The Inappropriate Man
965 Words
Hannah’s POV
The sunlight flooded through the enormous windows, bathing the space in gold. I gently blinked as I tried to recall my whereabouts. The linens were plush. Something pricey and a hint of cologne filled the air.
I turned and saw him then. Dennis.
As he slept, his bare chest rose and fell in a steady motion. He appeared to be completely carefree, with his mouth slightly open and his jaw relaxed.
My heart, meanwhile, was beating like a drum.
It had been... intense last night. Fervent. Blinding. All I could feel now, though, was panic.
He wasn't the one.
The wrong man was the one I had slept with.
I made myself maintain my composure. Take a breath. Consider. I couldn't give him any reason to think anything.
He opened his eyes and stirred. "Good morning."
I smiled. "Good morning."
He kissed my shoulder as he leaned in. "You appear to be miles away already."
I chuckled a little. "Just considering my job."
He furrowed his brow. "Already? "
Pulling the covers around me, I carefully sat up and said, "I should go now. I had no intention of staying overnight.
His eyes narrowed as he observed me. "You have changed."
"In a different way? I slipped my dress over my head and asked.
"Last night, you were more present. You seem to be regretting your presence right now.
I tensed up. "I don't regret it," I blurted out.
He took a while to reply. Rather, he got up, went to the dresser, and took out a shirt. "You don't have to pretend with me if you're fleeing something."
I made an effort to grin. "I'm not going to run. Simply exhausted.
He approached me and planted a kiss on my cheek. "All right. But I want to see you again tonight. Supper. Only us.
My heart continued to pound hard as I nodded. "All right."
It seemed like the cab ride back to my place went on forever.
With my mind racing, I looked out the window. I required clarification.
How could Dennis not be the boy who saved me yet still have his precise likeness? How likely was it that two people would share the same face?
Then it dawned on me.
Dennis said something back in the motel room. Something that I hadn't truly noticed.
"My brother was a painter once. He is the silent one. He relocated abroad because he detested the media.
My mouth became parched.
He had a twin.
I accessed the search bar on my phone after taking it out. I typed with trembling fingers:
Dennis Wexler's twin brother is named Darren Wexler.
Some old articles surfaced. The majority were brief mentions from their teenage years; nothing new. Then I noticed it, though.
Two young males standing next to each other at a school art show in a fuzzy photo.
Dennis is on the left. Darren was the other boy, a little thinner, with softer eyes.
And there it was. As clear as day.
The mole on his back.
I almost dropped my phone.
He was the one.
The boy who came to my rescue.
Not Dennis.
My heart was racing as I sat on my bed.
My mind was racing with so many questions. Why had Darren never been the centre of attention? Why was there no discussion about him now?
I looked through more websites in an attempt to obtain up-to-date information regarding Darren Wexler.
Nothing. He seemed to have vanished.
A member going by the handle "D.W.Art" posted faceless portraits of a girl on one of the art forums. They all shared the same wide cheeks and deep eyes; the face was eerily similar.
My face.
Had I been painted by him?
Could it be that he also recalled me?
My heart surged with something between fear and hope.
I had been dreaming about the boy who saved my life for five years. I'm hoping to see him again. Constructing an entire fantasy about him.
And he was real now.
However, I had shared a bed with his sibling.
Now, how was I to confront either of them?
It buzzed on my phone. I leaped.
A SMS message was sent. From Dennis.
Dennis Wexler
We must speak. This evening.
I felt sick to my stomach.
My fingers were frozen as I looked at the screen.
What was it he knew?
Was he wary?
Had I spoken something last night by accident?
Abruptly, there was a knock on the door. I didn't think anyone would show up.
I approached it slowly, not sure if I should open it.
One more knock. Louder this time.
I cracked open the door.
There was nobody.
However, there was a white envelope on the floor. No name. Not a stamp.
There is just a single line written on the front:
"You're trying to find the wrong twin."
My chest constricted.
Who abandoned it? How were they aware?
I checked the corridor, but it was deserted. I picked up the mail with shaking hands and closed the door.
There was a picture inside.
An early photo of two guys, aged around twelve. Darren and Dennis.
They had the same appearance. However, only one of them was grinning in the picture.
There was another handwritten letter on the back:
"Don't believe the smile. He is not who he claims to be.
I dropped the picture.
My phone buzzed once more.
Dennis Wexler
I'm outside.
My heart almost stopped.
Did he come to speak? Or to face?
And more significantly...
I had gotten myself into what?
My phone buzzed again. Dennis: I’m outside.
My knees buckled. The knock thundered through the apartment door, harder, angrier.
And then—through the peephole—I saw two identical shadows standing in the hallway.
- Writer
