Fused

It's short story time!

They say it only happens 1 in 2,500,000 cases. A rare occurrence. A miracle.

A freak show.

Me and my brother, Simon, are conjoined craniopagus twins; that's the posh, scientific name. We share some vital parts of our brain that apparently can't be separated. The whole 'having our brains conjoined' thing is kind of annoying, really. There are a lot of things we can't do. Mainly girls. Yeah, I know it's crude, but seriously, I can't pick up chicks looking like this. I don't blame Simon, I couldn't- but teenage relationships are hard enough without adding an extra “body” into the relationship.

I don't think Simon feels the same, to be honest. He's more into numbers, the logic behind things, patterns. I doubt he even notices girls, and if he did, he'd just try and label them, class them and fit them into his organised systems. He's also into reading. I don't see the point though, why read the book when you can just watch the film?

Matt is in love. He assumes that I do not know. But he is unable to keep secrets, not from me. We can't keep anything from each other. He doesn't even need to say anything; it is there, dwelling between us, a too-ripe fruit bulging in its own decadence.

Her name is May, but people call her Sprite. She is what people refer to as “bubbly”, but to be honest, I do not really understand the connection. I think it is a rather silly name. I know Matt likes her, and although I have never looked into his eyes- I can feel it, consuming him. Twisted as the pathways that interlink us, as though our veins and arteries were the delicately spun web of a spider. Fragile. I know he's in love, because it hurts him. Sometimes I feel him look at her. He wants to be separate. Normal. But that would make us broken. I am a burden.

Simon's been reading more books recently. Loads of thick, medical textbooks that he's found, with such captivating titles as “Conjoined Twins: Developmental Malformations and Clinical Implications”. It makes a change from all the counting and grouping he does, that's for sure. I don't know what's brought it all on, maybe he wants to become a doctor? Like that's going to happen.

Sprite called earlier. She asked me to her party. Me, Matt. Not Simon. Though of course he has to come too. The invite was for me. Sprite invited me. Maybe I could get Simon to write me a song for her, he's ace at guitar, he likes anything musical, I think it's the rhythm. Everything is about patterns with him.

So we're going to this party tonight. Attending social events is not high on my list of priorities. Matt spent forever trying to do his hair. Not that it matters, it always looks the same to me, his dark brown hair styled so that his fringe covers his left eye. The thing is, although we're technically identical twins, we don't look the same. My face, crushed against his in such a manner has become increasingly distorted. My eyes cave inwards, stretched, consumed by his. We both have blue eyes, but whilst mine are tinged grey, masked by the film of my declining vision, Matt's remain alive, glowing with the subtle warmth of fairy lights. He's also the taller of the two of us, my feet curl under, strained with the pressure of our conjoined bodies. I feel parasitic.

Whilst Matt showered us both in the intoxicating scent of too much cheap cologne, I stared through the window, gazing at the small puddles being formed. I start to count, one, two, three, one, two three. I like the repetition. The constant patter of the rain, beating out a rhythm that seemed to play for only me. The rain was sprinkling down in a symphony of music. Singing. It was the first notes of a colossal thunderstorm. Rising with an anger that consumed, the air was thick, enveloping. As though in the stages of a pubescent boy changing into a man. Lightning burned through the sky, scarring it with diamond arms. The wind didn't just whistle, it wailed, screaming as it was battered about the trees. Crackling. A cacophony of booms and bursts shot out in startling precision, like a sniper using the commotion as ammunition. Ominous clouds drifted over, the maestro in this celestial orchestral battle. One, two, three, over.

My head ached. At least the party was indoors.

She's beautiful. When she opened her front door, I was stunned. She stood there in front of us, but it felt like it was just me and her. In our own little bubble. Her emerald dress clung to her in ways I had only imagined. The music that greeted us when she opened the door, silenced, as I gazed at her. I hadn't realised Simon was trying to pull us inside, away from the rage of the sudden storm.

“Your face looks nice.” I stammered. Your face looks nice? She must have thought I was crazy, but she smiled, leading us inside to the mass of bodies. My ears filled with the sound of deep bass, so loud I felt it as it vibrated through the floorboards. Simon looked uncomfortable, I could hear him counting to himself. I felt a little guilty, since he really hadn't wanted to come. I promised him I wouldn't drink, but, by that point, I needed it.

I see Sprite, she looks stunning, her red hair piled up high, her pale skin exposed so deliciously. Then she's gone, enveloped in the mass of bodies. I look for her, where has she gone? I feel a cool arm on my neck, our neck, and she's right there, next to me, kissing me. Her lips taste sweet. My heart races, I hear laughter, but it's not really there. She's so beautiful.

I'm counting to myself. The room was full of undulating bodies, their neat arms and legs flowing, graceful movements despite the vast quantities of alcohol being consumed. The air smelled of happiness, of sweat, of pleasure. The musics steady beat, soothing. One, two, three. My head was burning. Matt was lost to the music, to his baser instincts. I felt him kiss her. My body tingles with the sensation of her, I can feel it too, through my brother, my life support, the person I am killing. Everything's a blur. We're in this bubble, this crystal ball, exposed yet trapped by its cool, infinite sides. I don't want this to stop. But it know it will. It must.

This has got to be better than anything I've ever done before. Even the time I tricked Simon into smoking weed with me. I feel light, free. He's still here of course, but it's like I'm flying. Don't let me crash, not yet.

It's like that scene from The Labyrinth, there are people, but they're just other faceless entities, swirling and laughing at their own private jokes, then surrounding us, closing in. Everything seems to come crashing down, the scene in my mind's eye is smashed into little pieces. A song plays, the words reverberating in my head. I wonder if Matt can hear them.

Falling in love, as the world falls down.

Tonight I was going to tell Matt about the tumour I suspect is festering inside me. I'll think I'll leave it till the morning. One, two, three. Over.