The hurt was sharp in the beginning, having to pretend. There was a barbed fence between him and his brother now. It made him sting and bleed and cry, where before there was only an open green field, sunshine and his twin.
Their Ma always eyed them now, it seemed. She asked them at least once a day what was wrong with one or the other, depending on who she was talking to. They were cagey and tired more often. But neither would say a word so after awhile she stopped asking and assumed it was just growing pains. Everyone gets them after all, and they were twins…why shouldn't they suffer them together?
They didn't share the bathroom anymore. If Connor was changing Murphy would hide behind a book. If Murphy wandered in with only a towel just out of the shower, Connor, blushing, would remember something he left downstairs.
There were no more hugs, no sharing a bed. Murphy remembered the night when the pain almost broke him. He had the most horrible nightmare, Connor had fallen ill and for some reason Murphy knew it was his fault. There was nothing to be done and next thing he knew he was standing over Connor's grave.
He woke with a start, tears streaking his face and the echo of his strangled cry in his ears. He looked over to his brother's bed to see that he was alive, that it had only been a dream. There was once a time when Connor would crawl into his bed and hold him when he woke cold and frightened. Now Connor laid there wide awake in his own bed. He stared in silent pain at Murphy, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
I'm sorry.
He rolled over to face the opposite wall, simply not able to look at Murphy any longer. Murphy felt a cold fog of sorrow slowly numb him from the inside out. He let it lull him back to sleep.
xXxXxXx
It got easier to pretend after that. Every week that passed dissipated some of the cold that clamped Murphy's chest. During the day they bantered and joked, walked side by side to school and church.
They both chatted up the girls, caused good-natured mayhem on the playing fields and got good test marks despite horrible homework grades. They still knelt side by side with their rosaries on Sunday. It felt almost normal again. During the day, Murphy could even admit that he felt happy.
It was the night he hated. Night brought only torture. Murphy came to dread going to sleep. He noticed that the easier the pretending got during the day, the more his dreams tormented him at night. He would wake in a shivering sweat, hard and desperate with Connor's name on his lips.
Connor burned him still, and even though it was his own hand on his cock, for a brief shining moment in his thoughts Connor burned away the cold that clawed him. DreamConnor always made him come hard in a blinding fury of heat. But he had not the substance to fight the cold that always came afterward, when Murphy would realize that he was actually alone.