Unseen by Her Tormentor

CHAPTER 001 Seven years earlier Being brought up as a twin was always enchanting to others. Two of each—two birthdays, two laughs, and two people who knew each other without uttering even a syllable. Ariel had always been that way. At least at first. Michael was her reflection, yet her alter ego. He was a fast-footed, tall boy whom everyone would have liked to know. Ariel was shorter, squishy in places, silent among people, and always falling over her own feet. She never cared. Until she lost Michael, the world remained bright. Their mother would work late the majority of the night. When she happened to do so, the twins made forts in the living room, had cereal as dinner, and vowed never to allow anyone to come between them. An assurance that was already weak. Come on, Ariel, quit dragging your feet," Michael shouted, throwing a football here and there. "The new kid's meeting us here." "I am bored," she grumbled, kicking the dirt. He rummaged and fussed in his pocket. "Here. Peanut butter granola bar. Don't say I never share." Her face lit up. "Thanks!" As she unwrapped it, the eyes of Michael turned towards the entrance of the field. "That's him." A boy of their age went walking over the grass, carrying a football. He had dark and messy hair and green eyes. Something about him made Ariel forget what it was she was expected to say. Hey," said the boy, and glanced at Michael. This is my twin. Hey, this is my twin, Michael said with a nod towards her. "Ariel." She scrambled up, brushing off her jeans. "You have really long eyelashes," said she, unable to repress herself. "For a boy." Jonathan blinked, startled. "Uh... thanks, I guess?" Michael groaned. ""Oh, pardon me," she said, as if to imply that we often say things like that." Ariel's cheeks burned. "Pretty lashes," she grumbled. Why not sit down and warm up, please, Michael? he said. "She doesn't play?" Jonathan asked. Ariel shook her head. "Not really." Michael laughed. She would most likely knock herself out to attempt to throw. She fell on the grass, not seeming to notice, but she observed them, Michael calling out plays, a soft throw by Jonathan, and the smile that would light up when he received the ball. She wanted to laugh at him; there was something about him. At the approach of the game, Michael gave him a pat on the shoulder. "You've got a good arm." Jonathan said, "Two brothers taught me. Ariel perked up. "So they're your best friends?" He hesitated. "Not really. They're just... brothers." "You ought to have a best friend," she said. "Michael's mine. We do everything together." Jonathan's smile flickered. "Maybe someday." She believed she was unaware that this would eventually lead to everything falling apart. A month later "I would rather not visit the movies," she whined, arms crossed. "Too bad. Michael said we want to see this new superhero thing with Jonathan and me." Mom's at work, so you're coming." "We always do what you want." I love you; however, at times, I need time with my friends. Find your own, Ariel." Before she could reply, the doorbell rang. Jonathan was smiling in his regular way. "Ready?" he asked. Michael swung his thumb over to her. "Grab your shoes." "She's coming too?" Jonathan asked, half-smiling. "Yeah. Babysitting duty." Ariel glared. "You're twelve minutes older. That does not put you in charge of my babysitting. Jonathan chuckled. "She's got a point." Michael smirked. "Doesn't matter." Ariel stomped off. It was halfway down the stairs when she stopped because she heard Jonathan talking and saying, "Man, your sister is a brat." Michael laughed softly. "Tell me about it." Her throat tightened. She attempted to do what she could to appear normal at the theater. "Can we get popcorn? With extra butter?" Jonathan's brows lifted. "Do you really need extra?" "Yes," she snapped. "I like it that way." Michael pushed a couple of bills to her. "Get your small one." She made an entry into the queue, attempting not to weep. Someone behind her said, "Are you okay?" A smile went over the face of a schoolgirl. "You're Ariel, right? I'm Mariah." "Yeah." "What are you seeing?" "Superhero movie." Mariah wrinkled her nose. "Skip it. Go with me—jester in Theater Four." Michael and Jonathan came before Ariel could reply. "Ariel, what's taking so long?" Michael inquired and saw Mariah. "She is going with me," Mariah said with a wave of the