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It happened on the night of senior prom. Dee had picked out the perfect dress, a pink gown that nipped in at her waist and flared out in a cascade of tulle and taffeta at her hip. A real princess dress. It fit her perfectly, hugging her slim frame in all the right places. But when it came time to get ready for the dance, her mother insinuated herself into her room, catching Dee just as she was pulling it on. "Ah-ha," she said, narrowing her eyes in that way of hers that was a perfect balance between icy, radiating contempt and smug satisfaction, "I knew you'd try to sneak past me. You didn't think I would let you go out without your back brace, did you?"
Dee's heart dropped into her stomach. Frozen, she stared at her mother in shocked disbelief, a sensation of dull horror slowly seeping through her veins. Going without the back brace was the whole point of her appearance at the dance tonight. Finally, people would look at her, see how beautiful she was, and realize they were wrong to have bullied her and dubbed her the Aluminum Monster all those years. Mother knew that.
"But Mom," she pleaded.
Mother's Botox-riddled face was a mask of cruel indifference. "Put it on."
Over the hideous metal contraption, the zipper of the dress didn't even make it halfway up her back. Her mother looked on as Dee tugged and wriggled. "Maybe if you weren't so fat, darling, you would be able to wear nice things," she remarked scathingly.
Their eyes met, Dee's filling with tears, her mother's shining with victory. Both women knew that Dee would not go out tonight, could not go out after this. No sooner than the very second the door closed behind her mother than Dee let out an agonized scream. Her hands flew to her head, seized hold of the up-do she'd spent so long perfecting. She took a deep intake of breath. Then yanked. Electric needles of pain seared into her scalp, a sensation like ripping off a strip of duct tape melded into the flesh. Sweet release came with a sudden give. She let go, tufts of blond hair falling from her fingers. Then she pitched herself onto her bed and broke into sobs. Fuck Mother. Fuck everyone. Fuck the whole universe! Darkness surged inside her, thrashing like an angered beast. Filling her mind with images of blood, screaming, houses going down in flames. Dee dug her nails into her covers and squeezed tight, bracing herself as if she were an epileptic experiencing a fit. Pressing her mouth against her pillow, she uttered another scream.
This went on for several minutes, until finally she tired herself out enough that the swirling nova of rage, despair, and negative energy retreated into the faraway corner inside her where it belonged. What remained was a steady pulse of dejection and self-pity. From her window, Dee watched her twin brother depart in the limo that Mother had rented for him. She seethed with envy. It wasn't fair. Dennis got everything and she got nothing. The bastard didn't even deserve it. This was the night Dee'd been looking forward to for her entire high school career, the one special night that was supposed to make up for all the shitty nights she'd spent at home alone watching terrible Lifetime movies and gorging on chocolates instead of going to an actual high school party. Of course, in his own way Dennis had been looking forward to this night as well. Ugh, he was gross. Dee sank back onto her bed and wept.
After about an hour, her parents vacated the house to go out to dinner. Dee trudged downstairs and into the kitchen, swiping a bottle of vodka from the liquor cabinet. She sank down onto the floor, back pressed against the cabinet, and took a swig. The salt of tears streaking down her face and into her mouth mingled with the sting of the vodka. For a brief second, the risk of drinking in the open occurred to her. Then she thought, fuck it. She took another swig. And another. The edges of the room blurred, smoothed out. The darkness inside her retreated farther into its corner, quieted somewhat. Dee sighed. Another swig and she felt the tears drying on her cheeks. She wasn't sad anymore, just numb.
As usual, however, like all the scant periods of peace that the universe afforded her, the moment didn't last long. Floating in her buzzed state, Dee heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Huh, that was fast, she thought. Usually Mom and Dad lasted a little over an hour on one of their nights out before one of them made a scene. The front door opened and slammed, followed by a shriek of catastrophic anger that made her bolt up, scared into alertness. "That bastard! That fucking savage, low-life, piece-of-shit bastard!" Dennis blew into the kitchen like a hurricane, hair askew, suit wrinkled. His eyes were wild and crazed, darting all around the room. They fell upon a large knife on the counter. He advanced towards it. Oh, fuck, Dee thought.
With supreme effort and force of will, she got to her feet and flung herself at her brother just in time to grab hold of the knife as he withdrew it from the knife block.
Dennis turned his bloodshot, glowering eyes on her. "What are you doing?" he barked, trying to yank the knife out of her hand.
Dee tightened her grip. "What are you doing?" she retorted. Because as far as she could tell, she was thwarting her brother from either a) slitting his wrists or b) going on a killing spree. Given that her brother was a raging narcissist and certifiable lunatic, option b seemed more likely, but he was getting increasingly unpredictable these days.
"I can't let him get away with this!" her brother ranted, as if he hadn't heard her. "He has to pay!"
Dee scanned his face, searching in its lost, rabid-dog look. "Who has to pay?"
Dennis looked at her as if she were stupid. "Tim Murphy!" he snapped, with another forceful tug.
Dee frowned. Tim Murphy was a nice guy. As a matter of fact, before Mac and Charlie, he'd been Dennis' only, sort-of friend. "Tim? Why?"
She'd stuck her hand directly into a wasp's nest. Dennis's face twisted and contorted, as if a slew of demons writhed beneath his skin. Dee could see it, the darkness gathering in his eyes like ink blots; he was her twin, after all. The answer came in an animal growl. "Because he slept with my prom date." His outrage bolstered by the memory, he grappled for the weapon, twisting and yanking with increased aggression.
