Welcome To My Life
Seven years ago I met Tony. My little brother's newest best friend. He was the shortest sixteen-year-old that I had ever met. I didn't like him at first. He seemed like a normal private school snobby brat. I didn't like any of the kids from Bruce's school. But when he came around in his normal clothes that weekend, I had a change of heart. Clad in black, skinny jeans and an ACDC t-shirt, I knew we would get along. And we did. My brother was always one of my best friends. Being twins did that to you. But Tony quickly became one of my best friends too. Within a few weeks, the three of us were inseparable.
Around seven months later, Bruce came home with a broken nose. He said that some of the other boys had been making fun of Tony and he had gotten into a fight with them. Our parents told him off and took him to the hospital. But later that night I told him that I was proud of him for sticking up for our friend. I thought nothing more of it. Until I caught him sneaking out of our window at 2am. He told me that he was just going for a walk to clear his head. I knew he was lying. I always knew. But I just told him to stay safe. I didn't sleep at all that night. The next morning he walked into our room with nothing but a towel covering his waist. He has bruises all over his stomach and arms.
He didn't want to talk about.
Tony stopped coming around after that. But Bruce always went around to his house. I was never invited. I don't think they realize how much that hurt me. I became isolated. I had no friends. I was so lonely. It was one thing to lose a friend, but it was another thing to lose a brother, a twin. Bruce was four minutes younger then me. So naturally I had always been slightly protective of him. But now it was almost as if he had died. Except I still got to see him on occasion. Our parents didn't even notice when he was gone. They both worked long, hard hours to pay for our mortgage and Bruce's private schooling tuition. I went to the local public school. Bruce was always the favorite. But at least he had friends. Along with Tony, he had made another three different ones. I only knew about this because of our once a month family dinners. I didn't have him anymore, but I learnt to cope. At least my parents still loved me. Even though I didn't see them all too often, I still had them. They still cared.
Until they were in a car wreck five months later. Five months of thinking I had nothing. Then all of a sudden it got so much worse. Dad always drunk more then the average person, he never drove home drunk though. I guess he just made a terrible decision that night. I was home alone when I found out. It was a typical Tuesday night for me. I was making myself a ham sandwich for dinner at ten when the doorbell rang. I assumed it would be one of the local children asking to collect a ball from the backyard. It always surprised me how late their parents let them stay out. But it wasn't a child. It was two, slightly older male police officers. The moment they took their hats off, I knew something was wrong. My first thought was that something had happened to Bruce. I still cared. Even though he didn't. They explained to me what had happened and they asked if I would be okay here alone. I was too numb to speak. So I simply nodded and closed the door.
It was midnight by the time I got around to calling my twin. I was surprised that he even answered the phone. I asked him to come home. He told me he was busy, and that he would see me on Saturday night. He hung up and I just sat in the middle of the room on the floor. I couldn't move. I couldn't cry. I couldn't even make a sound. That was it. I had lost everyone. I had nothing. It wasn't until the police pulled him out of school the next day that I saw him. I was sitting on a cold, yellow, plastic chair when he saw me. I must have looked dreadful. I had started crying a few hours ago, and I just hadn't quit. I just couldn't. He stopped dead in his tracks and just stared at me. It was rare for me to cry. Even Bruce had not seen me cry since we were both seven. I had fallen out of our tree house and broken my wrist. I think he could grasp that this was a million times worse then that.
It had been one whole year since I had had physical contact with anybody. So when Bruce's friends all came down to the station to comfort him, I admit that I was quite jealous. He didn't even talk to me. He just called them and like a flock of sheep, they came running. Well, not literally. Tony drove them all down here. The cops had told us that since we were still minors, that we would have to be split up and sent into foster care. But Tony was having none of that. He rang his mother and told her everything. She joined us within 20 minutes. I had only ever met her once, when I was still friends with them. She had made me pancakes and we talked about everything while the boys were all upstairs. That day, she was the closest thing that I had ever had to a caring mother. The police explained to her that there was only a less then 10% chance of my mother ever waking up, and that we would have to be put into care without delay. She immediately offered to take both of us in. All of a sudden I had a glimmer of hope. I would get to see Bruce every day again. We could be together once more. I had missed him terribly. It felt like a piece of me was missing when he was not around. But then Bruce said seven short words that would change my life forever.
"I don't want to live with her."
My world came crashing down around me. I never got to find out what I did wrong.