Page 7 of Shattered

I need you, Bex, please come home.

The smell of smoke and alcohol wraps around me until I smile. The warmth I miss every damn day when I lay in my dorm beds warms my bones. My eyes flicker open and close again, my fatigue from today’s practice taking all the energy from my body. My eyes flutter and meet a mirroring version of mine. I exhale deeply, my body relaxing and the worries that surround me each day fade away in a heartbeat.

He’s here.

He’s OK.

“‘Bray," he whispers, nestling deeper into the pillow and drawing as close to me as possible, our noses nearly touching. Bex takes a few deep breaths, inhaling my scent. I’m his haven, just as much as he is mine.

“Bex,” I murmur back, both of us closing our eyes.

I love my twin. He’s the reason I fight hard for a future, a good future. I need to help him. I need to get him away from this life he’s in because of me. Throughout my childhood, Bexley was my best friend. We were those typical twins that didn’t leave each other’s side; you wouldn’t see one without the other. He was always the more grown-up of the two; even though I was born ten minutes before him, he always protected me and cared for me. He would comfort me in bed, covering my ears to shield me from Mom’s outbursts. Whenever my mother drunkenly stumbled into our room and collapsed on our bed, he would forcefully press my face against his chest. Without any concern, she would lie on us, oblivious to the fact that she was squishing our small bodies at only ten years old. Bexley always shuffled me aside, though, he bared all her weight. Or he would simply get out and lay on the floor next to my side of the bed so Mom could sleep while he lay on the cold, hard floor with only a towel to cover him and keep him warm, which it never did. No matter how hard I tried, he would never allow me to sleep on the floor. He would attempt to make a joke, claiming that I kicked him excessively. That’s when we began exchanging written messages. In order to prevent Mom’s anger, we resorted to writing notes and using this UV pen UV torch light that we got in a magazine. The light displayed a dinosaur when directed at a plain wall or paper—it was the best we could do.

U OK?

Mom snores loudly.

The floor is OK.

Want to go park after skool tomos?

We were inseparable.

Until we weren’t.

“Kal mentioned he saw you in town earlier,” I whisper, eyes closed, trying to unwind as we lay together. Our demons are at bay now that we’re in touching distance. It’s as if his demons call to mine.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, likely avoiding the topic of what he was doing in town. He never wants to talk about it, and sometimes I’m grateful for that. The less I know, the less I panic, and the better I sleep.

“I’ve missed you, Bex.”

“I’ve missed you more.”

We lay in a tense silence for a while longer, but then Bex shifts, and I open my eyes. The demons begin to stir, rattling the cage of my anxiety, firing it up again. He appears skinnier than when I saw him last week, his clothes hanging off him even more than usual. He glances over his shoulder. His eyes, rimmed with darkness, are sunken in more than usual. His skin grayer than the skies on a stormy day.

“Are you not sleeping?” I sit up, frowning at him. Bexley visibly sighs, running his fingers through his greasy, overgrown hair.

“I’m fine, Bray.” He huffs, sitting up. I know he gets annoyed when I worry about him, but I can’t help it. He’s on my mind every minute of every day. He turns his head more toward me,now I can see him fully. His eyes sweep me and then move over my face, his brows furrowing deeper as frown lines appear on his face. He reaches his hand out, his fingers gently grazing around my eye.

“What is this?”

Shaking my head, I dip my face down. “It’s nothing.” I sigh, rolling out of bed and walking toward the window. Bexley stands up, standing next to me, pulling my face toward him.

“This isn’t nothing. What happened?”

“Practice.”

“You would have said that the first time. Now stop lying to me.”

I turn my attention to Bex. His worrying eyes, drawn down, flicking between mine, bore into me. “There was some creep here the other day when I came to see you. He tried getting in here. It got slightly heated.”

“What did he look like?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, yeah, he touched you.”

“I don’t—” I begin, but Bexley’s intense gaze stops me. I drag in a deep inhale, trying to steady my racing heart.

---