A little over a year ago
“Tell me something, brother. Anything, but tell me something,” my twin begs.
“I’m not going to lash out at you, Dawson.” I take a sip of the scotch in my hand and stare him straight in the face. I’ve never known how to hide my fears. Better to die facing them than to die trying to escape them. “You slept with Arianna.”
“I was drunk.” He has no reason to apologize, least of all with that simplicity. “I didn’t know she…”
“That she was my wife? Your sister-in-law? Didn’t you know she was the one you were fucking? Let me get this straight… You came to my house, went up to my room, saw an ass on the bed, took off your pants, and nailed her like any other whore you fuck in bars.”
“Darío…”
“I’m not finished,” I interrupt him. “After the excessive sex, you take off and let me arrive. Seeing me, she was shameless enough to tell me to my face that she slept with you. Am I doing okay?”
He swipes his hand in despair across his face. I despair too, but not in with regret like Dawson, more out of helplessness that I can’t do anything against either of them.
“I’m sorry, I really am.”
“I’m still not done.” I don’t care what he feels, what he thinks, and what made him sleep with Arianna. Nothing interests me anymore. “You think you’re such a man that you can go around the world sleeping with any skirt you can find, so libertine and lacking in a good scolding.”
“You’re not my father,” he gasps, furious.
“No, I am not. I’m your brother. Your fucking twin, I was supposed to be your other half. The man who was by your side for nine months inside our mother’s womb. Your friend, your partner. What did I do to make you hate me like this? To make you want to screw me so bad that you decided to sleep with my wife?”
“You take it out on me and not on her! I was drunk as a dog! I didn’t know about myself. What’s her excuse? Why the hell does it all fall on me?”
He gets up and starts pacing back and forth in the studio. He looks like a shark caged in a tiny space, inside an aquarium, and with all eyes on him waiting for him to make a wrong move. Yes, I’m the man with the harpoon, waiting to shoot the arrow at him when he gets careless. I hate feeling this way. I hate thinking I’m inferior to my own twin. We’re the same age, for God’s sake! We are so identical and yet so different. He’s used to living life his way, to take what he wants when he wants, and do what he wants.
On the other hand, I always had to be the one in charge of the company, the cool head, the thinker, the one who could calculate all the pros and cons of every business. My brother always had it easy. That’s why, in a way, I know I’m to blame for his wasted life and talent because I let him lose it, just as our parents did. From the time we were boys, we were so different. I was the right one: mindful of doing homework and schoolwork well. Our parents placed us in the best schools in and out of Italy. They tried to make sure that our preparation and education were always the best. However, my brother always wanted to make a difference. The bad thing is that he did it in all the wrong ways; he skipped classes, ran away from our parents, went to clubs when he was not yet of age, mixed with the wrong kind of people, smoked cigarettes from the age of sixteen, drank alcohol and indulged himself in low-life bars. From a very young age to have his back, I became accustomed to covering every irresponsibility he committed. I blinded myself in my stubbornness and desire to protect my twin, my confidant, and my best friend. I blinded myself and did not realize the evil path he was on until it was too late until even I could not stop him from leaving that world of corruption and waste. Now I am beginning to see what other people saw in him. The only way we differed was that I was so righteous, and he was so imperfect.
“Her betrayal doesn’t hurt me like yours. You are my brother, my other half. What hurt one of us, the other felt. What happened to that? Don’t you feel my pain, brother? Don’t you feel what you caused?”
His silence kills me. I see the regret in his eyes, how they are filled with that sparkle and those tears he hasn’t let fall. I glimpse how his racing heart wants to escape the suffering in his body. We both act the same when we are sorry and don’t know how to ask for forgiveness.
But in my heart, I feel it in every beat: it’s late for forgiveness. It is late since I feel as if they have stuck a dagger in my chest, in front of a mob, as if I were responsible for traveling to give my family a better future as if what I did was to be stuck inside a bar twenty-four hours a day drinking alcohol and partying with women that the next day I would not remember.
It’s not my case. It’s Dawson’s case, my twin.
I’ve always been so proper. I try to do what’s best for everyone, and it turns out that the common and popular adage is true: everything happens to good people, both good and bad. However, I’m beginning to believe that bad things happen to good people because they are so focused on trying to help others that they neglect their own backs. They ignore those supposed to care for them and protect them, to look out for their health and peace of mind.
When I married Arianna, it never crossed my mind that she would be so shameless as to sleep with my own brother in our bed while I was traveling. It was inconceivable. Although my twin told me that this woman could bring doom to my life, I did not believe him since I was in love with her and because to me, she was the right one.
Just as our father made us promise before he passed away, once a Magghio married, he married for life, no matter how much vitality went out of him in that marriage.
“I will go away for a while. I can’t be here, not knowing that I am the cause of your pain.”
“It’s good that you know and understand. Unfortunately, you are the one who betrayed me. Women come and go, but you…” I stand up and place my index finger on his chest. “Look at me, damn you! You are my brother, my blood. You’re the one who betrayed me.”
“See you in a few months, brother.”
“Get the fuck out already,” I hiss.
He leaves the studio. Behind him goes the glass with what little whiskey was left since I slammed it against the door.
It shattered, as did my heart, my world, and my relationship with Dawson.