My Arch-Nemesis Is Acting Strange

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My arch-nemesis and I both suffer from highly specific, incredibly inconvenient disorders.

I have skin hunger, a physical condition that leaves me desperately touch-deprived. He has episodic amnesia, and when his memory wipes, I am the only person he remembers.

So, we made a deal. He said, Let's partner up. I'll help ease your skin hunger, and you play along whenever my brain resets.

It sounded like a reasonable transaction. What I didn't expect was for his amnesiac self to genuinely believe I was his girlfriend. He would kiss me, touch me, and make out with me until my lips were completely swollen.

Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I looked him dead in the eye during one of his episodes and lied, "Actually, I'm your sister."

His world shattered. But a second later, he looked at me with dead-serious eyes and asked:

"So, are we doing the whole forbidden taboo thing?"

My touch starvation had flared up out of nowhere. I practically dragged myself across campus to find Owen, my childhood friend turned rival, only to find him cornered by a girl confessing her love.

She was reading some cheesy love poem, holding out a bouquet of flowers, and dragging the whole thing out forever.

I tried to hold it together, standing on the edge of the crowd. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my eyes grew hot and watery from the sheer, agonizing itch under my skin.

Owen's best friend spotted me. Seeing my state, he muttered to the guy next to him, "Holy crap. Look at Nora. She hates Owen so much her eyes are literally bloodshot."

If it were any other girl, people would have assumed I was heartbroken over the campus golden boy getting taken. After all, Owen was the resident heartthrob, and the line of girls wanting to date him could easily wrap around the university twice.

But I was Nora West. Owen's sworn enemy.

Sensing something, Owen glanced up. His eyes locked onto me through the crowd. His expression shifted instantly, and he shoved the bouquet back into the poor girl's hands.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not looking for a relationship. Thank you, though," he said, blunt and final.

The girl's face went pale. She stood frozen in the middle of the whispering crowd, completely mortified.

Owen's buddy groaned. "Bro, come on. You didn't have to humiliate her like that."

Owen shot him a dark look. "Shut up."

I was losing my mind. The proximity of all these random people was making my skin crawl.

"Owen, get over here. We need to settle this," I snapped.

Giving him a sharp glare, I turned on my heel and walked away. If I stayed any longer, I was going to lose my composure.

Owen trailed right behind me, his long strides easily keeping pace. Behind us, his friends watched in genuine concern. "Man, how deep does their grudge go? They're totally going to throw hands."

We didn't throw hands. Instead, the moment we were behind closed doors, we crashed into a tight, desperate embrace.

"Better?" Owen muttered, his voice laced with his usual irritation.

I swallowed a pathetic whimper, gripping him tighter. "Give me a second."

Seeing how bad my touch starvation was, Owen reached down, yanked his shirt over his head, and tossed it aside, leaving his chest bare. Then he pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his strong arms around me. To tease me, he bounced his leg slightly, causing me to jolt up and down against him.

I glared at him, but he just smirked. "Your condition is seriously freaky, you know that?"

I reached out and pinched his bare collarbone, twisting the skin until he winced.

"What is your problem?" he hissed, baring his teeth. "Do you want me to drop you on the floor?"

"Shut up," I muttered, closing my eyes to focus on the soothing sensation of skin-on-skin contact.

Owen took one look at my exhausted face and fell silent. I rested my cheek against the warm crook of his neck, and every single tense muscle in my body slowly began to unravel.

"I didn't mean to ruin your peacocking session out there," I murmured. "You should probably go back and clear things up with that girl."

Owen's public persona was always the polite gentleman. Even when he wasn't interested, he usually had the decency to let a girl finish her speech. He would give a vague nod, then find a private moment later to let them down easy. Some people called him a player for it; others praised his high emotional intelligence.

I, on the other hand, didn't play those games. I shut guys down before they could even finish their first sentence. That directness almost cost me last month when a guy, driven mad by rejection, tried to throw acid at me. If my reflexes hadn't been lightning-fast, my face would have been ruined. Just thinking about it made my blood boil.

"Hey, Nora. If you're in a bad mood, take it out on a punching bag, not my chest," Owen grumbled.

