Almost Ours

Ruby:

Since I was eleven, I have believed in the Happy Ever After.

It sounds unbelievably childish and a little bit delusional. I know that. I’m aware of that. But back then, it didn’t feel stupid at all. It felt it was something pre-written into my bones.

I just knew I would end up happy.

I’m pretty sure it was Ella Enchanted that did it to me, both the book and the film. I borrowed the book from the school library so many times that the librarian eventually stapled my name onto the sign-out sheet because she was sick of filling in the card. I knew whole pages off by heart. I used to sit under my duvet with a torch and read until my eyes burned, long after Mum and Dad thought I was asleep.

And I truly believed, utterly and wholeheartedly, that I would end up like Ella.

I believed I might be cursed, maybe, a little odd, perhaps too quiet. But strong enough to break whatever spell would be put on me. Brave enough to stand up to monsters, and loved enough that the right boy would see me and choose me.

Choose me the way Prince Charmont chose Ella; without hesitation, without fear, without asking her to be anything but herself.

Thinking about it now makes me feel so silly.

I used to imagine it so clearly,it feels like memory: some boy taking my hand and saying, “I know who you are, Rubes. You don’t have to explain.”

I believed it for years. Until believing in Happy Ever Afters started to feel like believing in mermaids or dragonsor parents who don’t lie. Because, like all silly little girls who dream of such things, I found out real life wasn’t a fairytale.

It’s not even close.

And somewhere between eleven-year-old me dreaming of Charmont and sixteen-year-old me bleeding on a bathroom floor, I realised something important: Happy Ever Afters don’t just appear. They don’t descend from the sky with perfect timing and a swell of orchestral music.

You have to crawl toward them. You have to fight for them. You have to survive long enough to even believe you deserve one—okay, okay. You caught me. I’m still working on that last part. But this, the telling of it, feels like a step in the right direction. At least, my therapist certainly thinks so.

So here I am, writing the beginning of my story, hoping it’s the start of something better.

Obviously, I don’t think there will be magic and curses, though I could argue I'm cursed. But I’m hoping for something a little more normal, like fireworks, a bunch of firsts, a life that doesn’t implode without warning.

At my core, I think I am still a girl who believes in Happy Ever Afters. Even if mine looks different from the ones in the books, even if I have to build it myself and especially knowing that it starts off a little broken.

Because that’s what I am—a little broken.

Don’t worry, it’s fine for me to say that.I’ve spent the last few years in and out of treatment centres after attempting to take my own life. It would appear I am depressed.

I have depression.

And that’s okay.

It’s a chemical imbalance in my brain that I have no control over.

I’ve always been highly sensitive, and as I have gotten older, I started to notice all the pain around me, and my brain started to cling to that reality a bit more. It started to get harder to claw myself out of the darkness.

And then, one day, I came home early from school to find my dad shagging my best friend in my bed. It turns out that can really cause the brain to melt down. Especially when that best friend later discovers he wasn’t only cheating on my mum with her... he was also cheating on my best friend and my mum with his secretary. Who he is now married to. The secretary, that is, not my ex-best friend.

And I decided to keep it a secret from everyone when I found out.

How was I supposed to destroy my family, my friendships, and my dad’s career in one single swoop? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. It was the attempt on my life that made everything come to light. Dad, wracked with guilt, came clean about the secret I’d been holding in for him. Mum ended their marriage straight away, but dad was unbothered as he moved in with his secretary, and a year later, they were married.

Mums response to that was: “Nobody finds love quicker than a man who needs a roof above their head.”

The guilt was the worst part. I felt dirty, like I was the one who had done something wrong. Before it all came out, Mum would insist we all sit down for a family dinner every night, and I’d have to sit opposite Dad and pretend I hadn’t seen him, quite literally, pummelling my eighteen-year-old best friend in doggy position.

In my bed.

In my fucking bed!

I was sixteen at the time, and they were in my bed! The image still haunts me. That’s what I got for making friends with the older lot. And honestly, I think they only wanted to be my friends in the first place so they could get access to my twin brother.

Oscar, my brother, doesn’t know much about any of it. Not the nitty-gritty details. It’s not even that I couldn’t talk to Oscar about it, I probably could have, but there’s this unspoken rule when you have a protective brother, even though you know they’d want to be there for you, you feel like you have a duty to protect them from yourself.

Which isn’t what I did.

