Guilt.
I can't escape it.
It tends to crawl under my skin and poke at me in all the wrong places, to force shame into every destitute corner of my mind. It reminds me of all the ways that I'm lacking, and of all the ways that I will never be perfect.
Not as perfect as Angel, anyways.
"What do you want to eat, Alex?" my mother asks me from across the table.
I take out my left earbud, pretending I didn't hear her question just so I could have more time to prepare a lie. The sound of the bustling waterpark fills my ears as I pause my music and I look at my mother in confusion.
"What?"
Truth is, I heard her. I just needed another second to perfect my lie.
"What do you want to eat?"
I gulp, forcing the dishonesty out of my mouth in rehearsed uncertainty.
"I'm not hungry."
My stomach pangs in protest, although the sounds of rushing water and screaming children are loud enough to drown it out.
"But you didn't eat breakfast."
"I know," I begin. "My stomach's been hurting, though. I don't really have an appetite."
My mother shoots my dad a confused glance, my lie not sounding as convincing as I would've liked. She studies me for a moment, her brown eyes looking at me worriedly.
"You've been having these stomach aches a lot, lately. Maybe I should call the doctor."
I move my gaze from her to the water tube rental station, where I can see my brother and sister returning their tubes.
"I don't think it's anything serious," I add, praying I can play it off. "It's probably just a stomach bug. It is January, y'know. Everyone gets sick in January."
The thought of them finding out about me makes my lungs heave and burn, the chlorine scented air of the indoor waterpark not helping my cause very much.
I try to keep my calm, although the thought of going to the doctor is terrifying. They'll find out how much I weigh, and they'll find out that there is, in fact, nothing wrong with my stomach.
In short, my mother will find out that I am not the boy she raised.
I'm not the perfectly sweet and mentally stable kid she knows. I'm a wreck, and my weight can prove it.
"He's right, Ramona," my dad adds, looking at my mother. "Everyone gets sick in January."
"Angel and Lucy haven't gotten sick."
"Wait—speaking of Angel and Lucy," my dad states, not responding to my mother as he changes the subject. "Where'd they go?"
Now that the conversation has been driven away from my nonexistent stomach problem, I put my headphones back in, no longer interested in the world around me.
Truth is, I didn't even want to come here today.
I told my mom how much I hate swimming, but knowing her, she persisted, claiming we needed to spend time with each other. I mean, whatever. I've had my headphones in all day anyways.
I am surprised that she even wanted to come to a waterpark, though, seeing as she never wears anything less than long sleeves in public.
My mother's past history has made her reluctant to ever go swimming in public, let alone wear summer clothes. Even on the hottest of days she'll be wearing a sweater, covering up her past in a bubble of shame.
My father hates it, as he insists that she shouldn't feel ashamed of her past. I can't help but agree, although it's not my place to say anything. After all, I refuse to take off my shirt and go swimming today.
I went well over my calorie limit yesterday and I was unable to purge it all out, so to say I feel disgusted with myself would be an understatement.
I reach down towards my bag to pull my sketchbook out, although I stop when I feel someone flick the back of my head.
I clench my jaw and pull out my earbud, looking behind me to see a soaking wet Angel, itty bitty Lucy holding his hand.
"There you are," my dad announces before I can speak. "We were gonna ask what you wanted to eat."
I give my little sister a goofy smile before putting my earbuds back in, once again reaching down to grab my sketchbook. If I'm going to spend my Sunday afternoon stuck in a waterpark, I might as well do something productive.
Mrs. Weber, the art teacher, recommended me for this huge art contest, and I've got to start planning in order to get my entry finished in time. If I get selected as a finalist for this art gallery, I could have a huge shot at some top-notch art schools.
I'm about to start drawing when someone viciously yanks out my right earbud.
"Alex!"
I inhale sharply and look up at a smiling Angel, my grip around my pencil tightening.
"I swear to god, you're deaf."
"I'm not deaf. I was just drowning you out with my music at a very high volume."
"That's bad for your ears."