hand. Michael shrugged. "Fine. Meet us after." Mariah pulled her off as they walked away to the other hall. "Trust me. You need a laugh." Ariel looked backward at her brother once. He had set to laughing with Jonathan. She swallowed hard. He'd chosen his side. Three years later At the age of thirteen, there was nothing correct with Ariel. Her body had changed too quickly, her clothes never fit her, and she saw herself in the mirror. Her mother remarked, "Layers make you smaller," as she hid behind loose clothing." In the morning Michael gazed up and down at her. "You're wearing that?" "It's comfortable." "It's a tent." He grabbed his bag and left. Their mother touched Ariel by the arm. "Ignore him. He does not know what it means to be a girl. Back at school, the teasing led her to the locker before she could even get there. "Here comes the circus!" someone called. Make place for the whale exhibit! Her chest got tight when she regarded the source of the loudest laughter—Michael and Jonathan and the football boys. Nice shirt, Ariel. Jonathan told him. "They only have that size left?" "Shut up," she muttered. Michael smirked. "Told you it was too big." "Perfect, hide that fat backside," Jonathan added. The laughter was down the corridor. Ariel continued to walk with his eyes on the floor. It did not open when she came to her locker. Mariah appeared beside her. "Need help?" They pulled and pulled until the door burst open—and rubbish bags tumbled on the ground. One of the notes that was tacked on said, New wardrobe. Gasps, then laughter. Jonathan smiled in the multitude. "She wanted a hobo look. We just helped." Mariah glared. "That is your sister, you fool," she shouted at Michael. He shrugged. "Just a joke." Kneeling, Ariel picked up the plastic, and her fingers were shaking. She hoped someday that she could fade away. She looked up that night at the ceiling, and the echo of laughter ran round her head. Present day The alarm shrieked. Ariel banged and groaned. Senior year—another year to go until I am free. She rose slowly out of bed and caught herself in the glass. Same dark hair, same soft shape she had been concealing for so long. She tugged on jeans, a tank-top and the largest flannel shirt she had. Layers were armor. There was no one down the steps; their mother was already gone on her early shift. Ariel crept up to the door. A voice came from the hallway. "Morning, sunshine." Michael was leaning on his doorframe, all effortless smiles and confidence. The very boy who used to pass her footballs had now grown to tower over her, star of the team, beloved of all. "Nice shirt," he said. "Planning to camp out in it?" Ariel sucked her tongue and continued on her walk. He laughed. "Touchy as ever." She didn't answer. Words only furnished him with additional ammunition. At school the sound was like a wave—banging doors of lockers, squeaking shoes of friends, and people greeting each other. Ariel lowered her head and worked her way through the confusion. Then she heard the voice one only feared. "Hey, Ariel!" Jonathan was beside the gym doors, with his helmet hanging in his hand and a smile as easy as ever on his face. Be careful going through that door. Would not want your thick thighs to get stuck. The laughter that came on was like a slap. Michael chuckled beside him. Ariel's heart pounded. She stamped her feet in frustration and tried to block out the noise. Mariah had met her in the cafeteria. "You okay?" Yes, Totally, I said, and thrust a bit of toast on her tray later in the lunch queue. ""You haven't been talking since practice yesterday," Mariah urged. "I'm fine," Ariel insisted. But inside, she wasn't. She was before the mirror again that night. The air was dead save the breathing of her own. Why did she let them get to her? Why was a single dumb remark so deep? She pulled her shirt tighter and looser and tighter. She was looking back at her own reflection, wet eyes. "Why can't I just be different?" she whispered. She detested the girl who was looking back. Detested the laughter that still rang in her ears. Hated that a part of her thought that Jonathan was right. A tear slipped down her cheek. She smeared it off and took her hoodie. She said to herself, tomorrow things would be different. But as she crawled into bed, she could not get over one question. But would it ever be any different—or had she lost her visibility forever?