If You Wrong Us by Dawn Klehr

Author:Dawn Klehr
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ya, ya fiction, ya novel, young adult, young adult fiction, young adult novel, teen, teen lit, teen fiction
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2015-08-17T16:00:00+00:00

17

Becca

It wasn’t easy to break up with Travis, especially being in lockdown. Not that I was there long. My parents had read something about increased suicide rates for twins who lose their other half; in reality, the findings from this supposed study said that the increase in suicide was really quite minuscule and the number of subjects included in the analysis was far too low to hold any validity. To use Brit’s words, it was bunk. But my parents didn’t care. When they found me in the fetal position in the special waiting room after my visit with Ethan, they thought I was having a breakdown and decided they weren’t taking any chances with their remaining progeny.

It was either that or they simply couldn’t deal with me.

What my parents didn’t know, that day they dropped me off on the infamous fourth floor, was that I’d just dealt with a message from Brit’s murderer. Something sure to make the most stable person snap. Unfortunately, or predictably, Ethan was nowhere to be found once Nurse Julie showed up. He (and his daisies) disappeared, so I looked like the delusional one.

For three days I sat in a semi-sedated state—sleeping, daydreaming, and plotting. Once the medication wore off, I vowed never to feel like that again. Out of control. I wouldn’t let my feelings get the best of me again. I wasn’t weak or stupid. I was driven. Determined. Focused. Yes, from that point forward, I’d hold on to my anger and use it to right all the wrongs, to make things even again. As Isaac Newton once said, “To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction.” As I sat in that place where life and death fought every single second, I began to formulate my reaction.

Sadly, a hospital stay was nothing new for me. My parents were frequently concerned about my “behavior.” I’d started seeing a psychiatrist when I was thirteen. It was just another thing that Brit convinced them to do, despite the fact that my little meltdowns always came after she’d screwed me over in some way. I was never good about handling her—never could manage it. My punishment? Psychiatric help.

“Rebecca,” Mom would say, using my given name as she started one of her many speeches on the subject while I tried to conceal my laughter. As if using my full name would make me take her seriously.

“We know the bond between you and Brit is strong, but you have to remember that you are your own person,” she’d say. Followed by, “Your worth isn’t connected to your sister.” And closing with, “You need to focus on yourself instead of being so worried about what Brit is doing all the time.”

I’d heard various forms of that lecture over the years and was forced to see the doctor whenever Mom thought it was time for a “tune-up.” I can’t blame her. After my first few sessions, the doctor tossed around all the key words that would put Mom on high alert.

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