Twin Complex: three is not a crowd, it's a tragedy - Chapter 2

Despite its pains, I remember my childhood rather fondly. During holidays, wealthy patrons would take in orphans,—on the rest of the days, I would play until late. Erica loved to run,—sometimes we’d make a run from other kids.

I don’t consider myself unlucky. Ergastulum was well into the Peaceful Era—

—I understood happiness only in retrospect.

Each of us is born with limited potential,—I must have read it somewhere—perhaps we are born with a set amount of hope. We burn it through life, then look upon childhood with rosy spectacles. What you’ve overcome you can only hold tenderly,—there’s nothing to compare beginnings to, and anything is better than nothing.

The old maid used to say "mornings will tell you how the day will go", and you can tell what a child will grow into from the moment they are born. Would it then be best to not grow up at all?

---

The orphanage was designed in good taste; the rooms and halls were spacious, and the tall windows let in abundant light. It even had a courtyard at the back; the grass wasn’t always well-tended and ferns grew along the damp walls; but at least it was a place kids could play. A handful of oak trees broke the monotone greenery, and under one of them two little boys sat down.

“You can always come to the residence. They have better food,” the dark-haired boy said, patting his companion on the back. Delico pulled off more grass strands, shaking with silent anger. His fair complexion looked even paler in contrast to the red bruises on his cheeks, and his right eye was threatening to swell.

“Deli!” the approaching voice called out in concern. The little girl was done with errands, and ran all the way from West Gate to get back to her brother quick. She hardly minded running; her twilight makeup showed no fatigue, and she loved the wind on her face and how the world became a blend of colors. But presently she wore an expression of worry, as she stood in front of her split image.

“It's because you don't stand up for yourself!”

Yang opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated when Erica turned to him. He wasn't faring any better than Delico; there was dried blood running down his nose and a cut on his lip. The girl's eyes searched for a tag around his neck or lack of.

“Will you hurt him too?”

Delico shifted his gaze from one kid to the other, tears welling up in his eyes. He feared Erica's recklessness and her willingness to take on bigger bullies. Worick used to joke she bit off more than she could chew, not knowing that peculiarity would come back to haunt them one day.

“I’m not a coward!” Yang boasted. “These guys gang up on twilights, then scramble the moment someone tells a teacher.”

The girl dropped her hostility for the time being and knelt down in front of her brother, stroking his hair. Yang looked up through the tree branches at the clear summer sky, unsure of how to react to the familial display at his side.

“I’m Erica. And you’ve already met my brother Delico.—What is your name?”

“I’m—”

---

Yang couldn't positively recall where he was and what he was doing there. He looked around the room, but it didn’t help the lights were dim and the decor was unlike that of any restaurant in Ergastulum. A sudden headache crept up on him and he rested his elbows on the table, pressing against his temples with both hands.

“You alright?”

He slowly raised his head to meet the woman’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t—I don’t remember your name.”

She was sitting across from him and there was a gleam of amusement in her gaze. “I hear that a lot. Men can’t be bothered to complicate their lives.”

Yang shook his head in confusion. It was one thing to forget a name or even fake forgetfulness, but presently he was only sure of his growing headache. He tried to take in the woman’s features.

“Did we already order?”

“Uh-huh,” she answered, taking a roll from the bread basket on the table and placing it on her plate. His eyes caught sight of the wine bottle next to the basket. Did he drink too much? Was he blacking out because the wine had gone to his head?

“This is such an elegant place,” she spoke again after a long silence. “Worick said you needed some comforting, but do you really have no one? You seem sweet...”

Comforting? Yes, Worick had joked he needed to get laid because—his train of thought got derailed by a sharp throb around his skull. He tried to focus his eyes on the woman, gnawed by the suspicion that their surroundings kept getting darker and indistinct. He hadn’t noticed before how her hair was light in color.

“... you didn't have to take me to dinner, but it's nice—”

“I—I really can’t—there’s somewhere I need to be.” The certitude of those words scared him; where did he have to go? If only he could get rid of the headache…

He bent his head down, stammering an apology. “I'll cover the tab and a cab home. The rest you can bill to the Monroe residence; Worick knows how to find me. I just—I will find the waiter...” He abruptly stood up and staggered across the room full of shadowy figures.

