Carrie was born first, so considered herself the boss. She was also a far superior physical specimen, as I had asthma, narrow shoulders and short, stumpy fingers. 

            Dad left home shortly after the birth, he'd been having an affair with a blonde cupcake while Mum was pregnant. Twin girls and a wife who was finding it difficult to cope got on his nerves, while the blonde got on her knees. 

            Carrie and I both had thick, curly chestnut hair, dark brown eyes and pouty lips, we were identical by definition but not in reality. My skin was pale and scratchy, Carrie had a marshmallow squishiness to her round face. She was beautiful. I used to poke her cheek to watch it bounce back, until Mum told me to stop it. Her lips and cheeks were pink, mine were greyish, and my cheeks looked vacuum-sucked onto my skull.

            Some days I forgot to take my inhaler to school but Carrie always had one in her pocket. I wheezed when I exerted myself, or when I laughed too much, earning me the nickname Wheezy Louise. My sister said I laughed too loudly and sounded like a horse. She was always on my case, furious when I showed my knickers to the boys, she saw me do it and wrenched my skirt down so hard that she ripped the hem. She told me to behave, to think of my asthma (I don't know what that had to do with revealing my knickers) and to be normal. I said that I didn't know what normal was, and that she wasn't my Mum, so she could back off. We didn't speak for at least an hour after that overexcited exchange, which was a long time for us. When we didn't speak, we were usually in each other's heads. If she was nervous about a maths test, I'd get butterflies. 

            Sometimes I was too much for my twin. I passed notes to my friends in class, I was sloppy with my homework, I didn't wash my hair every day. Carrie complained to Mum, saying that my bad habits were impacting on her by association. Could Mum make me do my homework and stop hanging around with those boys, and make me listen in class and did we have to wear identical outfits? I overheard and gave her the finger. At my sister's request, Mum allowed us to pick out fabric for our own clothes. She sewed dresses in pastels for Carrie and charcoal dark trousers and tops for me. At Carrie's request, Mum cut her bouncy curls up to her jawline.

            When I started smoking behind the sheds with the boys, Carrie was furious. You shouldn't smoke, especially not with asssssthmaaaaaaa, she said. The boys liked me, I made them laugh. They weren't keen on my twin, though. She was too serious, too uptight, the over-protective sister, the holder of the inhaler.

            We graduated high school, Carrie's marks qualified her for University, mine were respectable, because I had my twin breathing down my neck. I'm glad she pushed me, lots of people have no-one to help them do their best. Lots of people have no-one full stop. 

            Soon after, one of Mum's relatives died and left (what was for us) a huge amount of money. Carrie and I moved into a rented flat, bought a secondhand car and had the luxury of taking time out to decide on our futures. My twin knew that she wanted to go to University, but pretended that she was still deciding, because my health had sped downhill, with frequent sinusitis, ear and throat infections on top of the asthma. I felt bad that Carrie was looking after me but she said that if it wasn't for me, she'd never laugh, or lie on the grass and look at the moon, or try bourbon (she didn't like it, but developed a taste for wine) or go out and have fun. I cried until she told me to stop being silly.

            Carrie drove me to the doctor (I didn't drive) when necessary, and made sure I took my medication. My sister rubbed my back in circles to ease my breathing, the way Mum used to.

            I was invited to a party by a friend of a friend of a friend in a swanky mansion in Dalkeith, there was free food and free booze. I was excited and wanted Carrie to experience it too. I said that I wouldn't go without her, and I really, really wanted to go. I knew how to work my sister. When my eyes filled with tears she said stop it, took a deep breath and said she'd come, if I let her do my makeup for once. 

            Carrie's makeup on herself was pretty pretty, wide-eyed porcelain doll-style. But when she did mine, she looked into my soul and found me. She painted on silvery smokey eyes. Look at yourself in the mirror, Lou, she said, you're beautiful. Look at those cheekbones. You're beautiful, I said, and poked her in the marshmallow cheek so that I could watch it bounce back.

            We wore the same shiny black pants to the party. We'd bought them together and they suited us both, she wore a size ten, I'd shrunk to a size six. I topped my trousers with a black stretchy singlet and big shiny silver hoop earrings. Carrie wore a pink blouse with a Peter Pan collar and soft floppy bow, she could have been one of the Brady Bunch.

            The party was wonderful, we drank cocktails and swanned around on the pool deck. 

I talked easily to strangers, Carrie got better after a few drinks. We were dancing by the pool when a handsome man approached, tall, well-built, blue eyes, yum. That guy's staring at you, I said to Carrie. Hide me, she said. Why? I asked, he's gorgeous. I'm nervous, she said, her voice shaky, I don't know what to do with boys. Hide me! 

            Lane was a chef, very cool. 

            I was drunk, stoned and wanted to go home. I asked Carrie if she wanted to stay. Lane explained that he had to be at work in six hours (it was now two o'clock in the morning) and was leaving. He offered to give us a lift home, but as we were going in the opposite direction, Carrie said we'd Uber.

            Carrie was so happy, Lane had asked for her phone number. We more or less fell out of the car when we arrived home. I vomited, she held my hair out of my face and wittered away about lovely Lane. 

            She woke me early the next morning but I told her to go back to sleep and stop being so perky.

            Lane and Carrie had sex in our flat. They were so loud I had to wear earplugs, which was disturbing, and gross. Carrie was usually so quiet.

            During a spring thunderstorm I had an asthma attack so extreme that Carrie couldn't risk driving me to hospital, she called an ambulance. I could barely speak, just panicky breathy gasps. My sister held me and said stop trying to talk, she knew, she knew, she felt.

            This was the big one. I'd had a heart attack as well (attacked from all angles, my body seemed to think it was a punching bag) and wasn't going to recover. The doctors had me hooked up to multiple machines but had told us that I was on my way out (not in those words). I wanted it to end. I asked for it to end.

            Carrie told Mum. At first I was angry, then I thought if the situation were reversed, I'd tell Mum too. It's too much weight for one person to carry. Carrie. Carry. She'd carried me for so long. Mum said we had to do what we thought was right, and she'd support our decision. I said I didn't want Mum to be there when it happened. Carrie agreed. We loved Mum, but we loved each other more.

            I drifted in and out of a twilight sleep. Whenever my eyes fluttered open, Carrie was right there beside me, holding my hand.  

            Carrie would die too. Conjoined twins share blood, and my dead blood would infect hers within hours. The fusion mid-spine meant that we could never be separated, we shared too much. I stroked her face so gently it was a kiss, then with all my feeble wheezing strength, poked her cheek ever so slightly. She whispered into my hair that I was loved, looked at me with her soft brown eyes and told me to close mine, it would be over soon.