Ink Taints

Bill sat stiffly; staring at the wall before him. It had posters on it. It was boring. He sighed; and tried to concentrate but it was too hard. There were all these thoughts running through his head…like why had Tom tried to kill himself?

…WHY hadn’t he gone for help…Why was…

“Bill? You need to focus,” A woman’s voice split his memory; as tears began to fall.
Opening his eyes; the teen glanced around. This was the first time Bill has ever had to see a Psychiatrist. Dr. Benita made sure Bill visited him every week; talking for hours about nothing.

“Why don’t we talk about you brother?” The woman asked; smiling fakely. “How was he to you?”

Bill shrugged.

“We were close,” He replied. “But then...in the last few months; he began to drift away. Become secretive.”

“And his tattoo was a part of this?” she asked; writing it all down. “What does it mean?”

“Tom wanted to be saved; but he was too scared that no one would help,” He whispered. “I was the one always getting the attention and Tom just faded into the background; drowning on his own problems.”

Even now; three months later; He could still see his brother smiling, every time he dreamed, but those smiles were fading, just as they faded at the end.

“And you think that if you had seen the tattoo before hand; you would have been able to help him?” She questioned.

Bill shook his head knowing that was the truth; but not wanting to admit it; unable to voice his feelings. Tom…everyone always assumed he was the strong twin; the unbreakable one and so no one noticed the warning signs. The red sleeves; tired eyes.

"Well, when you found him, what did you do?" Dr. Benita pushed. She seemed enthralled in his story, more entertained than on the mission to solve Bill's problem. "Did you try to help?"

“Yes,” Bill whispered. “I…I tired to revive him; to shake him awake. The blood was everywhere…then I drove to the hospital.”

“You didn’t ring 911?” She asked. “Why not? It would have been quicker.”

Bill’s eyes grew angry; and a sad snarl lit up his lips.

“I fucking panicked ok?” He yelled. “If your twin was dying from blood loss; wouldn’t you want to get him to a hospital quickly? Besides; I fucking DID call 911.”

Her eyes flashed to his face.

“Oh?” She said, trying to work out if he was lying. “And?”

“They were fucking busy,” he spat. “I fucking called them and said Tom was dying and they were busy.”

“So…if they weren’t busy you would have stayed there?” Dr. Benita decided.

“Yes, but it wasn’t supposed to even happen like that anyway,” Bill whispered.

“What do you mean?” Dr. Benita said quickly. “Not meant to happen, how?”

“We were meant to die with one another;” his voice broke. “Together forever. That’s what Tom promised me the day we were born. And when I saw the cuts; it broke my heart, because he lied to me. He was Tom; he was…he was the strong twin. The protector, yet he gave up and left me.”

Dr. Benita tilted her head.

“So even you typecast him?” She noted. “You say he is meant to be the stronger twin; protecting you. But isn’t it interesting he was the same; a fragile human being who no one bothered to look at hard enough.”

“But I did,” Bill protested. “I took him to the hospital; I tried to revive him.”

When the line went flat, doctors rushed in, and only he stayed where he was, holding his brother’s hand, feeling the last of the warmth leave him. He would stay there until they declared him dead, dead at seventeen, dead when everyone thought he was totally normal, when the whole world would have given anything to be him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the doctor had said as he walked him to the morgue.

Bill never answered. He only looked down at the cold face of his twin. He traced the lips that were so like his own and ran his fingers through the dreadlocks; slipping a hand down to the bandaged wrists.

"Now, what emotions did you feel once you lost your brother?" Dr. Benita probed.

Wiping a tear from his eye; Bill paused to think for a moment.

"Well, at first I felt really sad. I mean, it's your brother! You're supposed to feel sad. Then I grew angry, for not finding out earlier, and furious at Tom for not showing me the tattoo; for him covering it up and pretending like everything was ok. He could have had a chance," Bill stopped, he began to grow hysterical.

“Are you still resentful?”

Bill looked at the ground.

“How can I be?” He asked. “We’re the same. Identical. Fuck; we even have identical scars on our wrists. It just hurts that our ambitions weren’t the same.”

“How do you mean?” The pen stopped writing.

Bill rolled up his sleeve. Past the white scars that laced the flesh; some of them only three months old. Up to the tattoo emblazoned on his arm; spilling his own desires in ink.

“Mine says Freedom 89,” He pointed out. “Tom’s was on the same arm; same spot. His was a cry for help. I suppose…I suppose it was a plea for freedom in one sense.”

“Did you get it for tom?” She asked; “Because it looks new. The skin still looks sore?”

“Yes,” Bill smiled. “I got it on what would have been our 18th birthday; it was…it’s for Tom.”

“Uh-huh,” She nodded; not asking him to elaborate. “Do you still cut yourself? Is it in homage to your brother?”

Bill glared at her; eyes brimming with tears.

“Did my mom tell you that?” he whispered. “She and Gordon found out I was cutting and she freaked out. She’s not even talking to me anymore. I think she hates me.”

Dr. Benita smiled; glad to have finally gotton the truth out of him. He had been refusing to talk about his own scars every week, no matter how much she pushed.