“Will you abandon me once more?”

Yang turned towards the voice, stepping unwittingly on to a waiter’s way and causing the tray and all its content to crash on the ground.

 

 

He woke up on the floor having pulled the comforter down with him; his body heavy with the counterintuitive exhaustion that follows a very long sleep. He kept lying on his side with abandonment, eyes dilated and watching dust particles dance in the sunlight that crept beneath the bed. Like a child with spare time engrossed in mundane things.

“Yang? Yang!” The voice outside the door brought his world into focus. The carpeted floor had cushioned his fall, but offered no protection against the cool morning air and Yang shivered. There were hard knocks at the door and by the time he rose, the person on the other end was twisting the doorknob.

“Getting dressed!”

The battery of knocks ceased.

Yang sighed, annoyed by the guest's urgency but also relieved the terrible headache was now only a ghost memory. He flung the comforter on the bed and answered the door in the same t-shirt and pants he woke up in.

“I heard a thud and got worried—are you—Yang?” Her confident voice turned timid at the sight of blood draining from the man's face. She pushed her way into the room worried his legs would give in at any moment. “Maybe you should stay in bed for the day.”

Yang turned his back to her and walked across the room without a word. The woman shut the door and followed, ready to catch him by the shoulders if he swayed on his steps.

Sitting on the bed Yang tried to collect his thoughts. As he looked at the woman dressed in Monroe’s staple black suit, her softer but assertive features and smaller stature, there was no doubt in his mind as to who she was. The deep blue eyes and silvery blonde lashes were the same as her brother's, and Yang turned his head away that he may not see them.

“You're acting strange. Are you unwell? We can call Theo if you want.” The woman spoke in a matter-of-fact tone and reached for the desk phone next to the bed.

“No!” Yang retorted, grabbing her wrist with a swift gesture. In a split of a moment he let go, as if her material form burned like hot coal.

“Then explain what is going on.” She dragged the chair from under the desk and sat on it, watching him with folded arms.

“I got startled.”

“Is that really it?”

“Erica—truly, I'm fine. I know my room, the Monroe Residence. I know who I—we are. It’s just a bad dream.”

The little light passing through the shut curtains fell on her face and softened away its neutral expression, but if brooding or pity stirred underneath Yang couldn’t tell.

“What did you dream?”

“Some sort of blind dating event…”

A quiet chuckle graced her face. “Yeah, those can be pretty terrifying…”

Yang laughed at the response, his face slowly regaining color.

“Can you believe it? I made the waiter drop his tray!”

“You were brave! I wouldn’t dare show up.”

“Delico is not here, is he?”

Erica knitted her brows. “Yang, it’s been over ten years. You should know.” Her voice sounded weary and she spoke with a lowered gaze. “Sometimes I get haunted by what I said. He was weaker than me and if something happened—”

“Erica, I'm glad you’re here!” Yang broke in ardently. "I know; I'll go back to bed. I'm probably running a fever and don't make much sense. But I'm glad, truly glad.”

He propped the pillow up against the wall and dragged his feet on the mattress, pulling the comforter over them. “It's almost like you're sick-nursing,” he said sitting with his hands folded neatly on his lap, and looking straight at the wall before him, like a compliant child.

“Neither of us ever does that.”

“You never get injured.”

“No.”

He wondered what rank was etched on her tag.

Erica straightened up in the chair. “I still think we should talk to Diego and Theo. But for now I'll bring you food from the main hall. I can eat with you if you want.”

“You don't have to.”

“I want to! Plus recently I don't really like being there—the new recruit, Ivan—I hate how he looks at me; like he knows something I don’t, something I have no way of knowing. And his corny jokes aren’t even funny!”

Yang frowned in response. He was positive Ivan harbored no good intentions towards Erica but it was strange not to know how that thought came to be.

“It's fine as long as he doesn't cross me. I'm this family's best asset after all.”

She rose and went fast across the room, that Yang only managed a meek smile as she turned her head one last time before closing the door. Left alone in the dim room, he sank into the realization that the more time he spent inside this mirrored world the more it would begin to make sense, and submitted to the fear and relief that came with it.