Twins

Twins.

The word left a bitter taste in his mouth. Twins were unnatural things, even though he had not always thought that way.

Of course, it was not that he hated being a twin, or even wished he wasn't. He couldn't imagine not being a twin. He wasn't sure if there was a twin alive who could. But there was something so disconcerting about that face looking back at you, that face that was so like your own and yet so distorted, that face you couldn't lie to unless you lied to yourself, that face that always seemed to be able to look into the depths of your soul.

He loved his brother for being his other half, loved him for being his companion, his compatriot and his conservator. Loved him for being loved by him. Hated him him for being loved by him.

Hated him for making him feel like this.

It was not like anyone had taken anyone's innocence. It wasn't about innocence on that tangible level, the first time you felt yourself inside someone else, moved inside them and at the same time were shifting something inside yourself. That turned your world on its head because you thought it was love.

He knew what love was. This was love, always had been, because there was no other word for it. It was deepest affection coupled with shallow dislike, childish quarrels that arose on the least pretext and grudges that were held forever because wounded pride smarted more than ever when inflicted by one's own flesh and blood. It was making up because you knew you couldn't bear the silence any longer, ignoring the faults and focussing on the virtues because looking for faults would result not in hating him but hating yourself.

For feeling like this.

Love was something that went deeper than even hate, because love consisted of dislike and compassion. Something you couldn't ignore. Hate was not apathy either, but love was empathy. Hating someone didn't do this to you. Didn't force you to feel for this person. To feel with this person.

If you're cold I will keep you warm.

What is a person's greatest weakness? Is it his need for companionship? His need for protection? For guidance? Why does the coldness in us always threaten to break loose at the most inconvenient times?

All he wanted was to feel safe. Was security such a bad thing? Protectiveness, possessiveness, passion. Puppy love? Was longing such a bad thing? And would it be so bad if it was? Since when did being good appeal to him?

Who makes you feel the way that I make you feel?

That question had turned his world upside down. Or was it the right way around again? It had spun much too fast and twisted off its axis, but not for the first time. So was this the second half, or did one and one make two? What happened when two couldn't become one because they were already joined at the soul? He felt as if there was something important he was missing, but at the same time was sure there was too much he knew. There were things that two people should not experience together because something that intimate was not meant to be shared. Everyone needed their secrets to preserve sanity.

And if we share that, too?

Share the secret. Share the sanity. The insanity. There is not enough to go round, but how do you stop sharing when you've done nothing else your whole life? Everything they had ever done they had done together. Done, invented, created, found, lost. Lost. Except for one thing. Was it all a question of innocence? Or maybe jealousy? Or was it simply the unbanishable sense of entitlement, to stake a claim and make sure the sharing was not forgotten?

He didn't know what it was, all he knew was that he could not fight it. He couldn't fight him like he couldn't fight himself. He didn't know if he wanted this, or if he didn't want it, or if what he felt for it lay somewhere in between. He knew what his body wanted, but then, possibly that was the only possible thing to go by because his mind was obviously corrupted. He couldn't think straight, maybe had never been able to but he didn't know that because this was the first time he tried. The first time he had tried to think for himself because it seemed like the only thing he hadn't shared. But he was wrong.

They had shared a soul from the beginning. Now that they had shared a body he wanted to crawl back into his own mind, but that was tainted, too.

He heard the door creaking, and the sounds brought him back to reality with a thud that was almost physical. He uncurled from his fetal position to look who it was, brazenly invading his territory without knocking, but he could have spared his aching joints the pain. He knew who it was. He knew the time had come for everything to begin again, and once more it would come down to what was harder; his resolve or his dick.