She vanished just as the year ended, I told myself as I was looking into the dirty mirror stained with toothpaste and my fingerprints. New year, new me, right? It was time for me to start all over. After all I've been through, I tend to get possessive over the things I have, but mostly over the people I meet. So leaving it all behind was the hardest thing I ever did. I know it’s just another day in my life, but the feeling of a fresh start, especially on New Year’s, makes me feel nostalgic and energetic at the same time. As I’m washing my face, these thoughts surround my mind. I don’t deserve this when she’s buried in the ground. The anger gets a hold of me. I smash the mirror because every time I look in it, I see her—my sister, my twin sister. Why did you have to be there? Why couldn’t you just stay home like you said you would? I ask, as if there’s going to be an answer. Who am I without her?The water runs cold, but the chill only serves to heighten the heaviness of my thoughts. I stare at my reflection once more, the mirror fogged up with steam, but I can still see the shape of my face—though it feels more like a stranger’s. Maybe it’s the guilt. Maybe it’s the emptiness. I don’t know.The year ended, and she vanished. Just like that. Gone. I tell myself I need to move on, to embrace the clean slate, to start over. But every part of me still aches, still pulls me back to her. I never knew how much I could want someone until I had her—and I never knew how easily I could destroy something perfect.I run my hands over my face, washing away the tears I don’t even remember shedding. She’s buried. She’s gone, and it’s my fault. The thought buries itself in my chest, squeezing the air out of me until I can’t breathe, and all I want to do is disappear too. Maybe I deserve it.I should have never let her in. I should have kept my distance, kept her at arm’s length like I always do with everyone else. I’m not good at love. I never was. But with her, it was different. And that was the problem. The only problem.I turn away from the mirror, a bitter laugh escaping me as I tug at the collar of my shirt, my fingers tight on the fabric like it might keep me anchored. It’s just another day, after all. The start of a new year. A chance to forget. But how do you forget something you never deserved in the first place?The apartment feels like a cage now, the walls closing in around me. I shouldn’t have come back. I shouldn’t have come back to this place, to this life, where everything reminds me of her. I wanted to leave it all behind, but it’s like the ghosts of my past are following me, ready to drag me back into the grave I dug for myself.I hear a noise, soft at first, almost like the wind. But there’s no wind in here. The apartment is silent.I freeze.No, it’s just my mind. Just the silence playing tricks on me.But then, I hear it again. A soft, delicate sound. A voice.“I’m still here.”My heart stutters in my chest, my breath catching in my throat. I spin around, half-expecting to see her standing there. But the room is empty. I take a few unsteady steps toward the hallway, my feet feeling like they’re glued to the floor, dread creeping up my spine.I’m losing it. I have to be.But then I see it.A single white flower lying in the middle of the floor, its petals soft and almost glowing in the dim light. It’s her flower. The one she always wore in her hair, the one that never seemed to wilt, no matter how many days passed. The one she gave me the night we last saw each other.The flower wasn’t here before. I know that much.I pick it up, the soft petals trembling beneath my fingers. My mind races, and the room spins as a sick realization creeps in.Maybe she didn’t vanish after all.Maybe she’s still here, somewhere, waiting.But she’s not. I’m just off my medication. It’s been months, and I still can’t move on. They say that time heals your scars, but I don’t really have scars. Part of me is missing. That’s not a scar; that’s a hole, and no one can fix it. After a week of sleepless nights, I get the mail—a letter. Still hungover, I don’t care who wrote it, so I open it and read to myself: Red as the ocean, right?And then I notice the same white petal. I fall to my knees, and it’s not because the alcohol finally got to me—it’s because it was our inside joke. My sister was colorblind, and she said that the ocean looked like a red bath with rose petals. She was colorblind—or she is. I don’t understand it. Why would she do this? And if it’s not her, why would anyone do this? Am I part of some sick game?After that, I installed cameras everywhere. My boyfriend slept at my place almost every night, just to make sure I’m safe.After I installed the cameras, things only got worse. The messages kept coming—strange letters, flowers in places I knew I hadn’t left them, whispers in the dead of night that made the walls feel like they were closing in around me. But the worst part? The worst part was the way my boyfriend started acting.At first, I thought it was because he was worried about me. He stayed over more often, always checking up on me, making sure I was okay. But his presence started to feel suffocating. Every time I looked at him, a cold chill ran down my spine. He seemed too eager to help, too eager to be involved, like he was trying to keep me in this state of fear, keep me from moving on.I checked the footage from the cameras, desperate for answers. The footage was mostly uneventful—just me pacing around the apartment, muttering to myself, looking for signs that maybe, just maybe, my sister’s spirit was still there. But then I saw it. A video from the night before my sister disappeared. It was recorded in the hallway, just outside my door. There he was—my boyfriend—standing over my sister’s body, his hands covered in blood.The realization hit me like a freight train. My heart stopped. I had been so blind.My boyfriend had killed her.It wasn’t some accident, some random tragedy. He had planned it, methodically, just like he had planned everything since. The flowers, the letters, the games—it was all part of his sick, twisted plan to break me, to make me question my sanity, to keep me trapped in this nightmare.And now he was playing his final game, trying to push me further into the darkness. He wanted me to lose my mind, to follow him into the void where there was no escape. But what he didn’t realize was that I had finally seen the truth. The truth about him. About the lies he’d woven into my life.I’m not sure what happened next. Maybe it was the sheer force of my fury, or maybe it was the instinct to survive, but I grabbed the nearest thing I could find—a knife from the kitchen—and I ran toward him.His face was twisted in that same fake concern when he saw me, but I wasn’t fooled anymore. Not by the sweet words, not by the empty promises. I knew now who he really was. I knew now what he’d done.I stepped closer, the knife trembling in my hand, the weight of everything crashing down on me.And then, the worst part of all: He smiled.A sick, twisted grin spread across his face, and in that moment, I knew. This wasn’t over. It was never going to be. And as I raised the knife, the last words he ever said to me echoed in my ears:“Don’t worry, baby. I’m still here.”

She vanished just as the year ended

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It's always the husband

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It's always the husband

Klarissa

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She vanished just as the year ended

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