My favourite place was a house built by twin brothers. It had two side-by-side front doors. Once you entered, each frame was a mirror image of the other. Two foyers with shiny, jewel-encrusted chandeliers, two staircases with winding, dark-wooded banisters, two parlours with large bay windows and matching purple velvet sofas, two dining rooms with long oak tables, two kitchens with pot-belly stoves and pantries lined with emptied shelves. I saw the families, a delicate reflection of one another, standing, having their portrait painted, or sitting in the dining room eating their meals simultaneously, each oblivious to the other.

It was like a parallel universe. It gave me hope that if you were making a mistake, someone, somewhere, in the same situation was choosing correctly.

Chapter 14

Jack wanted to see where I’d grown up, through my eyes. He had been nagging me for weeks to take him. He thought it would be romantic, returning to the place where we had initially met.

“I don’t know,” I said.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, hugging my legs into my chest with my chin resting on my knees. My head was throbbing, a dull ache that seemed deep, deep, deep in my brain. I couldn’t remember the last time I had woken up without being strung out or hungover. Jack seemed to thrive in this state, bouncing around the kitchen, frying eggs between clearing away half-empty bottles from the night before.

“Come on, little one,” he cooed. “It’ll be fun.”

I glanced out the window at the backyard. Amberish autumn light glistened on the trees as images of the old house flooded my aching head: my siblings running through the halls, my father’s office door with its contorted red-faced mask, my mother baking bread, swaying in the kitchen. I saw the little house, sitting vacant on an acre of unmanicured land. I saw the stream that ran parallel to the road, filled with rocks that William, Annabelle, and I would collect and keep as pets because we thought they resembled creatures. I saw the narrow path through the forest that led to the ocean. It had been years since my parents had remarried and moved on. For a second, I longed to see it too.

“Fine.” I sipped my coffee. “I’ll try to find my key.”

It was mild outside so I threw on a jean jacket before locking the apartment and climbing into Jack’s car. The skin on my arms felt invaded, as if an army of ants were crawling beneath it. I scratched with a degree of desperation. Letting my nails sink into the soft flesh, I imagined tearing it off piece by piece, exposing my raw, pink, throbbing innards.

Jack noticed my scratching and took my hand, holding it as he drove, smiling intently.

Is he trying to torture me?

The roads were clear and the sun was beating down on trees that were full with brown, red, and orange foliage. The heat made the air in the car stale and heavy, and I found it hard to breathe. Light reflected in my eyes so I opened the visor to shield them. Glancing in the mirror, I made eye contact with myself for a second. Long enough to see something I didn’t want to see.