Tempted

LEONARD:

The exact explosive rush I’d felt the day we kissed in front of the reporters surged through me again as I kissed her in my bedroom.

Breathing into her mouth, my gaze locked on those tender, lively eyes I had come to recognise. “Am I taking advantage of you? Abusing you like I did the first time we kissed?” I whispered.

“Never took it as an abuse,” she murmured.

I smiled.

I knew it was the lifeless Erica who had considered our first kiss an abuse. If only she knew…

“I am glad to hear that. Because it was my first kiss.”

“What?” She gasped, shock flashing in her eyes.

…If only she knew that was my first kiss, she wouldn’t have labelled it so.

I’d never felt the urge to kiss anyone before. But with her, Erica 2, around me, all the emotions I’d lacked for years crash in forcefully, stripping me of my ability to think. Just as I’d boldly walked out of the bathroom unclad. Although I heard her calling, I overlooked my towel hanging on the pole and entered completely naked. 

I was tempted to do it, like a child drawn to touch fire. I wanted to see her reaction. And I loved how much I affected her, just as she was starting to affect my life.

I pushed her to the door, stepping on the shattered glass, ignoring the cuts under my feet. The ache of not kissing her deeper hurt more than the wounds.

I cupped her face, my lips claiming hers, my tongue sliding into her mouth. She responded generously. Her moans erupted something inside me, and I went for more. My hands found her shirt, undoing a button…then two…until I reached the third, and she jolted.

She broke away, retreating with trembling shoulders.

I’d crossed the line.

“Erica…?”

“I should go,” she said, gripping the doorknob, breath uneven.

I stayed silent. Asking if I’d made a mistake would be pointless. It was obvious.

“I will clean up the mess in the morning,” she added, avoiding my eyes before running out.

I stepped backwards onto the broken glass and sank onto the bed, staring at the door. Embarrassed. Annoyed.

I’d acted like a man with no control. After finally confirming she was different from the lifeless Erica, this was my move? Nearly bedding her?

For all sensible logic, I should’ve confronted her…maybe even had her arrested for impersonation.

I had made lists of everything I would do if my camera ever caught the truth. But when days passed without anything, and the lifeless Erica resumed her place in my house…I gave up. I accepted I’d been wrong. I accepted that Erica was indeed spiralling into the madness of personalities.

However, a silver of doubt lingered. It grew when Erica neither touched another ice cream nor offered to cook again. I knew it wasn’t a payback for my behaviour…it was because she wasn’t the same. Not the Erica who could cook. Not the one that could eat milk.

But also remembering she had drunk that ice cream in front of me, the doubt quietened.

Until tonight, when I opened my door to see her. I knew this wasn’t her. It was her. I was convinced. And strangely, I was excited.

I cancelled my trip to my mother’s for the weekend. I’d planned to leave and let the two Ericas freely come and go… and let my camera dutifully catch them. But seeing her unexpectedly, I wanted to stay.

I asked for dinner—not as a test, but because I was genuinely hungry. Her presence restored my appetite. My happiness. My cravings…for her food. For her.

I didn’t want to press too hard, but her clipped, guarded answers to my questions grated on me. So I pressed anyway. And when she finally stumbled, the satisfaction washed back over me.

I left for my room. I watched her panic on my phone feed until she went into her bedroom, and she vanished from my view. I had exempted her room from the cameras—not because it was locked the day of installation, but because I’d respected her privacy. After all, there is no other exit for her if not from the main entrance to the hallway.

Then I went for a shower. Took longer than usual. The joy of proving my suspicion was communicable; however, I couldn’t help to wonder why Erica had brought her doppelgänger into her life…into my life.

Was it only to escape me? Or something more? What if they weren’t doubles—what if they were twins?

“Leonard?” Her voice floated into the steam.

Seeing her with those glasses of wine, I knew it wasn’t a kind gesture. It was a peace offering. But the moment she saw me naked, her intentions shifted. Mine shifted, too.

She wanted me. I wanted her. So why did she run?

I sat on the bed, debating whether to follow her or let her go, when a sharp throb pulsed through my head and dizziness washed over me. The pain in my feet dulled, my body grew heavy. Maybe it was the wine…or the storm of emotions colliding with my injured feet. But sleep claimed me before I could decide, and I sank into the mattress, slipping into dreamland.

*************

I woke with a groan, head pounding.

I cursed as I saw the blood stain on the sheets beneath my feet. Bit by bit, last night with Erica rushed back in full.

“Shit.”

Dragging myself across the floor, avoiding the glasses, I knocked on her door.

“Erica?”

I wasn’t even sure why I needed to see her—only that it was time for her pretence to end, and allow us to talk as Leonard and whatever her name is.

“Erica?” I called again, turning the doorknob.

She lay curled in bed, crying under the duvet.

Her disposition robbed me of the urge to talk, twisting my mood into a sudden worry.

I crouched beside her. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Suddenly, she sat up and threw herself into my arms.

I hesitated at first, but when I felt her body heaving and her arms tightening around my neck, I gave in, holding her as her trembling grew.

“What happened?” I whispered.

“Nathan…”

Nathan?

I was still trying to connect the name when she kissed me—soft at first, then deeper. But something felt wrong.

Her lips didn’t feel the same.

I pulled back. My worst fear confirmed. It was her, the lifeless Erica.