became a notorious street punk. Street fights and brawls were a daily routine for her. She ran wild because she knew a fundamental truth: I was the one who felt the pain, not her.

Our parents turned a blind eye to her behavior. Instead, they blamed me for being weak, claiming my fragility dragged her down and kept her from living her life to the fullest.

To force me to hand over my early admission scholarship to her, she stood right in front of me and dragged a blade across her own arm, over and over.

As I thrashed on the floor, convulsing and foaming at the mouth from the agonizing pain, my family watched with cold indifference. My father didn't even flinch. He simply lit a cigarette and muttered, "Stop faking it. Sign the waiver and hand the scholarship over to your sister."

Later, in a desperate bid to scam a wealthy driver, Giselle threw herself in front of a speeding sports car. The devastating impact registered in my chest, and my heart stopped instantly.

But at the exact moment my breath left my body, my sister, the girl who had never felt pain in her life, screamed in absolute agony.

Her name was Giselle, my identical twin sister.

My name was Julia.

From the moment we were born, fate had played a cruel joke on us. Any physical damage Giselle sustained would ripple into my body, multiplied by ten, while she remained blissfully numb, unable to feel a single ounce of pain.

Right now, I was curled up on the hardwood floor like a dying shrimp, my entire body convulsing violently. The sheer intensity of the agony reduced my voice to a ragged, wheezing rattle.

Through my blurred vision, I could see Giselle lounging on the sofa, casually twirling a sharp utility knife between her fingers. A careless smirk played on her lips as the cold steel bit into her pale forearm once again.

A soft slicing sound filled the quiet room as her flesh parted.

"Aaaagh!"

The scream didn't come from her. It came from me.

In that instant, it felt as if a power drill were boring directly into my bone marrow, tearing my very soul to shreds. I began to foam at the mouth, my limbs jerking uncontrollably as my fingernails scraped bloody gouges into the wooden floor.

"Julia, thats enough out of you."

My father, Belmont, sat in the adjacent armchair, tapping the ash from his cigarette with a look of pure annoyance.

A stray flake of glowing ash drifted downward, landing squarely on the back of my hand.

Sizzle.

Another red blister bloomed on my skin.

The pain was so sharp my eyes felt as if they would pop out of their sockets. I forced my mouth open, trying to beg for help.

Dad, please. Save me.

But no words came. Only a pathetic stream of tears and saliva smeared across my face.

My mother, Amy, was busy peeling an apple for Giselle. She didn't even bother to glance in my direction.

"Giselle, sweetheart, you shouldn't hurt yourself over something so minor."

Giselle pouted, looking up like a spoiled child. "But she won't hand over her scholarship spot! Mom, I don't want to take the college entrance exams. Its too exhausting."

"Since shes the younger sister, isn't it her duty to bear my pain and help with my academic stress?"

A cruel glint flashed in her eyes.

She pressed the blade deeper, dragging it down until it nearly scraped her bone.

"Aaaagh!"

My heart contracted violently, as if a giant hand had reached into my chest and squeezed it to a pulp. The pain went far beyond the limits of human endurance.

My body stiffened into a straight line before crashing back down onto the floor.

My vision went dark. The sounds in the room began to fade, sounding distant and hollow.

Amy nudged my head with the toe of her slipper, her expression dripping with disgust.

"Stop acting. Youve been pulling this stunt since you were a kid. Aren't you tired of it yet?"

"Look at you, looking like a dead dog. You don't have a single ounce of your sister's courage."

"Giselle is bleeding all over the place and hasn't made a sound. You don't even have a scratch on you, yet you're squealing like a pig at slaughter."

Yes, that was my life.

Because I was always the one screaming in agony, they saw me as a dramatic, fragile weakling. Meanwhile, Giselle, who couldn't feel a thing, was praised for being brave, tough, and a survivor whenever she got into street fights.

They forgot that I was the one carrying the scars on my soul.

My father exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, his cold face hidden behind the grey haze.

"Stop playing dead. Sign the waiver."

"Once you sign, your sister can go get bandaged up, and you can stop your little screaming show."

I tried to lift my hand, tried to show them that I was slipping away. My heart was fluttering wildly, completely out of rhythm.

Then, one final, massive wave of pain surged through my nervous system.

Snap.

The final thread holding me together broke.

My eyes remained wide open, staring blankly at the chandelier on the ceiling as my pupils slowly dilated.

My body remained frozen in a twisted shape, completely still.

Seeing that I had stopped moving, Giselle walked over with an annoyed sigh. She wiped her bloody arm against my cheek, trying to force a pen into my stiff fingers.

"Hey, stop faking it. Sign the paper so I can go to the clinic. Itll save you some pain too."

The pen slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the floor.

My arm fell limp, like a puppet with its strings cut.

I was gone.

My spirit hovered in the air, watching this absurd theater play out below.

I was dead.

Dead in the middle of my eighteenth summer, while my family watched with cold, uncaring eyes.

Giselle, frustrated that I wouldn't hold the pen, kicked me hard in the ribs.

"Mom! Look at Julia! Shes still throwing a tantrum!"

