The Twins & Me

Every Game Must End

I try to right myself by the time Ollie's turned back to me. Arlo's shouts and bangs on the door are loud enough to wake the dead. I make a move to stand, to go to him, but Ollie stops me with one red-stained finger pointed in my direction.

"Don't you fucking move."

"Oliver, this is insane," I say, though my voice shakes. My knees are trembling and I'm trying to hold back tears. He's going to punish me. He's going to hurt me.

"Ollie!" Arlo's shout, followed by more bangs.

But the older brother ignores him, instead strides over to where I'm rooted to the chair.

I tense, ready for the slap or hair pulling or the ripping off of clothes or the beating or the hogtying or the ropes or the blindfold or the gag or whatever he's going to do, but nothing comes.

Instead, he drops to the carpet in front of me and leans back against my legs and inspects his bleeding hand.

I'm still tense, waiting for something to happen to me, anything, but the only sound comes from Arlo's desperate cries on the other side of the door.

"He loves you," is all Ollie says.

"I love him."

His back arches slightly, as if stung by my words. I wish I could see his face.

My adrenaline is pumping and I can't stand to hear Arlo's suffering. "Please open the door. This is more my fault than his."

Ollie laughs, it's harsh and bitter and hurts to listen to, like he's mocking me. "Look at how you make him act."

"Oliver!" Arlo's shouting now.

"You're doing this," I say, though my voice cracks. "You're in control, here, okay? You're in charge. You've proved your point."

Still, he doesn't make a move for the door. Gently, he wipes the blood on his own shirt. The cut is in the palm of his hand—all those smashed bottles in the kitchen are a testament of his anger, I realize. "I never thought anyone could make him act like that."

My hands grip the edge of the seat. Arlo's cries are becoming desperate.

"Teapot!" he screams. "Fucking teapot, Ollie!"

But Oliver runs a hand through his hair. "Never thought anyone could make me act like this."

He shifts a little, and before I can think about what I'm doing, I lunge off the chair.

One of his hands makes a grab for me, but his fingertips brush my calf. The next swipe that comes at me catches me around the ankle and I fall on the carpet, hard. My elbow throbs with a shooting pain as I try to get to my feet again, but Ollie's on top of me.

"How'd you do this, Wren?" He asks as we struggle—

He pins my hands over my head, sticky with blood, and I can finally see his face.

His cheeks are red, eyes blurred with tears. They drip down his nose, onto my lips. Salty, sweet.

"How did you get me to feel this way?" He asks, voice hoarse. "I've never wanted anything like I've wanted you. But he"—he jerks his head at the door, where Arlo's gone eerily quiet—"He's the only thing you care about."

I'm stunned—by the pain in my elbow and back, the tears being dripped onto my face mingling with my own, the confusion and desire in Oliver's eyes.

"I do care about you," is the only thing I can manage to say.

Oliver stares at me, searching for the lie, but he won't find one. I watch as the pain turns into something else, a different kind of hurt. Maybe one that can only be earned when your forbidden wish comes true and you can't quite believe it.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he does care about me. But does he even realize it, yet? Does he even know how to care for someone other than Arlo? And now, faced with the possibility that my feelings for Ollie are real themselves, can I face up to them?

Slowly, he releases his grip, rolls off of me.

I sit up, my arm groaning in protest. Then I get to my feet and shakily hobble towards the door. Ollie makes no move to stop me as I release the lock and swing it open.

Arlo's leaning against the opposite wall, head in his hands. At the sound of the door, he jerks his head up and jumps at me. His face, like both Ollie and mine's, is wet with tears.

"Are you alright?" He asks, checking me for marks. He cups my face gently and stares into my eyes.

I nod, but I'm numb.

"Fuck," he mutters, pulling me against him. "And what the fuck, Oliver?" He demands, over my head.

Oliver doesn't reply.

I pull away from Arlo, look back at the older brother. His back is to us, but we watch him wipe his face with his sleeve. Then, after a few moments, he rises and turns to us. A smear of blood on his cheek, which he doesn't seem to notice or care about.

"Time fits the crime," he says, brushing his fingers through his hair.

"You freaked me the fuck out," Arlo says, but the twinge of relief in his tone is unmistakable.

Ollie gives him a shrug, then a knowing look at me. "I'll start a bath," he says. "You two reek of sad vibes."

Then he's striding towards us, the open door.

I catch his forearm before he can make it past. He stops, a little startled, and turns.

I stare up at both of them. My whole body aching. I feel like I might drop down dead from exhaustion and trauma. I'm not sure I can process my feelings for what just happened, but I can clearly see the twins'.

Arlo's begging for Ollie not to hurt me, the way he shielded me from his older brother, who he loves and trusts more than anyone else in the world. Ollie's explosion in the kitchen, the cut deep in his hand that he's barely acknowledged, like the pain means nothing to him. He did the one thing he knew would hurt Arlo above all else, which was to take me away and leave him alone. He ignored the safeword. He cried in front of me.

This was easy when just Arlo was the serious one with serious feelings, and yet we've found ourselves here. Hadn't we planned for Ollie to get bored all along? To move on from me, leave us alone? Did he punish Arlo for loving me, or was he punishing me for loving him?

Where, along the way, did he start feeling for me? And, Jesus, where did I start feeling for him? Somewhere, this stopped being a game.

"I think I need to leave," I say quietly.

"You should have a bath first," Arlo says gently, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "We should all chill a little after that."

"No," I shake my head. "I mean leave leave."