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I can no longer look into the mirror. All I see is his face when I do. That heart-wrenching pain, ugly lines of worry… All of this is tainting his face, his memory. I don’t want to see it. No, I refuse to.
I can no longer look at my reflection. All I see is the face of my dead twin brother.
It’s been seven days since he died.
I haven’t looked into the mirror since.
***
The sheets felt rough beneath my hands. My head was throbbing as I lifted my horribly heavy body from the creaking mattress, wrenching my swollen eyes open. I raised a burdensome hand to my bloated cheek to languidly wipe away the stray tears. Legs trembling, I stood weakly within the darkness of my room, lines of white sunlight fighting to stretch across my bed and carpet through the closed blinds.
As I took a step on the plush carpet, I crumbled to the ground on my hands and knees, body trepidating with anguish as powerful sobs forced their way through my body, passing brokenly through my grit teeth. Tears burned my eyes, dripping onto the carpet. I banged the floor hard with my fist, savoring the momentary pain. I thought I had cried enough tears these past seven days. Burying my forehead into the carpet, the rough fibers scratching across my skin, I let gasps and sobs wrack my weak frame.
The door to my bedroom opened, but I failed to lift my face to acknowledge the person, continuing to grieve without consolation. “Breakfast is ready,” my mother stated desolately. I could feel her dead eyes train upon my pathetic self. If there was one person my brother took to the grave with him, it was my mother. Without waiting for a response, she shut the door, the slam seemingly echoing through the small room.
For a few more minutes, I just cried, wishing that I could rip my heart out to stop the pain or somehow fill the chasm of abysmal sorrow with something else, something that could return my happiness. The sobs eventually calmed into light hiccups and I arduously rose to my feet, shoulders slumping as though they couldn’t handle their own weight. My burning eyes automatically averted from the full length mirror that stood beside the door. Breathing in shakily, I rubbed my tears away, exiting the room, wincing at the sudden bombardment of bright sunlight.
Squinting, I slowly walked down the stairs, feet heavily imprinting into the hardwood. Before I knew it, I was in the kitchen, watching my father nibble casually on a piece of toast, reading the newspaper avidly, a slight frown present on his lips. When he heard my arrival, he layed the crinkling paper gently on the glass table, smiling sadly at me, deep lines forming at the corner of his eyes and his mouth.
“Hey there, kiddo. How’re you feeling?” he asked lightheartedly, warm brown eyes kind and understanding. Shrugging infintesimally, I meandered to the plate beside him, sitting down and sighing. The enticing aroma of bacon, eggs, and buttered toast invaded my nose, but once I actually saw the full plate of aesthetically pleasing food, any sort of hunger was soon forgotten. Feeling slightly nauseous, I took the piece of lightly toasted bread and nibbled on it’s edge, sinking back into the seat as I stared into nothingness.
“So when do you want to go back to school?” my dad inquired, skewering a piece of fluffy scrambled egg with his fork and letting it fall into his mouth. Once again, I shrugged, the thought of school without my brother suddenly suffocating. A comforting hand was on my shoulder. I glanced confusedly at my father, who once again had that sad smile on his face. Realizing that I was crying again, I quickly wiped the tears away, dropping the piece of toast among the eggs. “Tyler wouldn’t have wanted us to act this way,” he consoled, squeezing my shoulder. I nodded softly, gazing at my mother, who was slumped on the couch in the silent living room, expression devoid of any emotion.
My father may have sounded crass in that moment, but truly, he was right. Tyler would have never wanted us to grieve or cry for him if he died; and my father was following this to perfection. Even during the funeral, when he saw the dead body of his son, he could only don his customary sad smile. His strength was inspiring, but it was also frustrating. His whole family was devastated, yet all he could do was give few words of consolation and comforting touches; it was almost as though it was their son who had died, not his own. Yet I couldn’t be mad at him because I knew if anyone was the most affected by this death, it was him.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I abruptly stood, whispering a hoarse excuse, leaving the untouched plate of food and my dad in favor of the solitude of my room. Once I shut the door behind me, I fell into the unmade bed, crying weakly into pillow. I was just so tired. From the day he died to now, all I could to was either curse the drunk driver who did this or cry over the fact that I will never get to see my twin brother again.
“Andrew,” a familiar voice called. Oh god, now I was hallucinating about Tyler. I buried my face further into the pillow, a sob wracking my frame as more hot tears stained the dark cloth. “God, I never knew you were such a cry baby.” Okay, that sounded too real. Lifting my head with the full intention of shoving my head back into the pillow a second later, my whole body stiffened at the sight before me, tears stopping in their tracks.
My brother was sitting on my dark blue papasan chair. He looked so different from when I saw him in the hospital, completely bloodied and bruised nearly beyond recognition. His curly brown hair, slightly longer than mine, grazed his arched eyebrows, brown eyes mirthful as a humored smile graced his pink lips. His skin was a healthy tan, though he no longer had those small unruly pimples that blemished his left cheek when I last saw him. It was my face staring back at me… but it wasn’t, since my eyes weren’t as big, cheeks not as chubby. Overall, he was a cuter version of me.
“T-Tyler?” I breathed, awestruck, blinking a few times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
“That’s me and don’t forget it,” he chirped, jumping up from his seat, chuckling. Startled, I sat up, gawking at him. His thin frame, quite a bit less muscular than mine, was clothed in a white undershirt, white long-sleeved button down shirt, and white cargo pants, an incongruous thin red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck.
“B-but I thought you were–“
“I am,” he interrupted, his smile faltering for a moment. I swallowed, still stunned.
“T-then why are you–“
He sighed loudly, interrupting my question once again. Plopping down onto the bed, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and layed his head on my upper arm. The actual feeling of him touching me was enough to send my mind into overdrive. Was this some kind of sick joke? Did he not actually die? Why is he here? What is–
“Is it not enough for me to want to see my dearest younger brother?” he lamented, obnoxiously batting his long eyelashes at me.
“No,” I whispered, voice hoarse.
He sighed again and extricated himself from me, giving me a melancholic glance. I met his eyes, unable to remove the stupefied expression off my face.
“I have a regret, Andrew. And I can’t pass on without settling it,” he stated, looking away to play with the edge of his shirt.
“What regret?” I asked, reality flowing back slowly into my words. His eyes returned to mine before he reached forward to hug me. I wrapped my arms around his waist, suddenly wanting to cry.
“You love me, right?” he questioned, voice heart-clenching.
“O-of course I do,” I answered with certainty, traces of lingering sadness hidden in the undertones. This past week has proved to me that no matter how much we fought, I still loved my older brother vehemently.
“Then please, Andrew, for me,” he pleaded, sounding utterly desperate. “Confess my feelings to the man I love.”
—
Hello there! I hope you guys enjoyed this new story that I am starting. To my returning fans, I will be continuing with The Beauty of the Human Shape. I just had an intense bout of writer’s block, so I decided to start this to get over it, and thankfully, I think I did.
This will not be an incredibly long story (like Beauty of Human Shape), so I will probably be finishing it soon enough. Though I plan for there to be sex, so be warned.
Oh, and I need actors for the main characters~ I was thinking Parker Gregory for Andrew/Tyler? Neh? Book covers appreciated too!
Comment, vote, and fan please!
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