I blinked, realizing I had subconsciously balled my hand into a fist and thumped his bare skin.

"Oh, please. A little tap won't kill you."

Owen and I had known each other since we were in diapers. Since we shared the last name West, everyone in school used to assume we were siblings. I used that misconception to screw him over countless times. Whenever I picked a fight with someone outside of school, I'd leave them with his name: "You got a problem? Go talk to my brother, Owen West!"

By middle school, he had been forced into the role of the local bad boy, constantly dealing with idiots trying to challenge him.

In high school, our rivalry shifted to academics. We made a bet: whoever got the lower grade on any test had to call the other "Mom" or "Dad." To two teenagers with pathologically inflated egos, failing a test was practically a death sentence.

Over those three years, I had to call him "Dad" twenty-five times. He called me "Mom" forty-nine times. Every single time the words left our mouths, we wanted to strangle each other. God, he was infuriating.

At least my GPA was slightly better, meaning I held the ultimate bragging rights. But after graduation, our dynamic took a sharp, bizarre turn.

Out of nowhere, Owen developed a strange form of episodic amnesia. It was completely unpredictable, striking at any given moment without warning. The kicker? When the fog rolled into his brain, I was the only constant left. Not only did he remember me, but he was also utterly convinced we were dating. If I tried to deny it, he would spiral so violently he'd turn suicidal.

The first time I told him the truth, he broke down, grabbed a blade, and slit his wrists, landing himself in the ICU. Honestly, I had never seen so much blood in my life.

After a few terrifying episodes, I learned my lesson. Owen West was a certified psychopath when he lost his mind.

Once he snapped back to his senses, the rational Owen proposed a truce. "Look," he had said, rubbing his temples. "You have skin hunger, and I have this memory issue. Let's make a deal. I'll be your physical anchor when you need touch, and you play along whenever my brain resets."

It seemed like a fair trade. But I hadn't factored in just how intensely the amnesiac Owen would commit to the boyfriend role. He would kiss me, touch me, and even try to drag me to bed. When his memory finally returned, I'd be sitting there with swollen, bitten lips.

Owen would stare at my mouth, clear his throat, and mutter, "Sorry. I'll tell myself to be gentler next time."

A surge of pure fury would wash over me, and I'd slap him across the face. He never fought back. He just took it.

Naturally, to compensate for our bizarre private arrangement, our public hostility grew even more extreme. We acted like we wanted each other dead. Even the classmates who didn't know us personally knew about the legendary feud between Nora and Owen. If I was invited to a party, Owen wouldn't show up. If Owen was there, I was a no-show. It was a classic case of mutual exclusion.

I let out a heavy sigh at the memory.

Still holding me close, Owen smirked, his voice dripping with arrogance. "What's with the sigh? Is my chest not comfortable enough for you? You should check around campus, girls would pay a fortune to be where you are right now."

My eye twitched. I reached up, grabbed a handful of his dark hair, and started shaking him.

"Ow! Nora, you psycho!" Owen yelled, trying to swat my hands away. "This is why you're single! No sane man would ever want you!"

As if I gave a crap about what some hypothetical man wanted.

We ended up wrestling on the floor. He pinned my wrists, and I wrapped my legs around his neck in a chokehold, both of us straining with every ounce of strength we had, refusing to back down.

Suddenly, the classroom door flew open. A group of students froze on the threshold, staring at our tangled bodies. Owen and I scrambled apart, desperately trying to untangle ourselves and stand up. Owen, showing an infuriating amount of calm, casually grabbed his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his bare torso.

"It's not what it looks like!" I gasped, my face flushing scarlet. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to think there was anything romantic going on between us.

"Holy shit!" one of the guys whispered loudly. "Nora just absolutely wrecked Owen! She literally tore his shirt off!"

"That is brutal. How much does she hate him to literally rip his clothes?"

It didn't help that there was a fresh, angry red scratch on Owen's pale cheek where my fingernail had caught him during our struggle. Against his fair skin, it looked like a major battle wound.

Owen and I stood there in dead silence. Unbelievably, not a single person suspected anything other than sheer, unadulterated violence.