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you, she’s just in shock,” she soothed. “Because you’re doing something that took Tom away from her.”

"The worst part is that I never got a chance to say a proper good bye. At first, I refused to attend his funeral. My step-dad convinced me eventually, he told me I had to attend, that it wasn't polite or respectful not to attend my own twin's funeral. I told him fine, but only if I wasn't forced to say a few words about Tom," Bill whispered.

"Did you?" She asked; eyes soft.

"No," he replied suddenly. "I never did. I guess I didn't accept the fact that he no longer existed. I now regret that, just like how I regret every hurtful word I have ever said to him."

"I'm sure you do, because you think that you could have affected his decision somehow" Dr. Benita scribbled down on her notepad. "So it's been three months since your brother's death, do you finally accept that?"

Bill thought for a moment, looking up at the ceiling as he did so.

“I think so,” He sighed. “I think I accepted it a few weeks ago; when we turned eighteen. We were legally adults, and I cried because Tom couldn’t be there to celebrate.”

“What else?” she asked.

“I think getting my own tattoo helped;” He smiled slightly. “When I got it done; I felt like I was close to Tomi again, like he was there holding my hand. It made me realize that yes; Tattoos are art, but we need to look deeper. They have hidden messages, and mine is a tribute to my brother.”

Bill looked out the window; staring into the late afternoon sky. Suddenly; a timer trilled; and their time was up.

*

Bill lit up a cigarette and wandered aimlessly down the street. That session was…different to their normal ones; and for once, Bill felt somewhat calm.

Until he noticed everyone around him.

The whole neighbourhood knew about Tom’s suicide, and word had spread quickly about Bill’s own self-mutilation. Bill held his head high…yet still felt slightly vulnerable under their judgmental glare and he turned abruptly, slamming into people as the raven-haired teen rushed away, trying to run from the tears that pricked unsympathetically at his eyelids…

“Fuck this, I was so fucking happy…” He whispered. “Fuck everyone.”

The autumn leaves caught his eye and Bill walked into the sheltered sanctuary of the cemetery. He crossed over to a headstone near the oak tree and sat down before it, letting all his emotions out.

TOM KAULITZ
Beloved son, grandson, and twin brother.
May you rest in Peace.

Bill vigorously rubbed the stone, hoping to erase the name that was carved right into it. Maybe if he erased the name, Tom would come back? It was highly unlikely, but Bill still attempted...

“I saw Dr. Benita today, Tomi,” He whispered. “And I was fine. We talked, and I only cried once. That was when I thought of you the last night. But when I walked out; and saw everyone staring at me….Tom, they fucking judge me without knowing shit.”

He sighed; pressing his arms closer to his body.

“I…I like this, talking to you. It makes me feel like you’re still here, I guess,” Bill paused, expecting to hear some sort of reply. But he was only greeted with the whistling of the wind. He continued any ways. “And…I miss you.”
He rubbed at his tattoo.

“It’s funny, cause the star tattoo on my hip didn’t hurt as much as the one on my forearm, maybe because this one has such meaning to me?” he asked. “But anyway; I just wanted you to know how brave you were; getting it done. I suppose I envy you in some ways; because now your life…can I call it that?...is so simple. Mine is harder.”

He looked around; watching the other people walk through the graveyard.

“I…Do you remember that time, before you died; when we were in your room, just after you got your tattoo?” He played with his hair. “I remember it so well. I loved being so close to you; closer then we were in months. But it also made me realize something.”

He took a deep breath, before admitting something.

“Tom, I loved you so much,” he whispered. “But…I loved you as more than a brother should. How is that possible? I don't know. Maybe it's the little smirk from you that I've come to miss, or those hazel eyes identical to mine. It's kinda weird, almost like saying I'm in love with myself. But it's so true. I just hope you felt the same at some point in your past life."

He pondered for a moment.

“And I think maybe, you wanted to love me back…but you knew for a while that you were going to die, and that’s why you never committed to me,” Bill decided. “I guess that’s ok…but….it still hurt a little that you left me all alone.”

“I’m tired of cutting; but I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop right away,” Bill smiled slightly. “It still makes me close to you; and I love that so much. The way our bodies are the same again. Like our tattoos, different words, same meaning, I think.”

He pressed his hands to his eyes; trying not to cry.

“Tom, I love you. I love you so much, you wouldn't believe it. It's hard for me to picture you dead, resting peacefully six feet under me. But I've finally came to accept that just today. I hope you're somewhere better, somewhere where you don't feel any pain." Bill sighed. "My tattoo was only the first part….this is the first time I’ve come here to see your grave and I guess I came here to tell you just that, and to say good bye to you once and for all.”

Bill kissed the headstone; and stood, brushing dirt from his pants. As he walked away; a photo slipped from his back pocket, showing him and Tom. It was strange; because on their forearms; their tattoos swirled; yet when the photo was taken, neither had the ink…

…but then; Ink was irreversible; tainting the flesh with truth. Truth that one had to look hard for; to find the deeper meanings…