After washing off the grime and remnants of the day's ordeal, Alex sat quietly on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the wall. The room was dimly lit, the shadows stretching long and thin, mirroring the heavy thoughts that lingered in his mind. The soft hum of the night settled over the house, a stark contrast to the storm that had just passed within its walls.
As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, the door to his room creaked open. Leo, still groggy with sleep, shuffled in. His oversized pajamas dwarfed his small frame, and his blue hair was tousled from tossing and turning. He rubbed his eyes, blinking up at Alex with a mixture of sleepiness and concern.
Without saying a word, Leo walked over to the bed and climbed up beside his brother. He wrapped his arms around Alex, hugging him tightly. The warmth of Leo's embrace was a stark contrast to the cold void Alex had felt all evening.
"Alex…" Leo mumbled, his voice muffled as he pressed his face against his brother's side. "I'm scared."
Alex's heart clenched at the words. He gently placed a hand on Leo's head, stroking his hair in a soothing rhythm. He could feel Leo trembling slightly, the fear from the day's events still lingering in his young mind.
But there was something more in Leo's words that struck Alex deeply. Despite everything—despite the differences, the alienation, and the accusations—Leo still sought comfort in him, still saw him as his protector. It was a stark reminder of the bond they shared, one that transcended the growing chasm between Alex and the rest of their family.
"They are different," Alex thought, a wave of clarity washing over him. Despite being twins, he and Leo were worlds apart. Leo, with his bright spirit, his open heart, and his innate ability to connect with others, was everything Alex was not. Where Leo was warm, Alex felt like a cold echo. Where Leo was light, Alex felt shrouded in shadow.
Yet here they were, two halves of a whole, drawn together in the quiet of the night. The contrast between them was stark, but in this moment, it didn't matter. They were brothers—twins—connected in a way that even the harshest of words could not sever.
"No matter what," Leo whispered, his voice heavy with drowsiness, "I'm glad you're always by my side, Alex."
The sincerity in Leo's voice pierced through Alex's defenses. He looked down at his brother, the boy who saw him not as a monster or a threat, but as his sibling, his protector. The weight of the day's events pressed down on Alex's shoulders, but Leo's words brought a small, fragile sense of relief.
"I'm here, Leo," Alex murmured back, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll always be here."
Leo smiled sleepily, his eyes already fluttering shut as he nestled closer to Alex. The warmth of his brother's presence was a balm to Alex's troubled mind, easing the tension that had knotted his muscles throughout the day.
As they lay down together, Leo's breathing soon evened out, his small form relaxing completely into sleep. Alex, however, remained awake for a little while longer, his thoughts a whirl of emotions. He stared at the ceiling, feeling the rise and fall of Leo's breath against his side.
Finally, Alex closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off. For now, the storm within him quieted, replaced by the steady rhythm of his brother's heartbeat against his own. Despite everything, they had each other. And for tonight, that was enough.
*****
The next morning, the house was quiet, save for the soft clinking of dishes in the kitchen. Alex woke to the pale light of dawn filtering through the curtains, casting a muted glow across the room. He glanced over at Leo, who was still fast asleep beside him, curled up in the blankets.
Carefully, Alex slipped out of bed, trying not to disturb his brother. He padded quietly down the hall, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath his feet a comforting reminder of the normalcy he craved. But as he approached the kitchen, the sense of unease that had settled in his chest the night before returned.
His mother stood at the counter, her back to him, methodically preparing breakfast. The scent of eggs and toast filled the air, a smell that usually made Alex feel at ease. But today, it only made the tightness in his chest worse. She didn't turn around when he entered, didn't acknowledge his presence at all.
"Good morning, Mom," Alex said softly, hoping to break through the silence.
She didn't respond. Her hands moved with practiced precision as she placed the food on plates, her focus entirely on the task in front of her. There was no warmth in her actions, no trace of the gentle care she had once shown him. It was as if he wasn't there at all.
Alex stood there for a moment, feeling the coldness of the room seep into his bones. He glanced at the table where his father was seated, reading the newspaper as he usually did in the mornings. But even his father didn't look up, didn't greet him with the usual smile or nod of acknowledgment.
It was as if they had decided, collectively, to erase him from their world. The memory of his mother's breakdown the night before echoed in his mind, her words sharp and cutting, branding him as a monster. The reality of her silent treatment now was a painful confirmation of those accusations.
Alex took a deep breath, forcing down the hurt that threatened to surface. He couldn't afford to let it show. He had promised himself to stay strong, to live a normal life despite everything. And so, he did the only thing he could—he walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down quietly, pretending that the silence didn't bother him.
His mother served breakfast, placing a plate in front of Leo's empty seat, then one in front of his father. But when she reached Alex, she paused, her eyes lingering on the untouched plate in her hand. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Alex saw a flicker of something—fear, anger, or maybe regret—but it was quickly replaced by a blank, cold expression.
Without a word, she turned and placed the plate back on the counter, as if she couldn't bear to serve him, as if doing so would acknowledge his existence in a way she wasn't willing to accept.