Naturally, as the rumor mill spun, the story morphed into something legendary. A simple wrestling match turned into me viciously disfiguring the campus golden boy. To make matters worse, Owen had to take the next few days off due to family matters. His sudden absence practically confirmed the rumors.

I didn't bother correcting anyone. Once Owen showed up with an intact face, the rumors would die down on their own.

Some people, however, couldn't let it go. A group of girls cornered me near the library. The ringleader's eyes were red and swollen, and she glared at me with pure venom.

"Nora West," she demanded, her voice trembling. "You need to go to the police station and turn yourself in right now."

I stared at her, wondering if I had temporarily lost my hearing. But she stepped closer, repeating her ridiculous demand.

"Go turn yourself in! I know Owen is too sweet and gentlemanly to press charges against you, but you can't just assault someone and ruin their face! That is a crime!"

My expression didn't flicker. Having dealt with insane situations my entire life, I had developed a remarkably thick skin.

"First of all, his face is perfectly fine," I said coolly. "Second, if you think I committed a felony, feel free to call the cops yourself."

I tried to push past them, but they blocked my path.

"Nora, don't you dare walk away!"

I scoffed, losing my patience. "Look, who even are you? Do I know you? What is your connection to Owen? I know his entire social circle, and I've never seen your face. Who do you think you are?"

The girl puffed out her chest. "My name is Gemma Harrington! I am Owen's girlfriend. That gives me every right to stand up for him!"

I burst out laughing. The claim was so absurd she might as well have claimed to be his long-lost mother.

Gemma's face turned red with rage. "You toxic, miserable girl! You think you're so special just because your family has money? You're going to get what's coming to you!"

"Please," I sighed. "Owen's family is just as wealthy as mine. If he wanted to sue me, he would have done it already. Speaking of which..."

I gestured with my chin over her shoulder. Everyone turned around to see Owen walking toward us, looking thoroughly annoyed. "Nora, I've been waiting for you for four hours."

I immediately went on the offensive. "Hey, your 'girlfriend' here is cornering me with her squad."

Owen's eyes swept over Gemma and her friends, his expression instantly darkening. Under his cold gaze, Gemma shrunk back, her confidence evaporating.

Owen was clearly in a terrible mood and had zero intention of playing nice. "I don't have a girlfriend," he said, his voice flat. "And when I do date, it will only be with someone from a family of equal standing."

It was a harsh reality, but Owen and I had accepted it long ago. We had no desire to rebel against our families for some dramatic, doomed romance. Besides, who said you couldn't find a genuine connection within your own social class? My parents had an arranged marriage and ended up madly in love. It worked out fine.

Gemma gasped, looking deeply humiliated. "Owen! I've been chasing you for months! I literally saved up for weeks to buy you that two-thousand-dollar watch!"

Her friends chimed in, glaring at him. "Seriously, Owen? Gemma sacrificed so much for you. The least you could do is respect her feelings!"

"I never accepted the watch," Owen countered coldly. "I've made it clear to everyone: don't buy me things. If I had to date every girl who showed interest in me, I'd need a harem. Back off."

Tears finally spilled over Gemma's cheeks. "You jerk!" she screamed, then turned and bolted down the path, sobbing hysterically.

Her friends looked at each other, then ran after her. "Gemma! Wait up!"

I crossed my arms and looked at Owen. "So, you waited four hours, and your fangirl wasted ten minutes of my life. Let's call it even."

Owen scoffed, stepping closer. "She isn't my girlfriend. And you definitely made me wait on purpose."

I absolutely had. Tonight was his mother's birthday dinner, a joint celebration with our families. Owen had come to pick me up early. I figured making him wait was a perfectly reasonable way to keep him humble.

He glared at me, his jaw clenching. "You are unbelievable, Nora. Just wait."

I smirked, thoroughly enjoying his irritation. But as it turned out, karma was a fast-moving beast.

By the time we arrived at the West estate, the dining room was already full. No matter how much Owen and I tore at each other's throats, our parents remained thick as thieves.

