My Pain Was Her Shield, Until I Died

I was born with a curse: a ten-fold pain-empathy link with my twin sister, Roxy. Any injury she got, the pain would hit my body ten times worse.

Growing up, Roxy became a notorious rebel in our neighborhood. Getting into street fights and skipping school was just a Tuesday for her.

She didn't care. She knew that she wouldn't feel a thing. I was the one who would scream in agony, not her.

Our parents completely ignored this. Instead, they blamed me for being "too weak," saying my constant whining held Roxy back from reaching her full potential.

To force me to give up my Ivy League early admission spot to her, Roxy took a utility knife and slowly sliced her own arm right in front of me.

As I collapsed onto the floor, twitching and foaming at the mouth from the unbearable agony, my family just stood there, watching coldly.

My dad even flicked his cigarette and said, "Stop faking it. Sign the waiver already."

Later, Roxy decided to stage an accident with a speeding luxury car to extort some quick cash.

When the massive impact hit her, my heart instantly stopped.

But the moment I drew my last breath, my sisterthe girl who was incapable of feeling painsuddenly let out a blood-curdling scream.

Roxy was the older twin.

I was Hope, the younger one.

Since the day we were born, God had played a sick joke on us.

Any physical harm Roxy endured would register in my nervous system with ten times the intensity.

And she felt absolutely nothing. She had congenital insensitivity to pain.

Right now, I was curled up on the hardwood floor like a dying shrimp, my entire body convulsing violently.

The pain was so intense that my throat could only produce a dry, rattling gasp.

Through my blurry vision, I saw Roxy sitting on the sofa, casually spinning a shiny utility knife between her fingers.

She had that bored, mocking smile on her face. Then, she pressed the blade against her pale forearm and dragged it down.

*Screeech.*

The sound of flesh tearing open.

"Ahhh!"

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

In that instant, it felt like a power drill was boring straight into my bone marrow. My very soul was being shredded.

I foamed at the mouth, my limbs flailing uncontrollably as my fingernails clawed at the floor, leaving bloody streaks.

"Hope, thats enough. Get up," my dad, Harold, said from his armchair. He looked annoyed as he tapped the ash off his cigarette.

A speck of glowing, hot ash fell right onto the back of my hand.

*Sizzle.*

Another red burn mark.

My eyes felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets from the shock. I stared at him, desperately trying to beg for help.

*Dad, please. Save me.*

But no words came out. Only tears and drool smeared across my face.

My mom, Linda, was peeling an apple for Roxy. She didn't even look at me.

"Roxy, honey, why do you have to hurt yourself over this?" Linda sighed.

Roxy pouted like a spoiled brat. "Its Hopes fault! She won't sign over her Ivy League admission spot to me! Mom, I dont want to take the SATs. Its too hard."

"Since shes the younger sister, isn't it her job to help me out? She should carry my academic stress."

As she spoke, a flash of pure malice crossed Roxy's eyes.

She pressed the knife deeper.

This time, the cut went straight to the bone.

"Arghhh!!!"

My heart seized. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing it until it popped.

The pain went far beyond what a human body could tolerate.

My spine arched rigidly, and then I crashed heavily back onto the floor.

My vision went pitch black, and the voices in the room started sounding distant, like they were underwater.

Linda walked over and kicked my head with the toe of her slipper.

"Cut the drama, Hope. Youve been pulling this stunt since we were kids. Aren't you tired of it?"

"Look at you, acting like a corpse. You dont have a single drop of your sister's courage."

"Roxy is bleeding so much and she hasn't made a sound. You dont even have a scratch on you, yet you're squealing like a pig."

Right.

Ever since we were kids, because I was always the one crying in pain, they saw me as a dramatic, attention-seeking loser.

Meanwhile, Roxy, who couldn't feel pain, got into gang fights and caused trouble, but they praised her for being "tough" and "a fighter."

They forgot that I was the one paying the price for her "toughness."

Harold blew out a cloud of smoke, his cold face hidden behind the gray haze.

"Stop playing dead. Sign the paper."

"Once you sign it, well take your sister to get stitches, and your 'pain' will stop."

I tried to raise my hand to tell them that I couldn't breathe.

My heart was beating in a wild, chaotic rhythm, like a machine breaking down.

Then came the final, massive surge of neural shock.

*Snap.*

It felt like a wire snapped in my brain.

My eyes stared blankly at the ceiling fan, my pupils dilating.

My body remained twisted on the floor, completely still.

Seeing that I wasn't moving, Roxy walked over impatiently.

She smeared some of the blood from her arm onto my cheek and shoved the pen into my stiff hand.

"Hey, wake up. Sign it so I can go to the ER, and you can stop crying."

The pen slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the floor.

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

I was completely gone.

My soul floated up to the ceiling, watching this absurd scene unfold.

I was dead.

I died in the heat of a summer evening at eighteen, while my own family watched with cold indifference.

Seeing that I wouldn't hold the pen, Roxy kicked me in the ribs out of frustration.

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

Linda walked over and looked down at me.