Alex swallowed hard, his appetite gone. He folded his hands in his lap, staring down at the empty space in front of him, feeling more isolated than ever. The normalcy he had yearned for seemed further out of reach with each passing second.
But just as he began to withdraw into his thoughts, Leo stumbled into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. He climbed into his chair and yawned, oblivious to the tension in the room.
"Morning, Alex!" Leo greeted cheerfully, a bright smile on his face.
Alex forced a smile in return, but it felt hollow. "Morning, Leo."
As Leo started chatting about his plans for the day, Alex listened, nodding in the right places, but his heart wasn't in it. His mother continued to ignore him, focusing all her attention on Leo, laughing at his jokes, and asking him about his dreams. His father did the same, engaging with Leo in a way that left Alex feeling like an outsider in his own home.
When breakfast was over, Alex quietly excused himself and retreated to his room. As he closed the door behind him, the reality of his situation settled heavily on his shoulders. The bond with his family, once tenuous, now felt irrevocably severed
*****
It was late at night, the kind of quiet where every sound seemed amplified by the stillness. The moonlight cast a soft, pale glow through the curtains of the small bedroom that Alex and Leo shared. Leo was fast asleep, his breath slow and steady as he curled up under the covers, completely unaware of the turmoil in his brother's mind.
Alex lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts a tangled web of memories, fears, and regrets. Sleep eluded him, as it often did these days. His mind kept drifting back to the events of the day, the coldness in his mother's eyes, the way his father had barely acknowledged him. The memory of his mother's breakdown echoed in his mind, her words branding him a monster, an abomination.
The house was eerily silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards as the old building settled. Alex sighed softly, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him like shadows. He knew he needed to rest, but his mind wouldn't let him.
He was about to close his eyes and force himself to sleep when he heard the soft creak of the floorboards outside his room. He sat up quietly, careful not to wake Leo, and listened. Someone was moving around in the darkened hallway. Curious and slightly concerned, Alex slipped out of bed and padded silently to the door.
Opening it just a crack, he peered into the hallway and saw his mother moving toward the kitchen, her figure barely visible in the dim light. She looked different, her posture hunched, her movements slow and deliberate as if weighed down by something heavy.
Without thinking, Alex followed her. His footsteps were light, almost soundless as he trailed her down the hall. When he reached the kitchen, he saw her standing by the sink, a glass of water in her hand. She didn't notice him at first, lost in her own thoughts, her gaze distant and unfocused.
Alex hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He had wanted to talk to her, to say something—anything—that might bridge the growing chasm between them. But now, standing in the doorway, he felt a wave of uncertainty wash over him.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and stepped into the kitchen. "Mom?" he called out softly.
She turned slowly, her blue eyes widening in surprise as she saw him standing there. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them heavy and charged with unspoken words.
"I'm sorry," Alex blurted out, his voice trembling slightly. "I'm sorry for being born."
The words hung in the air, raw and painful, as his mother's expression shifted from surprise to something unreadable. She didn't respond immediately, her gaze drifting to the glass of water in her hand as if she couldn't bear to look at him.
"I… I didn't mean to cause you pain," Alex continued, his voice quieter now. "I know I'm different. I know I'm not like Leo. And I know you see it too."
His mother's grip on the glass tightened, her knuckles turning white. She still didn't say anything, but Alex could see the tension in her posture, the way her shoulders tensed as if bracing herself for something.
"I have these dreams," Alex said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "Dreams that feel too real, like memories. But they're not mine. They're from… someone else. Someone who lived a different life, who saw things, did things… things that I can't forget."
Finally, his mother looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of confusion, fear, and something else—something he couldn't quite place.
"I'm trying," Alex whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "I'm trying to be normal, to be the son you want me to be. But it's hard, Mom. It's so hard when I can't escape these dreams when I feel like I'm carrying someone else's life inside me."
His mother's lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out. She just stared at him, her expression torn between disbelief and sorrow.
"I'm sorry," Alex said again, his heart aching. "I never wanted to hurt you or anyone. I just… I don't know how to make it stop."
For a moment, his mother's face softened, a flicker of the warmth he remembered from when he was younger, but it quickly faded, replaced by that same cold, distant look he had seen earlier. She turned away from him, setting the glass down on the counter with a shaky hand.
"Go back to bed, Alex," she said quietly, her voice strained. "It's late."
Alex stood there for a moment, his chest tight, feeling more alone than ever. He wanted to reach out to her, to make her understand, but the distance between them felt insurmountable.
Without another word, he turned and walked back down the hallway, the weight of his mother's rejection heavy on his shoulders. As he crawled back into bed beside Leo, he felt a tear slip down his cheek, quickly wiping it away before it could fall.
He lay there in the dark, listening to the soft sound of Leo's breathing, trying to find comfort in his brother's presence. But the emptiness inside him only grew, the hollow ache of knowing that no matter what he did, he would never be the son his mother wanted.