They Chose My Sister, I Chose Death

My spirit drifted from the basement at midnight.

The bedroom door flew open. Benjamin, my brother, stormed in. He snorted when the room appeared empty.

“Aren’t you too old for these childish games and dramatic exits?”

I would usually fire back a sharp retort.

Not tonight. I hovered right beside him, completely silent.

Benjamin dialed my number. It rang out. Irritated, he ran a hand through his hair. He picked up the journal from my desk and skimmed it.

Only one word was written inside: 99.

The tally of their collective failures toward me.

He didn't understand. With a frown, he dropped the journal. He left a harsh voicemail.

“Enough of this nonsense. Amelia wants your special cookies. Get back here and bake them for her.”

“It's her graduation. Don't you dare spoil it. Come home now, and I might forget this.”

He shoved his phone away and rejoined our parents. “Isabella's gone. Not picking up,” he announced. “She's pulling her usual stunt. Blowing up, vanishing, expecting us to chase her.”

“We indulged her too much,” Dad concluded. “Ignore her. Let this be a lesson. She'll sulk and return tomorrow begging.”

Amelia glided over. She took Dad's arm, her expression feigning worry. “Dad, please. What if something's wrong? Should I message her? Isabella and I tell each other everything.” She looked down, mimicking a vulnerable doe.

I watched her take out her phone. Her delicate fingers typed swiftly.

[Hope you liked getting roughed up by those thugs. Who's dick are you sucking now? Party was amazing without you. Honestly, just die.]

She erased it instantly. Then typed a new message.

[Sis, where are you? We're all worried sick. If you're angry, be angry at me. Just come home, please.]

She showed the screen to everyone, performing the role of the perfect, concerned sister.

Mom hugged her tightly. “You're too good, Amelia. This isn't your fault. Isabella is just being childish.”

Childish?

A hollow laugh escaped my spectral form. Soundless.

To them, everything revolved around Amelia. Who remembered today was my Distinguished Service Award ceremony? A biannual honor.

I told them not to come, knowing they'd choose her graduation.

I never fought for their love against Amelia.

But as I left for my ceremony, three rogue wolves forced their way in. They dragged me down to the basement.

I fought, terrified. “How did you get in our house?”

One man waved a keychain. It was Amelia’s.

“Stop fighting,” he jeered. “You're not getting out.”

“I swear I won't tell! Please, don't kill me… I’m begging…”

They ignored my cries. They held me down, assaulted me, savaged my neck with bites. They took photos amid their vile laughter.

I struggled desperately. My head cracked against a table edge. Blood poured out.

Panicked, they ran.

I used my last strength, crawling to my phone. I licked the screen to call for help.