In the end, I caused him the worst kind of pain because it was Oscar who found me on our bathroom floor. I wish I could say I didn’t know what I was doing. I wish I could say I was blind with depression or grief. But I knew exactly what I was trying to achieve. I wanted to complete it.

Not because I wanted to die, but because I wanted the pain to stop.

If I had known Oscar would be the one to see me—and save me—I never would have gone there in the first place. And while I can blame Dad for the trauma he inflicted, and be furious at ex-boyfriend, Ansel, for the fucked-up way he took advantage of me, the truth is I still only had myself to blame. My choices messed my brother up and blew my future to pieces.

My choices led me to that bathroom.

My choices led me here now.

“Rubes?”

I look up to see Oscar leaning against the doorway of my new dorm. We look similar—same brown hair, same hazel eyes. We’re not identical, even if we are twins. I’m shorter and slimmer, my nose more turned up, my chin a little more defined.

His brows pull together. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah.” I close the journal I’d been writing in. “You?” I glance past his shoulder, noticing the empty hallway, and frown. “Where’s Emma?”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t go everywhere with Emma.”

I laugh. “Yes, you do. But it’s okay, I don’t blame you. Not after everything that happened—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He cuts me off, stepping further inside and closing the door behind him. He crosses the room and drops down beside me on my bed. “I can’t talk about it anymore. I really want to move on from it all.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I know the feeling.”

He nudges his shoulder against mine, and we lapse into a comfortable, familiar silence.

Today is my first proper day of uni. I was supposed to start last year, along with Oscar and our childhood best friend, Cameron, but my therapist didn’t think I was stable enough to leave Mum yet. I think he was right. I feel much stronger now. And who knows, maybe if I’d come here then, Oscar wouldn’t have met Emma because he would have been so focused on me.

“Got you something.” Oscar reaches into the bag by his feet, the plastic rustling loudly in the quiet room. He pulls out a pack of Oreos and tosses it lightly into my lap.

I grin, the familiar weight of the packet crinkling under my fingers. “Do you remember when we used to sneak into the kitchen at midnight to eat these?”

He snorts, leaning back onto his palms. “I don’t think it was actually midnight. I think it was probably like nine. But Mum let us do it anyway.” He shifts closer, hooking a finger under the seal and tearing the packet open with that sharp plastic rip. “It’ll help keep the crippling depression away. A bit of sugar is always a pick-me-up.”

“Not crippling anymore.” I pull out a biscuit and twist it absently, crumbs catching under my nails. “Just sort of…lingering.”

He swings one leg onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The room smells faintly of cardboard and new carpet, and the fluorescent overhead light flickers once, like it’s also unsure about me being here.

“Lingering’s not so bad, is it?” he asks.

“Lingering is good.” I nod, chewing an Oreo while I think about my next words. “I don’t think depression is something that ever leaves, O. But I’ve sort of grown around it. Learned how to move with it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I think so anyway.”Looking down, I brush a crumb off my jeans. “But I don’t want you spending your second year worrying about me.”

I mean it. He’s already dealt with enough this past year. His girlfriend, Emma, has a really turbulent family, and it turned out her brother was extremely abusive toward her. Oscar practically breathed life back into her after that. He doesn’t need the burden of breathing life back into me too.

He’s in his Happy Ever After. He should be living it.

“Rubes,” Oscar says quietly, his brown eyes fixed on me, searching my face. “I’m here for you. You know that, right? None of that changes because I’m in my second year, or because things are good with Emma.” He edges closer, looking far too concerned and makes the guilt seep in all over again. “I don’t want you thinking you’re a burden. You’re not. I want you to come to me if your head starts giving you jip. That’s not something I ever want you dealing with on your own.”

I blink away the sting in my eyes and try to swallow down the emotion. “I know, O. You’re a great brother.”

He smirks. “And you’re a great sister. A little neurotic. Alothot-headed. But great nonetheless.” He pauses, his eyes suddenly alight with amusement. “Just don’t go around punching anyone.”

I laugh. “Harriet deserved that punch.”

“She did,” he admits, pointing at me like he’s not fully endorsing it. “But still.”

I hold up three fingers. “Scout’s honour.I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

Oscar snorts. “I don’t think you have a best behaviour. You’ve always been a mischievous little thing.”

This is news to me. “Have I?”