Amy walked over and looked down at me. My glassy, unblinking eyes stared right back at her.

She frowned, showing no panic, only irritation.

"This girl has such a nasty temper. To think shed try to threaten us by faking a fainting spell."

"Just ignore her. Starve her for a couple of meals, and shell crawl back."

My father, Belmont, was even more direct. He hauled my limp body off the floor and tossed me onto my bed.

Then, he picked up the pen from the floor, forged my signature on the waiver, and handed the document to Giselle.

"There. The spot is yours."

"Thank you, Dad! I knew you loved me best!" Giselle squealed, jumping up and down, completely ignoring the blood dripping from her arm.

She lazily slapped a small bandage over the deep cut. The blood quickly soaked through the adhesive, but she didn't care. It didn't hurt.

"To celebrate our sweetheart getting into university, let's order a feast tonight!" Amy declared, ordering the most expensive seafood delivery available.

Half an hour later, the food arrived, featuring a massive spread of caviar, king crab legs, and expensive oysters.

The dining table sat right in the living room, less than ten feet away from my body.

I hovered above the table, watching them gorge themselves.

The briny smell of the seafood filled the air, slowly mixing with the subtle, sweet scent of decay starting to drift from my bedroom.

Giselle ate greedily, grease coating her lips.

She peeled a sharp crab leg and carelessly tossed the shell backward.

Clack.

The sharp shell landed right on my face, catching on my eyelashes.

It was a grotesque, mocking sight.

"Hey, Julia, stop faking," Giselle called out. "Get up and clean this mess. Don't think you can skip chores just by hiding in bed."

I didn't move. I couldn't.

Amy fed Giselle a piece of crab meat. "Don't waste your breath on that miserable girl. Just looking at her ruins my appetite."

"My Giselle is the one with real drive. You know how to be ruthless to get what you want. Youll go far in life once you start college."

Belmont, his face red from the beer, pointed his glass at my room. "We spoiled her too much. All that pain empathy nonsense is just a mental illness to get attention."

"Look at Giselle. She bleeds without a single whimper. That's the mark of someone destined for greatness."

They laughed and joked, painting a beautiful picture of Giselle's bright future.

Not once did any of them walk over to check if I was still breathing. If they had simply bent down, they might have realized my heart had stopped.

But they didn't.

They truly believed I was playing a game of silent protest.

By the end of the meal, Giselle let out a loud burp. She glanced toward my room, suddenly feeling annoyed.

"Mom, her lying there is creeping me out. Shes just staring into space. It's bad luck."

Amy stood up, grabbed an old tablecloth from a drawer, and walked over to my bed.

She tossed it over my head like she was covering a pile of trash.

"Out of sight, out of mind. Let her sleep on the floor tonight. No blankets for her. Lets see how long she can keep up this act."

A single piece of fabric covered my dead face.

And with it, the last shred of what this family called love was smothered.

My soul trembled in the air. Not from the chill of the room, but from the utter, bone-deep coldness of their hearts.

The night grew deep.

The air conditioning was set to a freezing sixty degrees, which only accelerated my rigor mortis.

Before heading to bed, Giselle walked past me.

On a whim, she stomped hard on my stomach through the tablecloth.

"Make sure you scrub the floor tomorrow. It's covered in my blood, and it's disgusting."

It was a heavy blow, but I felt nothing.

Instead, my stiff, frozen body bruised her foot.

She muttered under her breath, "Hard as a rock. Even her attitude is stubborn."

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the draped figure on the floor.

Giselle woke up refreshed. Seeing me still lying in the exact same spot, she strode over and yanked the tablecloth off my face.

My skin had turned a sickly purple, and the white foam around my mouth had dried into a crust.

Giselle blinked, then burst into a loud laugh.

"Julia, you really went all out to scare me."

"Who did you put on this dead girl makeup for? You should have gone to drama school instead."

She genuinely believed it was cosmetics.

She nudged my stiff arm with the toe of her shoe.

"Alright, get up. Im heading to school. Don't forget to wash my sneakers."

She tossed the cloth back over my face and hummed a tune as she walked out the door.

I floated right behind her.

At school, Giselle was on top of the world.

She strutted around the classroom, waving the forged scholarship documents in everyones faces.

"Some people can study all they want, but the prize still goes to me."

A few classmates who couldn't stand her sneered. "Stealing from your own twin sister. How pathetic."

Giselles face darkened, and she lunged forward, slapping the girl across the face.

A sharp crack echoed through the room.

The girl was stunned for a second, then fought back, digging her nails deep into Giselles arm.

In the past, I would have been rolling on the classroom floor in agony. The pain would have transferred to me instantly.

But today, I was dead.

Giselle looked down at the nails sinking into her flesh, a strange, ecstatic thrill washing over her face.

She felt absolutely nothing.

"Is that the best you can do?" she laughed, grabbing the girl by the hair and slamming her head hard against a desk.

The sheer brutality of her attack terrified the classroom. Because she was immune to pain, she had no fear.

"I am invincible!" she laughed maniacally, beating the girl black and blue.