My wide-open, lifeless eyes were staring right back at her.

She frowned. There was no panic on her faceonly disgust.

"This girl has such a nasty temper. She really thinks she can blackmail us by pretending to pass out?"

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

Harold was even more direct. He grabbed me by my shirt and dragged me onto my bed.

Then, he picked up the pen from the floor and forged my signature on the Ivy League waiver.

"There. The spot is yours now," Harold said, handing the paper to Roxy. "Was this tiny thing really worth cutting yourself so many times?"

Looking at the signed document, Roxy jumped up and down in excitement.

She didn't care about the blood dripping down her arm.

"Thank you, Dad! I knew you loved me best!"

She grabbed a random band-aid from the counter and slapped it over the deep gash.

The blood quickly soaked through the adhesive, but she didn't care.

It didn't hurt anyway.

"To celebrate our Roxy getting into the Ivy League, lets order a feast!" Linda declared, immediately ordering the most expensive seafood delivery on her phone.

Half an hour later.

The food arrived.

The dining table was piled high with King crab legs, lobsters, and oysters.

The table was in the living room.

Less than ten feet away from my dead body.

I floated above them, watching them stuff their faces.

The heavy, fishy smell of the seafood filled the air, slowly mixing with the faint, sweet scent of decay starting to rise from my corpse.

Roxy ate greedily, her lips slick with butter.

She cracked open a lobster claw and casually tossed the sharp shell backward.

*Clack.*

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

It was a sick, ironic sight.

"Hey, Hope, stop faking."

"Get up and clean this trash. Don't think you can skip your chores just by lying there."

I didn't move.

I couldn't.

Linda peeled a piece of crab meat and fed it to Roxy.

"Don't worry about that useless girl. Just looking at her ruins my appetite."

"Our Roxy is the one with real guts. She knows how to be ruthless to get what she wants."

"Once you go to college, youre going to do great things."

Harold drank his beer, his face flushing red from the alcohol.

He pointed a finger toward my bed. "We spoiled her too much. 'Pain empathy'? Its probably just a mental illness. She just wanted attention."

"Look at Roxy. She bleeds and doesn't cry. Thats what a leader looks like."

They kept eating, laughing, and planning Roxy's bright future.

Not once did anyone walk over to check if I was breathing.

If they had just bent down, they might have realized I could still have been saved.

But they didn't.

They truly believed I was just playing a game, silent-treating them.

After finishing her meal, Roxy let out a loud burp.

She looked toward my bed and suddenly found it annoying.

"Mom, the way shes lying there is creepy. Her eyes are wide open. Its bad luck."

Linda stood up.

She went to the kitchen drawer, pulled out an old, stained tablecloth, and walked over.

Like throwing a tarp over a pile of garbage, she threw it over my head.

"Out of sight, out of mind."

"She sleeps on the floor tonight. Nobody give her a blanket. Lets see how long she can keep up this act."

A dirty tablecloth.

It covered my unblinking, dead eyes.

And it covered the last shred of humanity in this house.

My soul shivered in the air.

Not from the cold, but from the absolute, freezing realization of how little I meant to them.

The night went on.

The AC in the living room was set to a freezing sixty degrees.

This sped up my rigor mortis.

Before going to her room, Roxy walked past me.

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

"Clean the floor tomorrow. Its covered in my blood. Its disgusting."

It was a heavy stomp.

But I felt nothing.

Instead, my stiffened, cold body bruised her foot.

She muttered, "Stiff as a rock. You and your garbage attitude."

The next morning.

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, illuminating the shape under the tablecloth.

Roxy woke up feeling refreshed. When she walked out, she saw I was still in the exact same spot.

She marched over and snatched the tablecloth away.

My face had already turned a ghastly shades of blue and purple. The dried white foam on my lips had turned crusty.

Roxy froze for a second, then burst into a mocking laugh.

"Wow, Hope. You really went all out to scare me."

"Who did you do this zombie makeup for? You should have gone to film school instead."

She actually thought it was makeup.

She kicked my stiff arm with her sneaker.

"Alright, cut it out. I'm going to school. Make sure you wash my sneakers today."

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

I floated out right behind her.

At school, Roxy was on top of the world.

She showed off the forged Ivy League admission letter to everyone in her class.

"Well, some people can study all they want, but the spot still belongs to me in the end," she bragged.

A few girls who always disliked her rolled their eyes.

"Stealing your own sister's spot. Youre disgusting, Roxy."

Roxy's face twisted in rage. She lunged forward and slapped the girl hard across the face.

*Smack!*

It was loud and clear.

The girl was stunned for a second, but then she lost it. She grabbed Roxy's arm, digging her long acrylic nails deep into Roxys flesh.

If this were yesterday, I would be rolling on the floor in a corner of the school, screaming in agony.

Because all that pain would have hit me.

But today, I was dead.

Roxy looked down at the nails sinking into her arm, and a bizarre, twisted thrill washed over her face.

She felt nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

"Is that all you got?" Roxy laughed mockingly. She grabbed the girl by her hair and slammed her head against the desk.

