I thought that Emmy and I would live forever. That we would always be together and that we would conquer the world. She was my partner in crime, my best friend, and my teacher. But most importantly, she was my sister and I loved her.

Everywhere Emmy went, I followed. Not just because I didn't want to be alone or because I wanted to be with her, but also because I wanted to go the places she did. We were the cliché kind of twins that were into all of the same things. The fact that she was a girl and I was a boy meant nothing to us. Or, at least, not to me.

But to others, it meant everything.

"You're scaring off girls by hanging around her so much," my friends always said.

"Aaron, don't you think that being with Emily all the time is making you a little feminine?" my mother always asked.

"It's a little weird that you're so attached to your twin sister," other adults would always comment.

It didn't matter to me. I loved her and I wanted to be just like her-in more ways than one.

When I first told her that I was confused about my gender, she accepted me. She smiled and said that she would love to do my hair and makeup. And that's what I loved about her. No matter what I did or how badly I screwed up, she never gave up on me. She never thought any less of me.

And if I would have known that that day would probably have been her last, I would have told her just how much I loved her. I would have said the things I held back.

Now, she's laying here on this bed in a coma, and I'm standing over her wishing that I had said more than "thanks." I'm wishing I had done more than just laugh. Most of all, I'm wishing for more time. The moment Emily dies will be the moment I do as well.

The worst part is that I don't even know what happened that day. One minute I'm laughing and joking with her, the next my mother is rushing in and screaming at my father to call 911. There was blood everywhere and a look of sheer terror and heartbreak was permanently stamped onto her face as she convulsed on the floor.

That's pretty much the extent of my memory.

Maybe that's the reason Mom called a psychiatrist to come and speak with me. Maybe she wants her to help me find out what happened to the life of my twin sister.

That's when Dr. Hemmings walks in and asks if I'm available right now. My parents tell her yes and, just like that, I'm taken from Emmy's hospital room to the third floor of the building.

"This is the psychiatric unit," Dr. Hemmings explains to me. "If you were suffering from an addiction, eating disorder, depression, or an attempted suicide, then this is where you would go."

I nod solemnly and step into the commons area of the floor.

"My office is down the disorder hall, but since you aren't a usual client, we'll talk in the media center. I've reserved it for the next hour."

She guides me to a library type room and orders all the occupants to go down to the cafeteria for lunch.

"I usually only counsel people of the unit, but I owed your parents a favor. Anyways, take a seat." She gestures to an ottoman that faces the television for me and pulls a chair from a nearby table for her.

"First, we are going to try some hypnosis to get you to go through what happened. Is that alright?"

I nod, knowing that I have nothing to hide and nothing else to do anyways.

She smiles and tells me to close my eyes. Then, she starts asking me questions about where I was and what I heard. Soon, I'm falling into a deep sleep and I'm back in my house on that warm Sunday evening.

"Hey, Emmy," I see myself walk in and say. It's like I'm watching everything play out like a movie.

"What's up?" She says, patting next to her for me to come and sit.

I-the vision me- plop down next to her. "I have something important I wanted to talk to you about."

Her face shifts to one of curiosity as she asks me what it is. This part is the worst. When I knew I had to tell her but didn't know how she'd react.

So I just blurted it out.

"I think I'm transgender," I tell her. For a moment, she doesn't say anything and I'm scared that she'll start quoting the Bible or something.

Finally, she responds. "Like, you feel like a woman?"

I nod.

She grins deviously. "I'm going to do your hair and makeup then."

And just like that, I'm no longer tense. I laugh and feel silly for ever thinking that she wouldn't accept me. Then, the laughter fades and an unfamiliar scene plays out before me.

"You know Mom and Dad have feared this ever since our princess stage of first grade," she points out to me.

I'm just sitting still, silently agreeing with her.

Why don't I remember this part?

"Are you going to tell them?" She asks.

I shake my head no. If I did, it would be nothing short of pure hell.