During the main course, Owen's mother looked over at me with a warm smile. "So, Nora, darling, when are you going to bring a boy home? You're graduating soon. It's about time you started dating."

Instantly, every eye at the table locked onto me.

I opened my mouth to offer some polite, generic excuse, but before I could speak, Owen reached across the table, grabbed my hand, and announced, "Actually, we're already dating."

My father dropped his fork with a loud clatter. My parents and his exchanged wild, bewildered glances.

"Is this... a joke?" my mother managed to ask.

At that exact moment, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Of all the times for his amnesia to flare up, he chose his mother's formal birthday dinner.

Before I could react, Owen grabbed my shoulders, pulled me toward him, and pressed his lips to mine. He didn't just give me a polite kiss; he kissed me deeply, parting my lips and making a very audible, very embarrassing sound right in front of our parents.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Okay, we believe you! Stop!" his father yelled, shielding his eyes.

"Owen! Get your hands off my daughter!" my dad roared, half-rising from his chair. My mom quickly grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.

Needless to say, dinner ended abruptly. Since everyone knew we supposedly despised each other, I knew I was in for a brutal interrogation the second we got home.

"Sweetheart," my dad said gently once we were back in our living room. "You have to be mature about this. You can't just pretend to date Owen as some twisted way to get back at him."

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "I know, Dad. I've got it handled."

But inside, panic was setting in. This had to stop. If people thought I was dating Owen, I'd never find a decent guy. Besides, the idea of being publicly linked to him was nauseating.

The next morning, Owen met me on campus. For once, he looked genuinely apologetic.

"I'm really sorry about last night," he muttered. "When the amnesia hits, I can't control my actions. You know that."

Seeing Owen swallow his pride was a rare sight. He practically had to drag his ego through the dirt to say those words.

Seeing my cold expression, he quickly tried to justify himself. "Come on, Nora. I've bailed you out plenty of times when your touch starvation flared up. Remember last week? I was in the middle of a critical ranked match, and I abandoned my team because you called. My friends still think I have some secret, needy girlfriend."

He wasn't wrong. We had a mutual arrangement, but his episodes were getting progressively worse. Now that our parents were involved, we were playing with fire. What we did in private was one thing, but letting it spill into our real lives was a recipe for disaster.

As Owen kept talking, his voice suddenly trailed off. The frustration in his eyes faded, replaced by a blank, hazy look, which quickly morphed into pure, radiant joy.

"Norie," he whispered, a soft smile spreading across his face. "I love you so much. You're my girl, right?"

Oh, great. He was slipping under again.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. Was this going to be my life? Constantly locking lips with my sworn enemy? I didn't want this. His mother was right, I needed to find a real boyfriend.

I shook my head, stepping back. "No, Owen. I'm not your girlfriend."

His brows furrowed. "That's not true."

Terrified of triggering another self-harm episode, I scrambled to fabricate a convincing lie. "Listen to me, Owen. We can't date. We're siblings. I'm Nora West. We share the same last name because we're brother and sister."

Owen's eyes widened, his pupils trembling as he tried to process the information. I held my breath, praying this wouldn't send him into a downward spiral.

Instead of panicking, he just stared at me, his face a complicated map of disbelief and intense conflict.

"Oh, god," he whispered, looking utterly devastated. "I'm in love with my own sister."

Then, looking at me with absolute sincerity, he asked:

"So, are we doing the whole forbidden taboo thing?"

What was wrong with this guy? He had the nerve to call my skin hunger freaky, but his amnesiac brain was on a whole different level of twisted.

Owen's eyes were rimmed with red. "Nora, please. I don't care about the rules. I love you. I can't live without you."

Looking into his intense, desperate gaze, I felt a sudden wave of dizziness. He was so completely different from his usual self. The amnesiac Owen had no defenses. He only loved me, only remembered me, and his eyes followed me like I was his entire universe.

And now, he was begging me to break the ultimate taboo.

"Owen, we really are siblings," I lied, trying to sound gentle. "If you don't believe me, you can text our parents."

He frowned. "Who are our parents?"

I sighed, pulling out my phone. I opened my chat with my mom and shot her a quick message: What's the relationship between Owen and me?