Authors: Alyne Robers
Vivid Lies
ONTENTS
Copyright © 2016 Alyne Roberts
All Rights Reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Cover by: R.B.A. Designs
Editing: Beyond The Cover Editing
For Leslie. For always being my other half.
Prologue
You know that feeling when something is all yours? Something that belongs to you only? Something that no one can use, touch, take, or ruin?
Yeah, me either.
I had never known what it was like to not share. I shared a womb with my sister. We shared a mother whom we never got to meet. We shared a father, a birthday, and our faces.
As kids, we shared a bedroom, swapping nights on the top bunk. We shared clothes and toys. There was never two of the same gift under the tree at Christmas. There was one. For us. Ours.
As we grew older, we shared friends, makeup, and shoes. There were no "London's clothes" or "Brooklyn's clothes." There was none of that nonsense. It only belonged to one of us if we had it for that moment in time.
None of that mattered though. We never fought over the clothes, toys, or even the remote. Our whole lives were a balancing act. Each side automatically giving and taking to keep order.
We shared our pain and happiness.
The only thing that hurt to share was someone's thoughts—their feelings, love, and mind.
Neither one of us was ever truly alone in someone's mind or heart. We shared that, too. Each one was permanently connected to the other. There was never a spot for just you. Because when they’d see one of us, they see the other.
To everyone in the world, we were "London and Brooklyn."
And nothing was ever "mine."
NE
London
My bare feet slap against the wood flooring as I race down the hall. I hate being late. I actually hate being on time. I need to be early.
"Where did she put them?" I whisper to myself, spinning around the small bedroom my sister and I use as a walk-in closet. The room is a disaster, still littered with boxes from our move. It's been a month already but both us have been too busy to finish unpacking.
"If I were Brooklyn, where would I leave a pair of flip-flops?" I ask myself. "The closet makes too much sense."
Having already searched for the car keys, hair straightener, and my favorite lip gloss, I am irritated to say the least. Nothing new.
Brooklyn got in late the night before from work. I really don't want to wake her to ask about them. She would breathe fire and tell me to fuck off. Huge waste of time, really.
I am the morning person; she is the night owl.
I dart out of the room and slide into the kitchen. Of course, the pair of sandals sits near the fridge. I shake my head as I slip my feet inside, picturing my sister taking them off as she rummaged the fridge late last night.
"Your screaming woke me up."
I spin on my heel and come face to face with Brooklyn. She looks as exhausted as I feel. Like looking into a mirror.
"Sorry," I say, and I mean it.
"Fourth time this week," she reminds me.
"I'm aware, Brooklyn," I snap. "Is there a reason we can't put the keys on the hook by the door?"
"Because we all can't be as organized and efficient as you, London," she mocks, crossing her arms in annoyance.
Her long brown hair is a knotted mess, her mascara is smudged, and I can see her freckles that are usually covered with makeup. She still looks beautiful even though she just woke up after only a few hours of sleep. Funny how identical we are, but I always think of her as the prettier one. The only difference in appearance is the birthmark I carry on my hipbone, but Brooklyn has a sex appeal to her that I don't.
"Well only one of us can be flighty and impulsive. If we both did whatever the hell we felt like, then the world would implode with the chaos."
Brooklyn is the storm to my calm. She is loud where I am quiet. She is the one who thinks up the bad ideas. I am the one who thinks things out and keeps us grounded.
If she were a color, she would be red. Passionate, strong and energetic.
"Maybe the world needs a little more chaos," she argues with a smirk.
"I think you bring enough."
Brooklyn watches me grab my phone and pull my long hair up in a ponytail. Her blue eyes are thoughtful and worried.
"Maybe you should see someone about the nightmares," she says quietly. "It's been weeks now."
I look at my sister and see that I'm hurting her. She and I are all we have, and if we can't protect each other, then no one can.
"It's just the stress of the busy season and the move," I tell her. "Please don't worry."
"You know he won't find us here, London."
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.
"You're gonna be late," she says, killing the heavy conversation. I fly past her, kissing her cheek on the way.
Glancing at my phone again, I grab my things waiting by the door and rush out of our apartment. I heft the heavy camera bag over my shoulder as I walk quickly down the hall toward the elevators. I almost slam into another resident as I dart into the elevator right before the doors slide close.
"Sorry!" I yell at him as I smash the button for the lobby.
Dark eyebrows rise in amusement as I blush profusely. The guy just stares at me as the open space between us closes in and cuts off our line of vision. I hang my head in embarrassment. I hate being late!
It feels like it takes forever to make it across town and to the beach. Mostly because I get lost and have no idea where I'm going. My camera bag is weighing on my shoulder as I trudge across the sand to the pier where I notice my clients are already waiting.
Starting my photography business over from scratch isn't easy. Nothing matters more right now than impressing them. Changing the name meant I could no longer rely on the word of mouth from past customers. I'm starting over.
I smile wide as I approach the couple and extend my hand.
"Sorry I'm late. I'm London," I say, trying to hide the fact that I'm basically panting.
"You're not late and I am so glad to finally meet you," the bride says, engulfing me in a hug. Her skinny arms squeeze me and I widen my eyes at the smiling groom behind her.
"I'm Jason," he offers when his fiancée doesn't let go and introduce to me.
We shake hands while I am still in a hug. I have been exchanging emails with Amanda for weeks now about the wedding and engagement photos. I guess that makes us best friends, judging by our embrace.
"Everyone, this is London, our photographer," she says to the family behind her. For their engagement photos, she wanted to include their immediate family as well.
"Nice to meet you all," I say as I untangle from her arms. "Let me setup and we will get started."
I step away from the group and try to find my calm as I dig through my camera bags. I pull out the lens I need and load a fresh SD card. I quickly play with the shutter speed and aperture until I get the right settings. All the things I like to have done before the clients show up.
The newly engaged couple is easy to photograph. It's a beautiful day on the beach. The sky is clear, the morning light hasn't turned too harsh yet, and the love in their eyes is obvious. It's my favorite thing in the world to photograph. Truth. Honesty.
Amanda is glowing and beautiful. Her eyes sparkle with excitement and love. To me, she is the color yellow. Bright. Happy. Impossible to ignore.
I have always associated people with colors. It's my way of classifying and organizing the people I know. Amanda is yellow. Her husband is a light blue. The pale color of the morning sky after the rain. Calm. Comforting and stable. Everyone I meet is color-coded in my mind.
"Let's get the family in there," I suggest after I take enough shots of the couple with the ocean as the backdrop. I'm getting bored.
The bride is an orphan, so his family is all she has. That was why she wanted them included in the engagement photos. To her, she is marrying the family, not just the man. They took her in, loved her as their own, and gave her somewhere to belong.
His parents join the couple. I fumble with the camera in my hands and lock eyes with his brother who arrived while we were shooting. He wears an amused grin as he joins the group. He isn't watching the family though. He is watching me.
"London, these are Jason's parents and his brother, Kane," Amanda introduces, gesturing to the group. "He gave me your card actually."
I nod and smile politely at them. I'm unable to look away from Kane because he hasn't looked away either. There's something familiar to him but I can't place his face.
He watches me like I'm the most fascinating thing on this beach. He must not see the girls in bikinis all over. They are far better to look at than me right now.
I pull my camera up to my face, shielding myself from the outside world. Through the viewfinder, I can just watch. I am the audience. I'm invisible. I see what they can't.