The sheer brutality of her attack terrified everyone in the room.

Because she feared no pain, she had no limits.

"I am invincible!" Roxy laughed like a psychopath as she beat the girl bloody.

The principal was called, and so were the parents.

Linda rushed to the school. But instead of apologizing, she screamed at the victims family in the office.

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

"My daughter is gifted! Shes physically resilient, unlike your fragile little brat who cries over a scratch!"

The principal pointed at the security footage. "Mrs. Miller, your daughter was incredibly violent..."

"Thats because shes brave! Shes tough!" Linda said proudly. "Unlike her useless sister, who is a spineless coward."

Mentioning me made Linda remember that she needed me to sign some paperwork at the school to finalize the admission transfer.

She pulled out her phone and called me.

*Ring... Ring... Ring...*

The phone rang, but it was just vibrating on the coffee table back in our living room.

Nobody answered.

"That little bitch. Still throwing a tantrum," Linda muttered, hanging up.

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

Watching this from the ceiling, I found it hilarious.

While they were defending a monster, they didn't miss a single chance to insult their dead child.

They even mistook the silence of a corpse for rebellion.

That evening, Roxy and Linda returned home.

I followed them inside.

My body was still lying in the corner of the living room, covered by the dirty tablecloth.

It had been over twenty-four hours now.

A faint, sickly odor was starting to creep through the apartment.

But Linda had cooked a greasy, heavily-spiced garlic pasta for dinner, and the strong aroma masked the smell of my decay.

Roxy took a screenshot of a new designer bag and sent it to the family group chat.

"Dad, Mom, I want this bag as a reward for getting into the Ivy League."

Harold looked at the price tag. Three thousand dollars.

He frowned. "We just paid the 'donation' fee for your admission. Things are a bit tight right now."

Roxy immediately threw a tantrum, kicking the chair.

"I dont care! I want it! All the other Ivy League kids have nice things!"

Linda tried to soothe her. "Sweetie, can we buy it next month?"

Roxys eyes darted around, and a sinister idea popped into her head.

"Mom, Dad, you know how those rich kids drive like maniacs in the wealthy suburbs near the hills?"

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

She grinned excitedly. "I just need to find a street with no cameras, wait for a sports car, and let it clip me."

"Those rich snobs are terrified of lawsuits. Theyll offer a quick cash settlement to keep it quiet. We could get tens of thousands of dollars easily!"

My soul shuddered.

Was this a family, or a pack of demons?

She talked about committing insurance fraud as casually as ordering takeout.

But what was worse was my parents' reaction.

Harold took a drag from his cigarette and actually nodded.

"Its risky, but doable. Just make sure you pick the right spot so you dont end up paralyzed."

Linda looked slightly worried. "What if you get a nasty scar? You're a girl, you shouldn't have scars on your skin."

Roxy cast a disdainful glance at the shape under the tablecloth in the corner.

"Why should I worry?"

"If my skin gets ruined, well just have the doctors graft some of Hopes skin onto me."

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

"And if my kidney gets damaged, well just take one of hers."

"I'm the older sister. Why shouldn't she sacrifice a little for me?"

Harold nodded, exhaling a thick ring of smoke.

"True. We've fed and housed her for eighteen years. Its about time she made herself useful."

Linda smiled, relieved. "Alright, then its settled. Just protect your face."

They sat around the table, happily discussing the details of the insurance scam.

They completely forgot that their "living organ bank" was already a decomposing corpse.

After dinner, Roxy was in great spirits.

She walked over to the corner and kicked my body hard.

"Hey, did you hear that?"

"Be ready to go to the hospital and give me your skin when the time comes."

"Stop playing dead, you hear me?"

Of course, there was no reply.

Only a dull, heavy thud as her foot hit my stiffening leg.

Roxy sneered. "Fucking pig. She sleeps like shes dead."

She turned around and walked out the door to carry out her grand plan.

Watching her leave, my soul felt a surge of anticipation.

Roxy chose a quiet intersection in the wealthy part of town.

There were no traffic cameras, and it was a popular spot for rich college kids to drag race their sports cars.

She hid behind the bushes, waiting like a predator.

I floated in the air above her, silently waiting for the show to start.

Soon, the loud roar of an engine echoed in the distance.

A bright red Ferrari came speeding down the road like a flash of lightning.

A greedy spark lit up Roxys eyes.

She took a deep breath, calculating the distance.

She just needed a minor hit, a little roll on the asphalt, and a broken bone or two. The settlement money would fly into her pockets.

After all, Hope would be the one feeling the agony. Hope would be the one suffering through the broken bones.

She was used to it.

For eighteen years, she had abused this link.

From getting vaccines to breaking bones, she had never shed a single tear.

Because every ounce of pain was instantly transferred to her weak, pathetic sister.

The car was close!

Roxy jumped out of the bushes straight into the lane!

*SCREECH!!!*

The sound of burning rubber sliced through the night as the Ferrari slammed on its brakes, leaving long black skid marks.

But the car was going too fast. It couldn't stop in time.

*BANG!*

A horrific crash.

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