I look straight up at my brother with a stoic expression, still unsure of how the hell we're actually twins. The physical similarities are there, but as far as behavior goes, we couldn't be more different if we tried.
"I don't give a fuck."
Lucy's blue eyes grow wide as she stands next to Angel, her wet blonde hair hanging from her head like overcooked spaghetti noodles.
"Bad word!"
My mother gives me a scolding glare.
"Language, Alex."
"Yeah. Sorry."
"Anyways," Angel sighs, bringing my attention back up to him. "I need to talk to you."
"Oh no. What ever did I do this time?"
He stares blankly down at me, not impressed by my sarcasm.
"Chill. It's not bad."
"Whatever."
I throw my sketchbook down on the cracked, plastic table of the waterpark, standing up next to my brother as Lucy heads over to our parents. He nods his head for me to follow him, and I do, groaning internally the entire time.
This better be important, or else he gets a nice sucker-punch and a shove into the kiddy pool.
Angel leads me away from our table and past the children's area, to a small pool with only a few people in it. It's calmer in this corner of the waterpark, although the noise is still just as loud.
Seriously, whoever thought indoor waterparks were a good idea must have been crazy. The sound echos off of the walls and the sickening smell of chlorine is trapped inside, making every bad thing about waterparks condensed into one fucking room. A terrible idea, if you ask me.
Angel sits down on the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in the water. I slip off my sandals and do the same, the cool water rushing around my shins.
"What did you do?" I ask, already expecting the worst from Angel.
Of the two of us, he's the stupid one. He probably got someone pregnant or smoked a toxic strain of weed.
I'm not sure if I want to know which one is true.
"Dude," he breathes, and I can immediately tell something's on his mind. I don't particularly care, though, as heartless as it is.
"I think I fell for someone."
Okay. Definitely not as bad as I expected.
"That's what you had to tell me? That you fell in love with a girl?"
"It's serious."
He shakes his head and moves his feet around in the water, thinking deeply.
"Angel," I begin with an irritated sigh. "You don't date. You fuck girls and then you ditch them. At least that's what you usually do."
"I know. But my stupid ass got attached—the worst part is, I don't think she likes me back."
I have to look away and bite my lip to keep from laughing at the irony.
He's the one who's always playing girls and hurting them. He's the one that ditches them.
And now a girl is giving him a taste of his own medicine.
"That sucks."
I tried to say it without laughing. I swear I did.
But the second it came out of my mouth, I burst out into laughter.
"I'm glad you think this is funny," he states as he glares at me. "But at least I can get a girl. At least I'm not a fifteen-year-old virgin, like you."
I shrug, not affected by his words in the slightest. The fact that I've never had a girlfriend or had sex honestly doesn't phase me. At least I won't end up with syphilis.
"At least I'm not a fifteen-year-old slut," I fire back, which earns me a hard punch on the bicep.
"I'm not a slut."
I rub my stinging arm and roll my eyes in irritation.
"Angel, you've literally slept with half of the sophomore class. If you keep going at this rate, you'll have to start downgrading to freshman girls."
"Ew."
"Exactly."
He leans back, propping his body up with the balls of his hands.
"And for your information," I add. "I don't care that I'm a virgin and that I've never had a girlfriend. I'm perfectly happy in my introverted bubble."
"Whatever you say, skinny penis."
"I don't have a skinny penis."
My words come out louder than I want them to, which earns us a couple of weird glances from a group of girls swimming in the pool.
"Okay," I announce, standing up and slipping my sandals back on as the girls start to stare for longer than I'm comfortable with.
"I think I'm done here."
Angel frowns, standing up from the poolside and catching up with me as I walk back towards our table.
"Really, Alex? You don't want to talk with your favorite brother?"
"You're my only brother."
"Which makes me your favorite by default," he quips.
I shake my head, thinking quickly of an insult to deflate his huge ego.
"I think you're the one with a skinny penis. You just try to compensate for what you're lacking by sleeping with every girl you meet."
