Climax

Nichols

Earlier, 1:16 AM
Boy's room, Lynx cabin

I don't really care about the murder. Sure, I am aware there might be someone here that did it, but the people that work at the lodge aren't doing anything about it. They're brushing it off. "Get some sleep," they'd had said in a tone that demonstrated their disinterest. "We'll solve this tomorrow."

The assassin could be my brother, but I'm not going to straight-up accuse him without proof. Ben dislikes Madison. I understand why. She's a stuck-up. Madison doesn't care about anything but Juan, Ben's closest friend. This might all be some kind of revenge, but I can't know for sure.

Ben is my twin brother, but we don't look and act anything alike. He's the favourite. Our family always showers him with gifts and money like he's some sort of prince. I'm there, nonexistent, unseen, ignored. I call myself Nichols Anders. My real name is ridiculous. Nicholas Van Anderson the second.

I get off the bed and walk to the mirror in the washroom. The moonlight illuminates the room just enough. I brush my shoulder length black hair off my face. A glance at my wrists and I freeze. I had cut myself not so long ago. I was what society would call suicidal, but I didn't really know why I acted that way. I guess it was the feeling of unfulfillment that took over my body. I guess I felt abandoned because of my family and the unfair treatment I had received and witnessed. I never did anything wrong, at least nothing I was aware of. I guess I existed, and that was bad enough.

My parents have always wanted one son. When my mother found out she was going to give birth to two, she was brimming with anger and despair. When Ben and I were born, our parents treated him better because he fit their stupid description of an ideal child. He was blond, had blue eyes, was obedient. I was the child whose existence was denied, whose parents were embarrassed of. My childhood was a joke.

I look up at my reflection. I had dark circles under my eyes, my complection paler than the norm. I looked like some kind of delinquent, yet I was thankful I wasn't Ben's identical twin. I paused and changed my mind. I would have been the better son. I would have been likeable. People would have bothered to approach me and strike up conversations.

I looked down at my wrists and grabbed the razor sitting on the sink.

It surprisingly didn't hurt for long.

I don't know why I'm doing this.

Who am I kidding? I'm a monster.