The teacher rushed in, and the parents were called.

Amy arrived at the principal's office. Instead of apologizing, she pointed a finger at the bruised girl.

"Your daughter started it! My girl was only defending herself!"

"My daughter is gifted. Shes strong. She doesn't cry like some weak little princess over a tiny scratch."

The teacher pointed at the security footage. "Ma'am, your daughters attack was incredibly vicious."

"Thats called bravery! Strength!" Amy boasted, her chest swelling. "Unlike her useless sister, who has the backbone of a jellyfish."

Mentioning me reminded Amy that she still needed my signature to finalize some school paperwork. She pulled out her phone and dialed my number.

The call went through, but the phone was vibrating on our living room coffee table. Nobody answered.

"That miserable brat is still throwing a fit," Amy muttered, hanging up with a curse.

"Just wait till I get home. Ill teach her a lesson."

Watching from the side, I found the entire scene laughable.

They defended the abuser while dragging down the dead victim. They even mistook the silence of a corpse for rebellion.

That evening, Giselle and Amy returned home, with my spirit trailing behind them.

My body still lay in the corner of the living room, draped under the old tablecloth.

It had been over twenty-four hours.

A faint, sweet odor was beginning to escape from the fabric, but the heavy smell of the pungent cabbage stew they cooked for dinner masked it completely.

Giselle sent a picture of a limited edition designer handbag to the family group chat.

"Dad, Mom, I want this bag as a reward for getting into university."

Belmont looked at the price tag, which was nearly four thousand dollars.

He frowned. "We just paid the administrative fees for your admission. Money is a bit tight right now."

Giselle immediately threw a tantrum, stomping her feet and slamming doors.

"I don't care! I want it! All the other scholarship students have nice things!"

Amy tried to soothe her. "Sweetheart, can we wait a few weeks?"

Giselles eyes darted around before a wicked idea popped into her head.

"Mom, I heard those rich street racers have been tearing up the boulevard lately."

"Since I don't feel pain anyway, why don't I stage an accident?"

She gestured excitedly. "We find a spot with no traffic cameras, and Ill throw myself in front of one of their luxury cars."

"Those rich kids are terrified of getting in trouble. Theyll pay anything to settle it quietly. A few thousand dollars would be pocket change to them!"

My soul shuddered.

Were these human beings, or were they monsters?

She spoke of a dangerous, illegal scam as casually as ordering takeout.

Even worse was our parents' reaction.

Belmont stroked his chin, considering the idea. "Its not impossible. But you have to pick the right spot. We don't want you getting permanently crippled."

Amy looked worried. "What if you get a nasty scar? A girl shouldn't have ugly scars on her body."

Giselle cast a careless glance toward the covered lump in the corner.

"Who cares?"

"If my skin gets ruined, well just make Julia give me a skin graft."

"Shes a useless waste of space anyway. Her skin is perfectly fine. It would be a waste not to use it."

"And if my kidneys get damaged, well just take hers."

"I'm the older sister. It's her duty to sacrifice for me."

Belmont nodded slowly, blowing a ring of smoke. "True. Weve kept her fed all these years. Its about time she made herself useful."

Amy smiled, her worries vanishing. "Alright, its a plan then. Just make sure to protect your face."

They huddled together, eagerly discussing the details of the scam.

They had completely forgotten that the "living organ donor" they were talking about was currently a rotting corpse.

Once the plan was finalized, Giselle was in high spirits.

She walked over to the corner and kicked the covered figure on the floor.

"Hey, did you hear that?"

"Get ready to donate your skin when the time comes."

"Don't go playing dead on me, you hear?"

Naturally, there was no reply.

The body made a dull, heavy thud as her shoe struck the stiff flesh.

Giselle scoffed. "Lazy pig. Shes sleeping like a log."

She turned on her heel and walked out the door to execute her scheme.

Watching her leave, my soul felt a strange, intoxicating sense of anticipation.

Giselle chose a secluded intersection.

There were no street cameras here, and it was a popular strip for the local wealthy drag racers.

She hid behind the bushes, waiting like a hungry predator.

I floated above her in the night air, quietly waiting for the climax.

The distant, roaring scream of a high-performance engine pierced the night.

A crimson sports car sped down the asphalt like a bolt of lightning.

Giselles eyes gleamed with greed.

She took a deep breath, calculating the distance and speed.

All she needed was a light graze, a dramatic roll onto the asphalt, and a massive payout would be hers.

After all, Julia would be the one feeling the pain. Even if her bones snapped, Julia would bear the agony.

She was used to it.

For eighteen years, she had exploited this connection.

From childhood vaccinations to broken bones, she had never shed a single tear, because every ounce of agony was instantly transferred to her fragile little sister.

The headlights blinded her.

Giselle lunged directly into the street!

Screeech!

The desperate scream of burning rubber tore through the night as the driver slammed on the brakes, leaving thick black streaks on the road.

But the car was moving too fast.

Smash!

A horrific thud echoed.

Giselle was thrown into the air like a ragdoll, spinning twice before slamming hard onto the unforgiving asphalt.