The bedroom door creaked under Celine's grip, but rage fueled her shove. It flew open, revealing the nightmare in stark detail: Jamal, her rock of five months, buck naked and frozen mid-thrust atop Celeste. Her identical twin—same full lips, same hourglass figure sprawled wantonly across the sheets Celine had picked out last month. The air reeked of sweat, cheap whiskey, and betrayal, the mattress still bouncing faintly from their rhythm.They saw her in the same heartbeat. Jamal yanked free with a guilty yelp, his body glistening under the harsh lamp light. "Celine! Baby, oh shit—wait!" He tumbled off the bed, hands flailing for cover. Celeste bolted upright, snatching the comforter to shield her flushed breasts, then darted behind him, eyes wide with crocodile tears.Celine thrust up a hand, palm out like a stop sign. "Don't." Her voice cracked the air, low and lethal. She just... sighed then, a long exhale that carried the weight of shattered trust. Looked at Jamal's flushed face, his half-hearted attempt at innocence. Then at Celeste, hiding like the coward she was. Not shocked, not truly. Celeste had been poaching since they were teens—dolls, dates, Daddy's attention. Twins shared everything, right? But this crossed every line."You're pathetic," Celine said flatly to Jamal, crossing her arms over her rumpled uniform. "So tell me—how long has this been going on?"Jamal's mouth worked like a fish. "I-It just happened! Tonight! Swear—"Her hand shot up again, silencing him. Her gaze drifted to the nightstand, where an empty whiskey bottle lolled accusingly, label peeling. Perfect. She lunged, fingers wrapping its cool neck, lifting it like a baseball bat. Jamal's eyes bugged out. "Celine, what the hell are you planning to do with that?"She twirled it slowly, glass glinting. "It depends on how fast you start answering my questions. And stop stammering like an idiot, Jamal. It's embarrassing."Celeste whimpered from her hiding spot, clutching the bedspread so tight her knuckles whitened. This wasn't her mousy sister, the one who'd cry over spilled milk and forgive thefts with hugs. Celeste edged sideways, aiming for the door. "Celine, honey, let's talk this out..."Celine's head snapped around, eyes blazing. "If you move one inch, Celeste, I start with you." The threat hung heavy, laced with a frightening calm. Celeste froze, breath hitching, bedspread trembling against her skin.Celine pivoted back to Jamal, bottle tapping her palm rhythmically. "When. Did. It. Start?"He backed up a step, hands raised. "It... it... uh... b-before..."Her temper flared. "Do you want me to hit you with this before you answer properly? I'm this close to exploding—give me a reason not to."Jamal deflated, shoulders slumping. The room pulsed with tension—their heavy breathing, the distant hum of city traffic, Celine's heartbeat thundering in her ears. "Okay, fine! It was before we met. Months ago, I swear."Celine barked a harsh "Ha!"—a bitter laugh that echoed off the walls. "Before we met? So you thought you'd keep two women on a string. Sisters, too? Classy." Revulsion curled her lip as she raked her gaze over Celeste's pitiful form.Celeste couldn't stay quiet, peeking out with venom. "Don't act all high and mighty! He met me first, Celine. I'm the one he loves. You're just the side piece—the mistress who stole my man!"The bottle whipped up in Celine's fist, arcing high. Jamal and Celeste recoiled as one, scrambling backward. Their feet tangled in the sweaty sheets and discarded clothes—Jamal's jeans, Celeste's thong. They slipped, flailing. Jamal's towel, the pathetic scrap he'd snatched for modesty, unraveled completely, puddling at his ankles.He stood there, utterly exposed. Celine's swing halted midair. Her eyes dropped, locking on the sight. A tremor ran through her arm, bottle quivering.They braced—Jamal curling defensively, Celeste shrieking. Tears? Breakdown? But then... a chuckle escaped Celine's lips. Soft at first, then building, shaking her frame. Laughter poured out, wild and unrestrained.
She reined in the laughter, wiping streaming tears with her sleeve, the whiskey bottle heavy in her other fist. Her sides ached, but the glee sharpened into a blade. "Seriously? You strut around calling yourself a man?" Eyes locked on his groin, merciless. "Then explain that pencil dick between your legs. No wonder you were so desperate to dip it elsewhere—good thing we never bothered. I'd have laughed then, too."Jamal's humiliation crashed over him like ice water. He shot a horrified glance downward at the tiny, shriveled nub—exposed, ridiculous under the unforgiving bulb. Five months of her "not ready" excuses, candlelit makeouts fizzling to cuddles... now it clicked. She snatched his boxers from the floor pile, jamming them on with trembling hands, fabric bunching awkwardly. His ego shriveled further—if that was possible.Celine pivoted to Celeste, whose face blazed beet-red, comforter slipping as she squirmed. "And you—moaning like a banshee for that? How'd the pencil satisfy you, sis? Microscopic thrusts?"Celeste's mouth flapped. "Shut your mouth! You're jealous because he chose me. It's not small—"Celine snorted, circling them like a shark. "Too damn small. A cocktail weenie in a drought. Were you faking those screams for his fragile pride? Or just practicing for the disappointment?"Jamal hunched, voice cracking. "Celine, stop—please. It was a mistake.""Mistake?" She laughed again, throaty and free. "Your whole game's the mistake. Parading that twig like a prize. Celeste deserves the pity fuck."Celeste lunged verbally. "He loves me! You've been stringing him along—no sex, no nothing. Tease!""Tease?" Celine's eyes flashed. "Dodged a bullet. Imagine the letdown—five seconds of nothing. Get out. Both of you. My apartment, my rules."Jamal straightened, bravado flickering. "Why evict me? We built this—""My lease, my blood-sweat tips from the hotel,*" she snarled. "Sacrifice my home for a pencil and a traitor? Dream on."She tossed the bottle aside—it clunked harmlessly—and strode out. Jamal grabbed for her arm—"Celine, talk to me!"—barefoot on slick hardwood. His heel caught a stray thong; he windmilled, then plummeted down the five stairs to the living room. Thud-crash-thud, curses echoing, body folding like a cheap suit.Celine paused at the door, pulse thundering. Break your neck, pencil dick. Or at least your pride. No pity. She slammed it shut, night air slapping her face—freedom's first breath. Fumbling her phone (Alicia's pic grinning back), she hit call. "Girl, O'Malley's Bar. Stat. Tequila and trauma dump—Jamal's a cheating micro-dick, Celeste the thief."