His mouth drops open and a smile creeps onto his lips, shocked that I'd challenge his ego so harshly.
"Nah, Alex. I got a thick dick."
I give him a hard shove on the shoulder as he laughs uncontrollably, my parents giving us a questioning smile as we approach the table.
"Fuck off," I mutter.
My heart drops into my stomach as I see that my mother has bought us food, although I'm a bit relieved that she didn't buy anything for me. The last thing I need to do is eat.
"You sure you don't want anything?"
I glance at my mother as I sit back down in my chair, grabbing my headphones.
"I'm sure."
I slip my earbuds back in as my family eats their lunch, picking up my sketchbook to begin planning my project for the art gallery contest.
I don't get very far, though, as it's hard to concentrate when I'm constantly being annoyed by Angel. He keeps tapping me and making me take out my earbuds just to ask me stupid questions, and after a while, I grow sick and tired of it.
I pick up my phone and shoot him a text, hoping I can shut him the hell up.
Tap me again and I'll tell mom about the weed I found in your room.
It does the job, because Angel shoots me an annoyed glare and closes his phone, going back to eating his food. But even when he's not continuously tapping and annoying me, his presence still makes me angry.
It's a rude thing to say about my own brother—I know that. But I can't help it. He's so god damn perfect, and he's everything that I'll never be.
He's the kid my dad wants to tell his friends about. He's the kid everyone's proud of. I mean, how could they not be?
He's on three varsity sports, has enough wit and charm to last a lifetime, and gets everyone's sympathy because of the large scar across his muscular chest. And just because he had a heart defect when he was a baby doesn't mean he's a saint.
He's a player and a cheat, and the only reason he can keep up his C+ average is because he cheats on every test.
But the adults don't know that, and all the jocks at our school seem to think he's great. Girls fawn over him, guys want to be him—the list goes on and on.
But it always comes down to this.
I'm the kid they didn't want. I'm the introverted version of the superstar that is my brother. I'm not in sports, I don't have a list of girls lined up to date me. I'm just me.
But unfortunately, I don't think that will ever be good enough for anyone.
I'm just Alex, the boy who looks identical to his slutty twin brother and never really talks.
-
"How many have you had today?"
I look up from my phone and glance across the table at Jason.
"Two hundred sixty," I respond, grimacing at the number.
It's already lunchtime and I've practically eaten all of my calories for the day. I'm never going to win if I don't step my game up.
I can see Jason trying to hold back a proud smile.
"I haven't eaten at all today."
"Wow, aren't you cool," I state sarcastically, my eyes trailing around the lunchroom. "I had to eat breakfast this morning. I didn't wanna seem suspicious."
Jason nods.
"I get it. I'm only two pounds away from winning, though."
I glare at him, his skinny frame making me ache with jealousy. His parents don't pay much attention to him, which gives him the freedom to starve as much as he wants. Mine, on the other hand, will actually notice if I stop eating.
Having caring parents sucks in this case, mainly because Jason always wins our little bets. He always loses the most pounds, and he always eats the least calories.
But he's also two years ahead of the game, unlike myself. I've only had eight months to start losing weight.
"You're at an unfair advantage. You've been doing this starving thing for longer than me. And on top of that, your parents barely acknowledge your existence."
The bell rings, signaling the end of the lunch period.
"That just means you have to work harder, Alex," he says as we stand up and collect our bags from the cafeteria floor.
"I'm trying."
"I know. If it makes you feel any better, you look great."
We walk side by side out of the lunchroom and towards our next class, keeping our voices low as we make our way down the crowded hall.
"I'll look even better when I'm finished losing."
Jason shakes his head, a dry chuckle escaping his lips.
"You and I both know that it's never enough. You're always gonna want more."
I shrug. "So what? It's just dedication. Dedication to perfection."
He nods as we stop in front of my locker, his sandy blonde hair falling into his eyes.
"Well said, my friend."
I offer him a small smile as I open my locker and pick up my chemistry textbook, a feeling deep in my gut telling me that it's not right.
