I Won't Lie to You

Like I said, I was addicted to that fighting game so now I was playing it again while Nicolas watched. Probably to make sure I didn’t break it because one of the fighters was pissing me off. I just couldn’t seem to win against him.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Nicolas stated from behind me, distracting me for a split second, automatically giving me a KO.

Of course, that pissed me off. He didn’t; I don’t know how but he wasn’t the thing that was pissing me off. It seemed like I couldn’t just get mad at him. Jeez, what was with me? I concluded everything I thought was wrong with me with one word: withdrawal.

I’d never really cared about smoking, but I just took it up one day. I instantly regretted throwing the controller to him yelling, “God damn it! If you’re so great, then show me how!”

In my mind, I apologized to the black-haired boy, my stomach contorting in knots. Why did I feel that urge to apologize to him? Because he was small? His innocence, maybe?

Whatever it was, I knew it wasn’t the norm for me. I hated people, remember?

He took the controller and started explaining how to kill the guy. “Okay, this guy’s quick, so you don’t want to waste your time putting together your little super moves. Instead go with fast ones.”

I was finding it hard to concentrate on his words because I was looking at his pale hands hit the buttons in a rapid fashion. All the while thinking about how smooth they looked.

Like I said, I didn’t care very much about how ‘gay’ my thoughts are. What I was really focused on was what was putting them there.

But then he was handing the controller back and I realized I wanted to see his hands hitting the buttons again like that. Perhaps I had a hand fetish…

“Finish what you started!” I retorted at his gestures to return the controller.

“You’re the one who told me to!”

And you’re the one who made it so attractive-looking with your damn hands. I thought back, but didn’t dare voice it. How much of a freak would he think I was if I said that? I met his eyes with my gaze.

“Either you can finish it or tell me I’m special again.” I said. But I hated the fact that I was forcing him into a corner like this. Because now, either way, I won and he didn’t.

“I-I’ll just fi-finish the f-fight.” He made up his mind.

He must think I’m utterly fucked up, huh?

“You do that.” I told him, trying to keep up the arrogant tone as I looked back up at the TV, waiting for the fight to start so that he’d be too engulfed in the game to notice I was staring at his flawless pale hands moving across the buttons.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He hissed, not starting the game.

And again, his tone made something in me snap and I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing his shirt collar.

“You’re my fucking problem.” I growled, pulling my arm back. It felt so wrong saying that though and my insides cringed, but I couldn’t back down. Nicotine deprivation I realized. In health I learned that the person afflicted by the withdrawal was subject to being harsh to even those that are close to them. Although, Nicolas wasn’t close to me, I still didn’t want to be a dick to him.

And then my fingers hit the flesh of his chin and there was a strange shock of emotion that I couldn’t describe. But I wanted more of that feeling. But it had just been an innocent, grazing, and brief skin-on-skin contact. I couldn’t let myself get caught up in the impulsiveness my withdrawal symptoms so I let him go instantly.

Then I let my arm fall as I whispered, “I need some fucking nicotine.”

I left the room to go down to the first floor of the house to throw on a coat. I needed a walk in the crisp winter air. Maybe I’d feel better after that.

Outside was better. Not only was it quiet enough to let me collect my thoughts, but the cold relaxed my headache that was forming.

I looked at my hand; the same hand that’d touched him. Nothing was different about it, not at all. I guess that proved how screwed up I was.

Besides that, what was with me wanting him to tell me I was special? I mean, it was all just a joke, I knew that.

I took a long, deep breath before deciding it was time to go back to the house because it was starting to get dark.

“Oh, Zero.” Nicolas’s mother addressed me when I walked into the house. “You missed dinner, but the leftovers are in the fridge.”

I nodded silently and proceeded to get myself a plate of food in the kitchen. I will admit this; his mother and Mina make fantastic cooks. And compliments from me aren’t to be taken lightly.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a winter apparel-clad boy stumbled past the doorway. Instantly knowing who it was, I snuck over to the frame and peeked out at him. He was struggling to get his shoes on before heading out into the winter air.

Where was he going?

But I decided I’d try to respect his privacy so I didn’t follow him into the streets.

After I finished the rest of the lasagna on my plate, I headed upstairs to go to sleep because I was extremely fatigued thanks to a certain drug that I couldn’t have anymore…

Besides that, my head was starting to hurt again.

But before I could even get to sleep, I was jolted aware of my surroundings by a blow to my head with a pillow. I sat up, and in the dark room, I thought it was Mina who’d done that. “What the fuck was that for?! My head fucking hurts enough already!” I growled in an aggressive voice before seeing that it was Nicolas who was in front of me and not my twin.

I rubbed at a temple to hide my remorse for screaming at him like that.

“Shut up, I just brought you something to keep your mind off the fucking nicotine.” He told me in a harsh tone as he held out a glass of dark liquid. I couldn’t define its color because the room was too dark. But I could tell that it wasn’t going to be good.

I was overwhelmed with the strange feeling I’d gotten when I’d touched him earlier as I realized that this is what he left the house for.

“Huh?” I questioned him dumbly before taking the cup, trying to avoid his fingers as he handed it to me. Although I didn’t succeed as our fingers brushed slightly and I felt the cold fingers on mine from the cold of outside.

As I placed the cup to my mouth, I gave a quick glance at him over the rim.

“I may not like you – but I sure as hell didn’t poison your drink.”

With that, my shoulders slumped as he stalked over to his dresser to pull on some pajamas.

“Don’t give me that! You said I was special!” I shot back, hoping that it would change his mind about not liking me; trying to pile evidence on him that he didn’t hate me.

“Yeah, to shut you up.” His voice came back.

I tried my best to hide my dissatisfaction before saying, “Then tell me it right now and I’ll drink this and go back to sleep.”

I gave him a long silence to answer back before seeing that he wasn’t going to. “that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you understand how dysfunctional that makes everything? It’s a fucking lie.” He gave a short, dramatic pause and then continued. “It started as a joke, now you’re just taking it too far!”

But he was right; he was absolutely right. I was taking this too far. But for some reason, unbeknownst to me, I still wanted that lie. I needed it.

“I don’t care.” I told him the truth.

“Y… You’re… special…” His voice was barely audible, but I still heard it.

Keeping to my promise, I swallowed down the liquid (which, honestly, wasn’t that bad).