15

"So, what is there between us and the worst scenario? They say having a mental/emotional illness is just like having diabetes or some other disease, but the thing is they can choose to take the best treatment there is. For us, that's a different story. We can get the treatment and it may or may not work, or we might not be able to afford it, because, really, is mental illness really as bad as the homeless guy who lost his leg and arm? There's no squirting blood, and our hearts aren't stopping anytime soon. Not to mention our insulin is probably fine. The pills they have only help, not magically take it away. And even then medication is a crapshoot at best.

So back to my question. What is there between us and the broken, sickly creature that everyone is disgusted by, including ourselves? What is the secret between the survivors and those who only failed at killing themselves?"

We murmured to each other over our hot chocolate, barely above a whisper. Neither of us wanted to be overheard. I told him about my parents and how I had lived with my teacher, then on my own, and how I tried to be more comfortable with myself by decorating off my mom's bedding.

In return, he gave to me, in much more precise and eloquent words, the story of two six-year-old boys half starving in a Romanian orphanage, and the trust they only really shared between each other. Though one brother seemed to adjust more readily to being social and having friends, the other found people far too shallow, and only really kept his heart for his brother.

"It's hard, when you're…so much smarter than everyone else," he said, carefully. "People don't like being around know-it-alls or even someone sharper than they are. You have to learn how to behave in such a way that hides that gap between you, so they can be comfortable. I never saw the point to that. I always thought it was best to be myself, and my parents seemed pleased in the fact that they had such a smart son. I wanted their approval much more than anyone else, and Gene…" he always stalled a bit whenever he said his brother's name. "Gene was enough company for me. I didn't really think or about how close we were until he was dead. Then it was like he'd taken whatever part of me still lived and left some dead shell behind wearing his face."

I smiled. "You only feel comfortable talking about your feelings because I'm a girl, huh?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Where did that come from?"

"Oh, I was just imagining if I was a guy this conversation may turn out differently."

"ADD much?"

"Hey, woman brains are better at multitasking."

"I don't care how good you are, I can't see one thinking about two different things at the same time. Are you even listening?"

"Yeah! Of course I am!" I was actually offended by that. "Were you?"

"Yes. Even though most of it I had already inferred."

"Inferred? What are you, Sherlock?"

That line smile that wasn't quite a smile. "I could be."

And it was just enough of a smirk to give his cool eyes a cocky gleam that did nothing to deter his handsomeness.

The weird part was, I knew he wasn't exaggerating. For the first time, it made me grin rather than roll my eyes.

"Smart is the new sexy." I leaned over my hot cocoa and took another sip. I was nearing the bottom. "Why haven't you ever tried to get a girlfriend? You know how unbelievable it is that you're, what, however old you are and haven't even tried for one?"

Now he frowned. "I've had a girlfriend before. Just because I don't have one now doesn't mean I couldn't if I wanted to—and there's the rub. I don't want one."

I cocked my head to the side. "Gay?"

He just gave me the cool 'you're a moron' look for that.

I wrinkled my nose at him. "Hey, how am I supposed to know? It's not like all the gay men of the world are flamboyant about it. I'm sure there's a gay James Bond hidden somewhere."

He just rolled his eyes and finished off his hot cocoa. Apparently, he didn't feel the need to verify his sexuality to me.

"Soo…" I didn't want to leave this comfortable atmosphere had I finally gotten—this…sense of seeing someone and being seen for the first time. I was ready to start any kind of conversation, no matter how awkward it was, to stay here. "So this, or these, girlfriends…can I have the story?"

He lowered his cup. "Why?"

"'Cause I'm curious. We're bonding, aren't we?"

His face scrunched up as though thinking about gagging at that sentence—or at the very least leaving.

Maybe being okay with the awkwardness of the conversation wasn't a good idea.

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?" he asked. "Isn't that the favorite pastime of college students? And, as Takigawa said, you aren't ugly enough to deter all men." Another almost smirk. "Though I've seen some pretty ugly women attached to the lower dregs of society."

I stared at him. That wasn't cool. "Would it hurt you to call me cute?"

"Probably."

But his almost smile had twitched up as he said that.

I thought of the dream him—or rather, his possible twin brother—and the wonder such a smile had done to his face. Oh, if only I could see such a smile on Naru's face. The rarest smile of them all.

