Ian,
Brad bleeds into me like a stain. His eyes narrow, harden, and the cover over the piano keys slams shut with a ringing bang. We have the same father. We don't have human hearts. I'm a dragon because he made me one.
Both of us elementally straddling water and fire, he opted for lightning and I opted for blood. Or...he opted for blood and I opted for lightning. I can't remember.
He taught me to be an animal. He taught me to kill. He taught me to hide low in the grass. He taught me to bluff. He taught me to drink. Brothers are like that. Twins...maybe more so. I make a fist, and he narrows his eyes, bangs the piano shut, and stands fast.
"Lemme see what you got in your hand, Evie."
"No."
He spreads my fingers and I cry.
"Lemme god damned see."
"NO."
"Aw, Evie, you fuckin hurt yourself, why'd you do that?"
"I don't know."
I cry and he strokes with his mind the animal bites we tattooed on ourselves in solidarity. A kiss is as easy as teeth. Brad taught me that.
He gets low and close, the smell of him boy, burying animals in the swamp. The birds sing cheerful what we ignore in our hearts, in the center of the storm of us.
He tells me a secret with every shovel. See, he's just a boy. Any lipstick, any bruises, any nice shoes, any fast cars, and he's a boy. He's just a boy. He's a boy and he digs until the tears start and he starts digging with angry puffs.
"I don't want to die," he snaps at me, when his hands blister. "Evie, I don't want to die and I don't want you to fuckin die either."
He's talking, but it was my thought.
"I'd die if you died," I tell him, and he splits a blister open to bleeding free and comes at me quick and sharp with his knife.
"Promise you'll never love anyone like you love me," he says, his eyes wide and innocent. "Promise you won't die until I do."
"I promise, Brad," I tell him softly, and we kiss in the heat and damp, pressing our fingers together.
When we kiss, I remember that girl I was without him, and I know it's my grave he's been digging. Maybe what I drop into it is my sense of worthlessness, my old boots, every item of clothing he wouldn't wear himself. Maybe it's locks of my hair as it once was, the same color as his, and longer. Maybe the hollow feeling of purposelessness. Maybe the knowledge I've ever not belonged.
Love,
Annik
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