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It's been a month since Aaron killed Drake Spear. Moonlight shines through the window and onto Aaron's bed. He gazes at the spot the light hits the floor. One month since Drake, since he found out the truth about Andrew's time with the Spears, about why Andrew had told him to fuck off in that letter. A month since Aaron truly realized Andrew's childhood was far worse than what he thought and that maybe his life wasn't so bad after all.
His gaze travels to his hand where specs of Drake's blood once settled onto his skin. He hated Andrew so much for killing his mother. He hated him so much for locking him in that bathroom, for taking away his escape from reality, for forcing him to stay with Andrew since he couldn't protect himself. It was his own fault Tilda had died. Andrew made it through more than Aaron could ever imagine, and yet he still held himself together. What if the roles were reversed? They should have been. Aaron knew he wouldn't have survived that life, but it somehow seemed deserved he have it instead for how he treated his twin.
If the roles were reversed, Andrew could have protected himself against Tilda. He could have a good life. All it would have taken is Tilda picking the other twin to keep. He sucked in a deep breath, struggling to keep the tears from spilling over. It's illogical to imagine the roles reversed, to wish he'd understood sooner. And for a brief moment he really does wish it had been Andrew Tilda kept. He stole the better life from Andrew. It may not have been his choice, and even if it was, he couldn't have known Andrew's future, but it felt like his fault nonetheless. Aaron punched the bed frame, and his strength gave out, the tears soaking his cheeks. Why did Tilda keep Aaron? Why couldn't Aaron fight her? Why couldn't he have recognized Andrew was fulfilling his promise? Why did things have to be this way?!
His fingers wrap around tufts of hair, the same way Tilda had grabbed him from time to time when he flinched away from her one too many times. He pulls so hard broken stands stay tangled around his fingers when he finally lets go and stares at his hands again, imagining Drake's blood. He closes his hands into fists right as a teardrop falls on his hand and rolls down his knuckles.
I'm so sorry, Andrew. It should have been me….