“Yeah, Rubes.” He nudges my foot with his. “But it’s one of the very best parts of you.”

I don’t know what I did to deserve a twin like Oscar. He’s a moody git, but he’s the softest, warmest, kindest person I know.He’s always been insanely popular, whereas I’ve only ever had a select few good friends. Girls love him, guys want to be him.He’s loyal, and he pays attention in the ways that matter.

“Come on.” He gets to his feet. “I’ll help you unpack.”

I stay where I am, sitting cross-legged on the bed. From here, the whole room fits into one glance. It’s basic; a single bed with plain sheets, a small desk pushed under the window, a wardrobe that looks like it might fall apart if I shut it too hard. The walls are completely bare, and the overhead light is too bright. My suitcase is still by the door where I dropped it earlier, half-open with a jumper sleeve trailing out.

It’s a plain room. Nothing special. Nothing awful.Just a room.

“It’s okay, I’ll do it later,” I respond, picking up the Oreo packet from beside my knee and setting it down again. “I told Brooke I’d meet her for a coffee.”

“Brooke?” Oscar slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he glances around the room again.

“Yeah. She lives down the hall. Has a boyfriend called Ewan.” I rest my palms on the duvet, cocking my head to look at him as I shrug. “They seemed nice enough. She seemed nervous and a bit socially awkward, actually.”

Oscar laughs, leaning one shoulder against the wardrobe. “So you love her already?”

I nod, grinning. “I love her already.”

“You do love a stray.”

“So do you.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“Come on, O. Emma and Cam are the ultimate strays.”

“Cam is a stray, that’s for sure.” He taps the wardrobe lightly with the back of his hand, making the door wobble. “He’s a hooligan. Emma is an angel. Cam doesn’t deserve to be labelled the same as her.” He gets a wistful look in his warm brown eyes. “Emma’s perfect.” The wistfulness fades. “Cam is nuts.”

“And yet you’ve been glued to his side practically since birth.”

Oscar shrugs. “What can I say? I’m fond of the mad bastard.”

“He’s not any madder than the rest of us.”

Oscar throws me a look.

“I am fine. Will you stop mothering me?"

“I won’t say sorry for being worried about you, and you can expect me to hover a bit.” He grins. “But I’m on strict instructions from Emsy to not bother you or obstruct your life in any way.”

Good old Emma. I think I’m just as fond of her as Oscar is.

“She’s smart,” I smile back. “That girlfriend of yours.”

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He glances towards my door. “So, where are you meeting this Brooke girl for coffee?”

“The Library cafe.”

“You okay if I walk you there?”

I shrug. “If you want. I don’t know where it is and I don’t want to be late and make her think I’m flaky.”

“Rubes, you are a flake.” He teases, knowing full well I have time anxiety.

I lift one shoe and throw it at him, not hard, just enough to make my point.

He dodges easily and bends down, picking it up off the carpet, and hands it back to me. “Don’t bully the people who are trying to help you.”

“I’ll bully whoever I want.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

I slip my trainers on, tying the laces quickly. Oscar watches, arms folded, tapping his thumb against his elbow like he’s mentally checking off a list.

“Keys?” he asks.

I pat my pocket. “Got them.”

“Phone?”

I hold it up.

“Wallet?”

“Bag,” I say, nodding to the tote on the floor beside me.

He gives a satisfied little grunt, as if I’ve passed some internal safety check, and sticks out his hand for me to grab. I roll my eyes but take it anyway, letting him pull me to my feet. My legs are stiff from sitting cross-legged too long.

He picks up the Oreo packet from the bedside table and tucks it back into his bag. “I’m taking these before you inhale the lot.”

“Rude.”

“I’ll bring you more,” he says, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “But only if you text me later.”

“I will.”

“You better.”

I follow him to the door. He opens it and pauses in the doorway, glancing back at me the way he does before he leaves any room I’m in now—just to double-check.

“I’m really proud of you, Rubes.”

Touched by his openness, annoyed by his need to say it, and overwhelmed by how kind he’s being, I hiss out, “Jesus Christ, O! Will you give it a rest. I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything is fine. I am a normal student, this is my first proper day at uni, and you will stop being so insane.”

“It’s not me who ended up in a madhouse, to be fair.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t you go there.”

“I’m just saying. You’re the loony out of the two of us.”

“How’s your panic attacks going for you?”

He throws back his head and laughs. “Touché.”