half-submerged by his own long limbs. I threw my keys in the corner, turning the bag of bed sheets inside out all over him. He made a noise that might have indicated protest, had it only been a little more conscious.
âMove over, Rennie,â I said, flopping down on the futonâs edge. Methodically shucking and chucking jacket, boots, jeans, bra. Then, still receiving no reply: âMove the fuck
over
, Rennie. Now, not later.â
He squirmed lengthwise, as if scalded. I kicked enough of the rest of him out of my way (lightly, gently) to slide in beside him, pull the sheets as far up as they could possibly go and curl up there in the red dark, breathing slowly, holding my head. Hoping the next thought I had wouldnât be the one to finally make it shatter.
A minute or so of blessed silence. Then, tentatively: âYou okay?â
âNo.â
âOh.â A pause. âYour head hurt?â
I sighed. âYes.â
Another pause. A few more breaths, staggered and stretched. Heartbeat and aftershock matched pulse for pulse, lighting my skullâs fault-lines up like a neon map.
âWant me to get you anything?â
Oh, just the last five years to do over. And another whole life before that, while youâre at it.
âIâm tired, Ren. All I want is to sleep.â
âSure,â he said, like he understood. Adding: âMan, you know I know the feeling.â
* * *
I slept through most of Friday, part of Saturday. I needed it. Something had run out in me without warning, like an emptied engine, leaving nothing but fumes; as far as I could see, there wasnât much worth waking up for. I heard Rennie moving around, flipping channels, snickering to himself as he mimicked the cast of
Law & Order
. Once, somebody knocked at the doorâmaybe Leo, maybe our legendary landlord. But neither of us answered, so they went away again.
Later on, when the credits of
Neon Rider
were just starting to blare, Rennie called: âHey, speak of the devilâLeo catch you, at the Laundromat?â
âI saw him.â
If youâve been in really bad pain for a long time, its absence becomes almost good enough to qualify as pleasure. Thatâs where I was now, caught in languorous inertia, barely listening while Rennie rattled on.
âThat guyâs a serious perv. I mean it, Roâhe wants your body.â
âUh huh.â
I could feel his tension mounting. I knew what I had to do, but I couldnât get myself awake enough to care. Maybe I just wanted to see what would happen, the longer I let it slide.
And would it have killed him to do it himself, just this once?
3:00 AM. Global went out in a whine of test-pattern, and Rennie slipped back into bed.
âIâm cold,â he complained.
I turned on my side, fetus-curled away from his desperation. âYouâre always cold,â I muttered.
âRohise, Iâm cold. Iâm hungry.â
âIâll get you something.â
âWhen?â
âSoon.â
With no TV, the apartment seemed twice as empty as it actually wasâlike some semi-permanent party had all just decided to go out for pizza. Rennie touched my shoulder, his hands chill with need. Asked, hesitantly:
âHold me, Ro?â
ââKay,â I said, rolled back the other way, and drew him to me.
* * *
Thereâs something about a sibling, either having one or being oneâless intimate than twindom, less escapable than marriage, so much more chancy than any other relationship. Jos saw Rennie like a bad Xerox of me, unfuckable and uninteresting. Our Dad saw us like owned things, principalities in the familial city-state. Mom saw us so rarely, between trips to the Clarke, it was kind of like she never saw us at all.
I looked at Rennie and saw myself, echoed but not reproduced, hero-worshiped into a flesh reflection at least twice my natural size. An addictive image.
But just like anything else