Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling
Lamentations of a Twin
Let's go to the park.
The sky is full of storms. Above him the clouds swirl into a funnel as a dangerous omen of the moments to come. Fierce and wretched and relentless, the sky mocks as it has every day since the war has been won. He looks to the sky, trying hard to see through the clouds for a hint of bright blue. For anything .
He hasn't seen the sunshine for so long, but he looks over at Angelina and her eyes squint as she basks in the sun's rays. Her skin glows, her lips try hard to smile, and she looks beautiful, so beautiful.
His head shakes as he breathes out. His heart breaks as he watches her face crumble., her eyes turn dark, her lips fall into a frown. He opens his mouth to say something. Don't cry. Yes, of course we can go to the park. For you, anything for you . But his mouth opens and he says nothing, nothing.
He hasn't spoken in so many weeks. He's talked of course. He has ranted incessantly to her in moments when the quiet of night brings ghosts into his presence. He has looked into her eyes, seen misplaced love somewhere within the depths, and rambled until the thoughts of her kissing him and her loving him leave his mind.
He has dreams some nights. Legs intertwined, hands grasping at each other, lips hovered near the other in anticipation. Then, his eyes open, he sees her at the funeral teary eyed, feels her head on his shoulder, remembers nights after when she kissed him for the first time.
He wonders some times if she realizes how much they are using each other.
I don't want to go to the park.
He doesn't look at her when he says that. He doesn't want to see her disappointment. He doesn't want to see the glint in her eyes die yet a little more. He doesn't want to know what she is thinking.
Fred would have known. Without even thinking about it, he would have known. Fred would have taken her to the park, pushed her on the swings, buried her in the sand. And he would have tagged along with the happy couple, a random girl on his arm, a few jokes in his pockets. There would be laughter and fire whiskey, and fireworks because on nights such as those there has to be fireworks in the sky.
Fred would have kissed her cheek, reached his hand into the swift night air, and pulled a star out of the sky for her. Fred would have given her the world with nonchalant grace.
I had wanted to pick flowers. I thought… I thought maybe we could go see him.
She slips her hand into his own and she can feel him stiffen. He breathes out and walks away from her.
George.
He doesn't look back but can feel her coming up behind him. She wraps her arms around his waist and leans her head into his back. She's crying he knows, although there are no tears in her eyes. It's in her voice, constantly.
I don't want to see him.
George, you can't… you can't keep doing this to yourself.
He looks at her, and as much as he loves her, as much as he needs her, there are moments when he is disgusted by her.
As if he doesn't know who she sees half the time he is with her. As if he doesn't hear her crying when she thinks he is asleep, whispering his name ever so lightly against her feathery pillow.
What about what you do to yourself?
What? I don't… I don't understand.
He opens his mouth to hurt her. To say words he knows will stab her right through her heart. Somehow, he wants to rip through her innocence and tear at that resolves and leave her raw in front of him because then maybe he won't have to stare into her eyes and see his brother looking back.
I'm not him, Angelina. Not anymore. I am not that guy anymore so whatever past you are trying to recapture…
Recapture? George, I love you.
He shakes his head and turns around from her. He paces in a circle for a few moments because he wants to be that guy again who felt something when someone looked at him and said that. He wants to twirl her around the swing set, waltz through the sprinklers, roll with her down a hill and know that after disaster, happy endings do come.
He wants to stop punishing himself and finally forget.
You'll always love him, Ang. I'm just… I'm just the guy who reminds you of what you lost.
She staggers back, as if he had struck her. His hand is tingling, and he feels as if he had. He looks at her, her broken stare in the aftermath, and the anger within him is gone.
How can you say that to me? That I'm using you?
Ang, stop…
No, you have been doing this long enough. Who are you, George? Do you even know anymore?
He doesn't answer her, because the truth is, he doesn't know. Without Fred beside him, he has no idea how to be a person anymore.
I loved your brother, George. I loved him so much. And I grieve for him and miss him and sometimes I do wish he was alive. But I'm not with you out of spite. I'm with you because I want to be. Because at the end of the day, you're the one I want to be near.
She is crying, real tears this time. She looks so beautiful that his eyes begin to hurt. It has been months since he has been able to see beauty in anything, and looking at her is harder for him than staring at the sun.
As if she is too pure, too wonderful, for her to be befouled with the likes of him. He was once like her, and now he looks at his hands and feels tainted. He feels as if his brother dying had destroyed a part of his soul.
Sometimes I fear that his ghost will always be between us.
Sometimes, if he closes his eyes hard enough he can see him when he opens them again. Laughing and running, pranks falling out of his loaded pockets as he floats carelessly through the air. When he sees Fred, there is always laughter, always smiles, and that, he realizes looking at her, is why he has not been able be properly free since the death. Because the part of him who loved jokes and smiles was buried with his brother.
And that's why he loves her, because she looks at him and sees the old him and the dearly departed Fred, and has enough faith to believe that one day the laughter will come back, the clouds will recede, and he will be George again. Even if Fred is gone, he will be George again.
He has never stood on his own before, never been without Fred. And he has been so afraid these past months to say goodbye and solidify that remark he will make for the rest of his life, "Yes, once I had a twin. He died, though… in the war. But, once he was there and you, you would have loved him."
George, don't you get it? Don't you see? Fred lives within you now. So don't you kill him all over again! Don't you kill yourself over regret! I look at you, and see Fred, and know that I love you both.
Angelina, I… I want to be so many things for you.
He falls onto the damp grass and begins to cry. He feels warm, all of the sudden, and looks to the sky, bleary eyed, and sees the sun peaking through the clouds. The sun!
He closes his eyes, basking in the warmth, and sees Fred. He is running, fast with his broom in his hand, beckoning, always beckoning, George to follow. He is still so young, Fred that is, forever a boy and somewhere inside of him George is glad that this is how everyone will remember his brother.
Laughing and pranking and young. God, they are all so young.
She kneels on the ground in front of him and lifts up his face.
Let me help you to remember.
Her lips are against his ear and she lifts them up and kisses him.
Let me help you to believe.
He stares behind her, and watches as Fred fades away into sky. He looks into her eyes, and thinks that maybe, maybe, he had loved her even when she was Fred's girl. Maybe he had always loved her.
I love you, too, Ang.
They kiss as the sprinklers turn on all around him. He breaks away, laughs on impulse as she chuckles into his shoulder. He lifts her head up, runs his hands through her hair as she fingers his wet locks, and kisses her again.
END