“Sure,” he shrugs. “I could give it a go.”
I wait for him to get ready and that day, we finally leave the house. Together.
Because we’re two now, and we have to take care of each other.
A few days later
“I mean, he’s such a prick!” Aiden exclaims, shaking his head as he laughs, opening a cabinet in the kitchen. He tosses me some Pop Tarts and I place them in the microwave, laughing at his office gossip.
“What would you do differently?” I ask him, knowing he’ll bite. He loves talking about this stuff, and I love seeing him so excited. I sit on the bar stool and drink from my glass of wine.
“Well, I wouldn’t do a shit job,” Aiden grins at me and I laugh loudly, shaking my head.
He takes the Pop Tarts out of the microwave and sits down next to me, digging in. We haven’t gotten round to cooking actual food yet, and we’re trying to sate ourselves while we wait for another batch of takeout – Indian this time around.
We chit chat about the office, and I’m surprised how fast Aiden’s managed to blend in. But then again, I really shouldn’t be as he’s always been a people person.
So unlike me … so unlike Blane.
My chest is hit with a hard pang as I think of my stepbrother.
No matter what I do, it still fucking hurts, because he hasn’t called or contacted me. He’s just pretending I don’t exist. Like I’m nothing to him. Like Aiden isn’t his blood.
I look up, fighting back tears, and my gaze connects with Aiden’s. He’s staring at me hard.
“What?” I ask worriedly.
He keeps looking at me, but the corners of his mouth curl up. “Do you mind …”
“Do I mind what?” I wonder out loud after a long pause on his end, but he looks away, like he’s embarrassed. I’m suddenly intrigued. “Tell me,” I beg.
He complies.
“I want to paint you,” he says, looking more animated than I’ve seen him in … well, years.
“Draw me like one of your French girls?” I joke around, but as soon as I see he’s serious, my smile falters. “Oh,” I murmur.
“Do you mind?” he repeats, and I can hear from his tone he’s eager for me to say no, I don’t mind at all, let’s do it right now.
But for some reason, I’m hesitating. I feel like it’s such an intimate thing to do, and that it’s wrong somehow. But why?
Because I’m betraying Blane.
Stop it, brain, I order silently and I look up at my stepbrother, faking enthusiasm. “Sure,” I say carelessly, even though my heart is pounding in my chest, heavy with the weight of deceit. “Let’s do it.”
And I pretend it’s worth it, even though not even Aiden’s happiness can make up for the emptiness in my heart.
***
“How much longer,” I groan tiredly, but Aiden shushes me immediately. I sigh inwardly and cringe as I reposition my arm, the tingling in it becoming harder and harder to bear.
When I agreed to him painting me, I thought it would only be hard because I felt uncomfortable doing it. But it’s freaking annoying as well, and every part of is starting to hurt as I sit on the couch in our attic.
And that’s another thing – it’s so creepy in here. The light is coming in through the sun window, but it’s dusty and old and everything’s falling apart.
My stomach rumbles and I steal a glance at the forgotten takeout on the floor. Aiden didn’t let me have any, and I’ve never seen him this concentrated. But there’s a certain slant of his eyes that makes him look …
Mad.
I shake my head to get the thought out.
“Would you stop moving?” he asks hurriedly, his strokes fast and angry on the canvas.
I mouth an apology and sit there for another hour or forty-eight until he finally puts down his palette and paintbrush.
“You’re done?” I ask excitedly. I get up from the couch in a rush, my robe spilling open in front of me. Embarrassed, I pull it back together, but when I look up, Aiden’s looking at me like I’m … Prey. There’s that look again.
I rush towards the easel, but he steps in front of it protectively.
“It needs to dry,” he says sternly.
“So?” I squirm, trying to look over his shoulder, but he won’t let me. “Let me see,” I beg.
“No.”
His answer is final and I just look at him in confusion as he puts away his things, always blocking me from seeing the painting. This is so weird.
He shoves me out of the way and I stumble backward, shocked at how violent his push was. But when I want to complain, I look into his eyes, and that strange gaze he had when he painted me is gone. He’s just Aiden again, my sweet, overprotective brother.
“Let’s eat!” he says happily, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the stairs that lead downstairs, his other hand holding the bags of our food.
I guess it was just a slant of light, I tell myself to calm down my worried nerves …
***
We proceed to get drunk.
I’m not an experienced drinker and the wine hits my head pretty quickly, so in about an hour, I’m rolling on the floor in the living room, laughing my head off.
And Aiden’s with me, and though he’s had much more to drink than me, he’s still okay, laughing his head off laughing just like I am.
“And then he said, not on my watch missy!” I manage to stay before erupting in a fit of giggles, while Aiden roars with laughter.
I never thought we’d be able to do this again. Never thought we’d laugh together, share family stories like we’re doing right now. But as funny as it all is, I can’t help but to look for the missing piece. The other twin. My stepbrother, my lover …
Blane …
My lips pout and I look at Aiden sadly. He looks into my eyes, but his gaze quickly falls down to my lips. They tremble with the moment which will be forever lost on our brother. But before I can say how I feel, Aiden’s lips crush against mine, his body pinning mine to the floor.
He’s on top of me, and he’s kissing me hard, the stiffness between his legs demanding more, right now. I lay there in shock, my mouth partially open, my eyes boring into his. But he doesn’t even notice.
He just kisses me as I lie on the floor, his mouth hot, his tongue exploring my mouth.