Dee fought with him, beads of perspiration rolling down her neck and trickling down the back of her dress. Typical, she thought grimly. You start the night thinking you're gonna go to the prom and end up wrestling your brother for a knife. Panting, she gritted her teeth and held on, mentally noting that this moment could make for an interesting chapter in the memoir she'd write once she became rich and famous.
"Let go, goddammit!" Dennis screamed, flaring his eyes at her; his pupils were huge and disoriented-looking. He was breathing heavily and his curls, which he'd spent an hour painstakingly styling (she knew because their bathrooms were right across from each other and she had to listen to him cuss about it as she'd gotten ready) were plastered to his forehead in sweat. Looking at him, Dee felt a twinge of fear. Maybe he'd truly lost it this time. This fear was quickly overturned by a flash of anger. Damn it, Dennis was making her ruined night even worse.
"You let go, asshole!" she yelled back, and kicked him in the leg.
Dennis howled. "You dirty bitch!" He gave the knife a savage jerk, finally wresting it from Dee's fingers. It slipped from her hands ... and sliced into the flesh of her wrist.
Dee yelped in pain, clutching at the spot. "You cut me, you asswipe!" Dark blood began to ooze from underneath her palm.
The sight seemed to shock her brother back to reality. He leaned back, wavering a little on his feet like someone coming out of a stupor. His eyes lost their haze and widened, and his hand flew to his mouth. "Oh, shit! Dee, I'm so sorry!"
Inside Dee, a frayed string twisted and snapped. "Sorry?" she screeched. "Fuck you, you bastard!" The urge to start crying again swelled up in her chest, but she choked it back down. "This was supposed to be my night! Now look at me!" In a hopeless gesture, she tugged at the skirt of her gown, her hands leaving bloody prints in the pink tulle. "I'm a bleeding mess!"
Dennis' jaw hardened. "Hold on." He turned and rummaged through the drawers, withdrawing a rag which he ran under the sink. Gently, he pried away Dee's fingers and applied it to her wound. Dee squealed at the sensation and tried to turn away, not wanting to accept his help, but he held her. "For God's sake, sis," Dennis grunted, "be still so I can clean you up."
She turned her head away, focusing on the tall, black shadows of the two of them cast upon the wall. Twin shadows. "I can do it myself," she mumbled.
A frustrated sigh. "Always so stubborn."
"Shut up."
For once, Dennis chose wisely not to respond. Dee heard him look through the cabinet underneath the sink where they kept the first aid kit. He came back with a bandage. Dennis turned her hand so that it was palms up, the cut glistening slick crimson in the dim light. Dee would have twisted her hand away, but his touch was tender, so unusual for him, that she didn't rebel. He inspected the wound with furrowed brows. Then, slowly, he wrapped the bandage around her wrist. Dee studied her brother as he completed the task, wondering at the way his lips pursed, reflecting a caring and concern that she'd rarely seen in his face. Gradually, her gaze shifted to encompass the rest of him. He looked nice in his suit. Very gentleman-like. Handsome, even.
Feeling her watching him, Dennis completed the bandaging and looked up. Their eyes met. Each pair was a mirror of the other, revealing all the thoughts and feelings that were running through the two of them. Dee shivered. It was almost creepy. She watched Dennis' eyes sweep over her dress, lingering with curious intensity over the stain of blood, and then glide back up to hers. Something lit up in them.
Before she could even process what was happening, their faces lunged towards each other, and their lips met. It was like plunging underwater, Dee's mouth opening and Dennis latching on with his, sucking, pulling her down down into some strange and wonderful abyss. Fierce and terrible monsters lurked there, stirring up the darkness in the corners of her brain. But Dee swam away from them, towards her brother. Dennis was moving his hands all over her greedily. Over her back brace, uttering soft moans. Dee was moaning, too, feeling her underwear grow moist as Dennis' hard-on poked her though his pants. His hand moved up to caress her breasts, breasts which he so frequently had derided as being too small throughout their high school careers. Not too small for you now, huh, she couldn't help triumphantly musing. Wait a second, she thought again. Alarm rippled through her, prompting her to open her eyes.
This was her brother kissing her, touching her. Her twin brother. And she wasn't even supposed to like him. Her stomach knotted, sending up a jolt of nausea. Oh god, what the fuck were they doing? Dee shoved Dennis off, ignoring his gasp of surprise and protest. Hastily, she stood up, smoothed out her dress. And then she ran, wiping at her mouth as if to erase the invisible mark of his lips. She left him there, confused and hurt-looking, calling after her as she fled to the sanctuary of her room. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell. The line ran an endless loop in her brain as she locked the door and settled on top of her bed, cradling her knees against her chest. Her heart was thumping so fast she thought it would explode.
"Dee? What are you doing?" she heard Dennis shout from downstairs. She rocked back and forth.
It was just because they both had been sad and alone, each bitterly disappointed on a night that had promised them so much, she told herself. It was because they both had felt adrift in a world that had rejected them. Because they were broken and desperate to be unbroken, two jagged pieces clashing together in order to feel whole. Because they harbored such darkness inside of them that was always trying to get out. Because despite their squabbles they really did love each other, just not in that way. No, never in that way.
They didn't speak of it again. Nor did they speak of any of the other incidents that followed.