You know what they say about twins having some sort of psychic connection that spans the miles? Well it’s true …to an extent. It’s just a bit different for each pair.
For some it’s an emotional connection, suddenly feeling sad without quite knowing why. For others it’s more ethereal, ending up at the same job married to people with the same name.
For Katie and I, it’s purely physical.
We first realized it when, at age five, I burned my hand on the stove. From across the house, I heard a wail that almost exactly mirrored my own.
Our mother’s face was a mix of confusion and terror, unsure of which direction she should run.
She was even more baffled by the sight of us clutching our palms in the exact same spot, though only I was beginning to blister.
From then on we learned to be super careful. We can’t feel everything the other feels, but any extreme sensation was transmitted between us.
Daddy always joked about voodoo magic, but it’s just one of those things. Luckily we’ve kept out of trouble for the most part.
Though when she fell off her bike and broke her leg, I looked a bit silly trailing behind her with a matching set of crutches.
My husband once laughingly asked whether our bond extended into the more… carnal realms. I laughed right back and told him no, it seemed to be just a painful connection.
That was, of course, a lie. Again, we can’t feel *everything*. But with Katie being the more forward of the two of us, it is rather nice to get random sensations here and there.
So I suppose I should have known. That I should have recognized the recent feelings of pleasure as those I know all too well. But that’s just stupid. It always catches you by surprise.
I wouldn’t have ever known if she hadn’t texted him while he was in the shower. I almost confronted him then and there. But I realized that it wasn’t him I was most disappointed with.
He’s my husband, yes. But she is my other half.
So now I’m sitting at home, alone, and they’re off at some motel. I know if I wait long enough, I’ll feel something horribly wonderful. But I won’t give any of us the satisfaction.
The knife from our butcher’s block is sitting on the table in front of me. I just need to figure out where I would like to start cutting first.
It’s time to see just how deep our sisterly bond goes.