A headache starts pounding at my temples. “You wrecked your brand-new, two-hundred-thousand-dollar car?” He hasn’t said anything, and I haven’t heard anything, so he didn’t file an insurance claim.
“Yep.” He takes a swig and grimaces as the vodka burns its way down his throat.
“Did you hurt anyone?” I have to ask because…well, because it’s Aleksei.
“Just my ride.” He laughs like not killing anyone is the funniest thing in the world. And that’s when I notice his blown pupils. He’s high.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I grab the bottle from his hand and slam it down on the counter. His drug use has gotten worse this past year. He tries to hide it from me, but I can see the toll it’s taking, mentally and physically. The mood swings. The paranoia. The gaunt complexion on his face that doesn’t go away. The weight loss. I wish he didn’t turn to drugs to fight his demons. I wish he would let me help him, but anytime I try to talk to him about it, he storms out. I don’t know what to do, other than be here for him. You can’t force help on someone who doesn’t want it. But it’s fucking killing me to see him when he’s like this.
The girl he was apparently with pokes her head around the corner, her dark-brown hair in disarray and her lipstick smeared. “Are you coming back?”
“No. Get the fuck out,” Aleksei tells her.
Her shocked eyes bounce to me, like she expects me to contradict him. “You’re kicking me out?”
“I got what I wanted. Don’t need you anymore.”
“Unbelievable asshole!” Her footsteps stomp down the short hallway.
Aleksei grabs his keys and the vodka from the counter island. “Make sure she leaves. I don’t need drama today.”
“Where are you going? Aleksei—goddammit!”
The girl comes back. She must have washed her face because the red smears around her mouth are gone.
“Fuck you and your dick. The next time you want?—”
“I’m not him.”
Her narrowed gaze scans me from head to toe and back again, and a glimmer of female interest flashes in her eyes as she stares at my bare chest. I just got back from my run and haven’t had a chance to shower.
“You’re the twin?”
“Yes.”
“How do I know you’re not a lying sack of shit?”
“Because I’m not an asshole.”
A smile lights her face at my quip. I’m getting better at making them, which is as pathetic as it sounds.
“Aleksander, right?” She steals an overripe banana from the fruit bowl I keep stocked but Aleksei never eats.
“Yes.”
“I like your ink.”
That should’ve been the first clue I’m not Aleksei. Our tats are different, and he doesn’t have as many.
“Thank you. Do you need me to call you an Uber?”
“I live in the dorms.” She wobbles on her heels and rolls her ankle. “Damn torture sticks,” she mutters and slips them off. Dangling her shoes from her fingers, her brown eyes slit at melike it’s somehow my fault. “Whoever invented high heels is a bigger asshole than your brother.”
“Then why wear them?”
She twists around and presents her backside to me. “Because they make my ass look fantastic.”