"Well, aren't you an adult," I said, my eyes jumping between his mouth and eyes. "But that's okay, because you aren't cute at all."

"I would hope so." He paused. "Stop flirting with me."

"I just called you ugly!"

"But you have the look."

"Excuse me?"

"We should probably head back." He tapped the bottom of his cup against the table. "And I'm out of hot chocolate. I assume you are too."

I hefted a sigh and slid off the barstool to the tall, tiny table we had been seating at. He followed after me as we dumped our cups in the trash and headed back outside.

"But really," I said, as I walked through a door he held open for me. "Do you just not like girls?"

"I like women," he said, a bit stiffly. "Do you like men?"

That actually made me pause. I put a finger to my chin and thought long enough to make him wonder.

"I sure like looking at them," I said.

I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "Looking, but not touching?"

I shrugged. "Haven't really bothered to touch that many men besides, you know, hey-get-out-of-my-seat and hey-take-my-hand-or-I'm-going-to-fall-down-this-cliff."

I heard a puff of breath that could have been a newborn laugh. I looked over.

A smile. A small one, nothing like the room filling sunbeam on the twin in my dream. In fact, if I hadn't been watching for it, I might have missed it or thinking I just saw his straight line version.

For the first time, looking at someone made my breath catch. My chest pinched.

"This is why I like reading your reports so much," he said, and I could even see his teeth through that smile. "Yeah, they suck and you have the vocabulary of a middle schooler, but you mix up what words you do have into creative ways—no, silly, stupid ways."

"Were you trying to compliment me? Because I feel like I just got backhanded." That's right. Breathe.

"Take it however you like." Then he turned his face to me so I got the full brunt of that little smile. "I don't connect well with people. Romance is all about connecting, is the strongest kind of connection you can make. And the one time I got a girlfriend she ended up liking my brother anyways." Any trace of smile vanished and the almost scowling default expression returned.

I winced. "That would give anyone an inferiority complex."

He snorted. "She wasn't that smart anyways."

"Again, you sound like a haughty eight-year-old."

"Sure. So what's your issue?"

"Um, lots?"

"With men."

"Oh!" I thought some more, if only to see if his face would change. "It's kinda lame, actually. I was afraid of connecting with someone and it blowing up in my face, either because they found out I was an uncaring sociopath or because I didn't meet their needs and then the whole abandonment thing." I blinked. "I got an abandonment complex fear thingy, don't I? Kids left by their parents usually do. So there. That's my issue. All self-diagnosed, and I didn't even have to use google."

"You know there's a mental wellness institute on campus that provides free services for students, right?"

I sighed and looked up as the cloud of my breath vanished into the light-bleached night sky. A car whooshed by, pushing a draft of freezing air past my coat. I shivered.

"I was afraid they'd verify that I was a sociopath," I said. "And…I kind of don't like the idea of some stranger poking around in my head and feelings. I just wanted to…"

What did I want?

But my professor said, "Agreed."

When the Victorian mansion loomed into being, I paused outside the gate, reluctant to leave the safety of our bubble.

He noticed I had stopped and turned just inside the garden walls. He didn't say anything, just waited.

"I still want to die," I said, almost whispered.

"Still? Even though you know you aren't a sociopath."

I puffed out a breath and looked to the sky, my eyes burning. I couldn't look at him anymore.

Because it wouldn't happen…

"Don you still want to?" I asked. "Neither of us should go in there."

"Maybe we'll have to babysit each other," though his voice said he didn't like the thought of that at all.

I smiled. See? Wouldn't happen. Especially not with me. Plain, sad, broken me.

"Hey, if you don't do anything funny, I don't care if you crawl into bed with me," I said.

Even though I wasn't looking at him, I could almost sense the cold 'you're stupid' look.

"You've never done anything physical with a man beyond holding hands and shoving?"

I rolled my burning eyes and brought my chin down to give him my most skeptical look.

"Seriously, Naru? The fact I haven't should prove I have no experience, and therefore I won't even be able to rape you." I smirked, even though my eyes still threatened tears and my chest hurt. "Or do you want me to rape you?"

He raised a hand. "Don't go there."

But as we went inside together, he ended up following me to my room after dropping the gun off at his room. There, without a word, we slid into the same bed, careful not to touch, and listened to each other's breathing until we finally fell asleep.