Holiday Blues

In Loitsche, Tom was sitting in the window seat that he and Bill used to sit on when they were younger so they could watch the stars. Tom’s knees were drawn up to his chest, his arms loosely wrapped around them as he rested his head against the cool glass, looking out at the clear night sky. The stars were brighter than he’d seen in years.

A small sigh escaped from his parted lips as he wondered what Bill was doing, and if he was still pissed off. He was sure that Bill would have answered his texts by now, even if he were angry. He had even called Gustav to text him, to see if it was just he that Bill was angry with. Gustav didn’t get any reply, either, and he even called the house, demanding through the answering machine for Bill to at least text him.

Nothing.

Tom was worrying. The last few months had been horrible. Bill had begun drinking, more than the occasional beer or champagne at parties, after the realization hit. He’d spend hours sitting on the couch, in his room, in the backyard, <i>anywhere</i> drinking beer after beer, glass after glass until he passed out. And on top of that, Tom couldn’t bear to look at his brother any longer. His heartbroken eyes were too much. It was becoming too hard for Tom to be around his twin, as bad as that is. Tom was done with his anger, hatred and guilt. He was done with the tense atmosphere of the house and the sudden severing of their communication.

Sure, when they were younger, they’d easily picked up sign language and even added to it, making their own hidden language for private communication. But this… this was different. Before, they had still talked and fought. Tom had started noticing that Bill wasn’t able to express himself. He became so easily frustrated, more than he’d ever gotten, that he would snap. He would skip the sign language and yell silent words in his fury, which got him even angrier as nothing, not a sound, was expelled.

So Tom had left. He told Bill that this was shit; he was done with all of this hate and depression. He was over the dread of waking up, wondering what will piss Bill off and what he’ll throw next. He was over the apprehension around his twin, guarding his words to make Bill feel better, to make him feel at least somewhat normal.

Bill had cried. He was so livid with himself that he had driven his twin away. Tom knew that it would be hard to leave because even when they fought and couldn’t stand to be around each other, they just went off to their rooms and stayed away from one another for a few hours. Neither of them had ever left and both knew that this wasn’t something that could be fixed in an hour of alone time.

But Tom needed to get away. He needed to be away from such a depressing, hateful, angry place. He needed to stop feeling like he was losing his mind, running on autopilot. So Tom packed a suitcase and drove to Mom’s.

She didn’t ask any questions, just nodded and opened the door for him, helping him up the stairs to his and Bill’s old room.

And it has been a month, one long, exhausting month for both twins.

“Tom?”

Tom’s eyes refocused, blinking the blurry tears away. He turned toward the stairs, his mother’s footsteps coming up them. Quickly, he wiped the tears away, hoping it wasn’t noticeable; he hadn’t meant to get emotional.

Simone appeared at the top, her hand landing on the banister as she took in her eldest, a weary smile appeared at seeing him in the window seat. It hadn’t gotten much use since they started touring all those years ago. She noticed the slight red tinge to Tom eyes.

He had been crying, she thought.

She moved across the hall towards him, sitting down where Bill would have been, if he were there. She rested a hand on Tom’s knee, hoping to reassure him.

“We need to talk about Christmas,” she began, not knowing how the twins’ relationship was, if they were even able to be in a room together.

“I don’t know,” Tom told her, his voice just above a whisper, “I fucked up.”

“Tom,” she began, about to scold her son for thinking it was his fault.

“No,” Tom interrupted, before she could scold him. “I really did fuck up, Mom. I called him. I don’t know why. I just…”

He broke off, not wanting to admit that he had forgotten that Bill couldn’t speak. Well, he hadn’t really forgotten. It was more like he had hoped and dreamed so much about Bill’s voice, it was almost as if it was all real, that Bill hadn’t lost his voice.

“I miss his voice,” Tom supplied, in a soft whisper, hoping that she wouldn’t push the subject. “I hate him, sometimes. I wish he wasn’t so hurt, so distraught over this. I’m so pissed that he is depressed. I don’t know. It’s like something is eating at my heart, I can’t hate him, yet I do it willingly. And it doesn’t help that all he fucking does is drink all day. So even if he did show up, he’d be sloshed and half out of his mind.” Tom ended bitterly, looking back out the window.

Simone’s heart ached. She never thought she’d see the day when her boys, who once were so close that they were inseparable, would hate each other with such a passion that they wouldn’t speak or see the other.