I know that none of this is right. The starving, the fact that our friendship is based on our stupid weight competitions, and the countless nights that I go to bed with an empty stomach.
It's all wrong, and it keeps placing a mountain of guilt on my chest. Although in the end, the feeling of my painfully empty stomach is the only thing that can make me feel okay on most days.
Funny how that works out.
"Anyways," I announce, changing the subject as I slam my locker door shut. "I think I have my piece for the art contest sketched out. It looks pretty good, in my opinion."
Jason stuffs his hands in his pockets, listening intently to me as we make our way towards chemistry.
"That's good. I know Mrs. Weber wants the sketches done by tomorrow."
"Yeah. Have you started on your entry yet?"
He shakes his head. "Nah. I'm not doing the contest anymore. I decided I'll skip this one."
"Really?" I raise an eyebrow. "This is the biggest contest of the year. It could mean college scholarships—"
"Alex," he interrupts. "I'm not going to college. And I don't care about art enough to put in that much work. Not everyone is as dedicated as you."
I want to say more, because I wish Jason would stop discarding himself and his future. He's brighter than he thinks he is, and watching him slowly lose motivation to keep up with his classes and with the art competitions that we've been doing since last year really hurts. It worries me, because I want the best for my best friend.
But the warning bell sounds as we walk into chemistry, and I decide it's best to not say anything. If Jason wants to give up, that's his decision.
We take a seat at our lab station and throw our bags underneath the table as students file into the classroom.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom. Be right back," Jason says.
He dips out of the classroom and I slip my headphones in, hoping to drown out the sound of people until class starts. I stare blankly at the door as other students enter and watch as Angel and his friend Sean come in.
Angel doesn't talk to me, nor does he really acknowledge my presence. I can't blame him. I mean, it's not like I make an effort to talk to him at school, either.
We're just from two completely different social circles—Angel with the jocks and me with the art nerds. It's no wonder we clash so much.
I watch everyone go about their business with a bored, uninterested expression, though I flinch when someone taps me lightly on the shoulder.
I wasn't expecting someone to actually interact with me.
I take out an earbud and turn around, holding my breath once I realize who's actually standing in front of me.
It's Madelyn, and she's innocently holding up last night's homework.
"Sorry to bother you." She speaks softly, her voice sweet and confident at the same time. "I just couldn't remember—was this due today?"
I open my mouth to speak, my mind drawing a blank when I realize that she's literally standing less than two feet away from me. Her cheeks are rosy and her eyes are an icy blue, a perfect complement to her dirty blonde waves.
Christ on a bicycle, focus, Alex.
"Umm—Yeah, it is."
She gives me a smile and nods.
"Okay. Thanks."
She walks away without another word, and I'm left with nothing but my racing pulse and the leftover scent of her delicate perfume hanging around me.
I glance around the room in a trance, only snapping out of it when I see my brother making googly eyes at me from across the room. I clench my jaw and turn back around in my seat, reminding myself that it's never going to happen.
Madelyn would never go after me, which I've known since, like, the second grade. She's an introverted, sweet, and beautiful girl. And while she may not be one of the popular cheerleaders that my brother likes to fuck, she's the kind of girl that I could only ever wish to be with.
So why the hell she decided to ask me, of all people, about the homework, strikes me as odd.
But I can't read anything into it, and I know it's probably because I'm one of the only people in this class that isn't a jock or a popular kid.
I watch as Jason strides back into the room and slips back into the seat next to me.
"I miss anything?"
I take out my headphones and shrug, as I hadn't even realized that our teacher had started talking.
And as hard as I try to pay attention to whatever my teacher is saying, the only thing I can focus on is the pain in my stomach and the strikingly beautiful girl sitting two seats in front of me.
Both of which are tearing me apart.
-
A/N
Ah!! I really love this book and I'm so excited to share it!
I update on fridays, so I will see y'all next week with a new POV!
-also, just curious, how many of you came from Yours Truly, Ramona ? Did you notice Ramona's role?