"I think you should," she says. "In fact, I think you should tell them right now."

At first, I seem to think that she's crazy. But then, I realize that this is my sister. My genius sister. If she thinks that I should do this, then maybe I should do it. She always wanted what was best for me and would never do anything to hurt me, so why not?

I smile at her and tell her that I am going to do it. I get up and walk out of the room. Or, at least, the vision version does. The real me that is reliving this day stays behind a second to admire Emmy.

But she's smirking. Not a sarcastic, I-just-told-a-bad-pun smirk, but one of true evil and demise.

That's when I remember the rest of what happened and I don't need to follow along the vision anymore.

But I can't leave. I try and try to wake myself up, but I can't. I'm forced to watch what happens. I'm forced to relive the horrible memory that I blocked for a reason.

I see myself walking over to my parents, my hands shaking more than a curvy girl dropping it low. At the last second, I chicken out and head back to my loving sister's room where I overhear a conversation with her on-again off-again boyfriend Al.

"Ugh, he's such a fag. I cannot believe I got stuck with the lamest twin brother in the history of ever," I hear her say.

Silence while she listens to him talk, and then laughter.

"I know right? I just sent him to tell our parents. He is definitely getting disowned." More laughter. I want to go in there, but something tells me to wait. "Finally, I'll get to be the only child!"

She laughs again and again and I cannot take it anymore. I burst in there, angry tears falling down my face.

"You bitch! I trusted you! I loved you!" I scream. Then, I'm taking out my pocket knife and heading towards her.

She's too scared to speak. She's never seen me like this. I've never seen me like this. Neither of us knows how far I'm going to go.

Well, she shattered everything in me, so I have to take what's most important.

I have to take her life.

As I get closer, she starts begging me to calm down. But I won't. I won't calm down until she's gone. I shove my knife towards her, but she blocks her chest. Causing me to hit her wrist instead. Blood pours out. No, blood shoots out. Like a fountain.

And I seem to find the view quite enjoyable.

The action sends her into a seizure and she falls to the ground. I run out of the room and to the bathroom where I clean the blood of a traitor off of me. Not two minutes later my mother is screaming for someone to call 911.

That's where the hypnosis ends and I'm back in the media center in the psychiatric unit.

"How do you feel?" Dr. Hemmings asks.

I do not respond. Instead, I get up and run to the nearest restroom where I proceed to vomit up everything I've eaten in the past 48 hours. Afterwards, I wipe my mouth and bolt out of the hospital.

I can't stay here. I'm the reason my sister is nearly dead. I killed her. Well, tried to at least. She may have betrayed me, but she didn't deserve that. She is still my twin sister and I love her. I can't believe I did that. Emmy is going to die because of me.

I pull out my spare key to my father's car and go to steal it. I just need to drive for a little bit. Clear my head. Block the memory again.

How come no one has come out to catch me? Why didn't anyone follow me? The questions nag at me like a drunken love confession.

Maybe no one actually cares. Maybe that's the reason no one came into the room when my sister was yelling for me not to kill her. Maybe that's the reason no one is out here now.

Well, that just increases my emotion which, in turn, increases the speed of my (dad's) car.

Maybe I deserve to die. Maybe she deserves to live.

I'm doing 80 now and I have no intention of slowing down. Cars move out of my way and I start swerving all over the road. I'm too upset to drive correctly.

I'm going to hit this car coming my way and I don't care.

I'm going to hit it and die. They'll hit me and they'll die.

And, for some reason, I know that we all need to die so that my sister can live. Something tells me not to move out of their lane. Something tells me to keep going.

It has to end this way.

So I do. I keep driving, hoping for a head-on collision. But, at the very last second, that same something tells me that at least one of the passengers of that car needs to live. I attempt to veer out of the lane and clip the front corner of the car. The impact causes it to go spinning and me to flip and roll.

I count three rolls until it stops and everything goes black.

Just like it needs to.