“it's in the eyes.
always the eyes.”

The ride back to our hotel was deadly silent.

Alastair was tense, way more than he had been when we were going to the cemetery. I was tense myself, but for reasons that Alastair did not know. Yet.

My conversation with Mr. Smith kept replaying in my head, throughout the ride back to the hotel. Each time, I'd trace my fingers over my coat pocket, feeling the familiar weight of the folded photograph which I had stuffed inside.

The same photograph that I was supposed to show Alastair. 

Why wasn't I doing it then? Why wasn't I breaking this tense silence, making him stop the car, just so I could tell him whatever that old man had told me? Why wasn't I doing any of that?

Maybe he was lying, I concluded.

I mean, why couldn't he be lying? Alas himself didn't remember ever seeing that man before. And I remembered that morning pretty vividly when I'd asked him if he had any siblings. He'd said no. Alastair couldn't have been lying.

Then why did I still have this uneasy feeling nagging deep in my gut?

The photograph did not seem fake. It didn't even seem like someone had edited it. Why would someone edit it? Why would someone go that far to lie that Alastair had a twin?

And that genuine sadness in Mr. Smith's eyes. Either he was a really good liar, or I was starting to suck at picking out lies. 

Or maybe he wasn't lying at all. That was a little concerning.

As we went up to our hotel room, the silence followed. It felt like I was keeping a huge secret from Alastair, which just made me feel stupid.

It isn't a secret. Hell, I should say something.

It was when we were both inside our room and I was about to close the door behind me, that Alastair turned towards me with a somewhat troubled look. His eyes held a wild look, as if thousands of emotions were fighting within him, overwhelming him, all at the same time.

"I think I'll go for a walk." He told me in a small, strained voice.

I looked up at him, furrowing my brows just a little before I closed the door behind me. His eyes darted towards it but I stepped in his way, way before he could have aimed for the door knob.

"Alas, stay here. Okay?"

He slowly shook his head, raking his hands through his hair, pushing them back. "I can't. You know I can't. Just...let me go for a little while."

Where? I wanted to ask. What guarantee did I have that he would not end up in some local bar again, intoxicated with tequila and banging some chick, just because he needed to escape the mess in his head?

"Alas," I repeated much gently this time, taking a small step towards him. Almost instantly, he took a step backwards as if the mere sight of me was hurting his head. I frowned. "Hey, look, it's all right."

"No, it isn't." He snapped. "You need to step out of my fucking way."

I tried not to feel too surprised at that. After all, I knew what he was doing. I used to do that all the time. Back when I needed to push people away, when I needed everything to stop, I used my anger until everyone went away. Until no one cared.

But I cared about him, and I wouldn't let him go down that path. Not like I could've done much, but I knew I would help, as long as I could.

"Alas, listen to me--"

"Stop calling me that!" He shouted, snatching back his hand before I could have reached for it. My eyes widened a little in response and the cold angry look in his eyes seemed to soften just a little when he noticed the hurt on my face. "Just...stop trying to keep me here. I need to leave. I can't stay here. Please."

I would have let him go, I would've at that moment when I saw the misery in his eyes. The panic. He was lost. He didn't know how to handle that much fear.

"I know where you'd be going, Alastair." I stated out firmly, even though my heart was racing so fast. "I can't let you do that. You have to understand. I can't let you harm yourself like this."

"Why in the bloody hell do you care?"

"Stop it." I shook my head, frowning. "Look, I can help you. I'll give you space here. I won't keep on talking and I won't bother you at all, if you want that. Just don't go out there alone--"

I was shoved aside--a bit harshly and hastily, both--as he walked past me towards the door. A small flinch escaped my lips when I slammed into the empty hanger rack, scattering all the hangers everywhere. 

A small dull ache bloomed at the back of my shoulder and I scrunched up my nose, slowly rubbing the spot.

When I managed not to fall down on the floor, leaning a little against the wall, I was half expecting him to leave and half expecting him not to. Because usually when you let out anger like that, the guilt hits pretty fast.

And when I looked up at him, that's exactly what I saw. Guilt.

I should've been mad. After all, getting thrown into a not-so comfortable rolling rack was no fun. But I wasn't mad. I couldn't have been when I knew, even if not all, what he was going through.

I heard him inhale sharply. "I...God, I'm so sorry." He looked horrified.

"Hey..." I trailed off when my voice came out a bit, well, croaky. "It's fine." I even managed a strained smile, feeling the dull ache slowly numbing away. But my heart was still beating so fast and it hurt a little there too.

"No, no, I didn't mean to." There was panic all over his face, and seeing him like that somehow made me panic a little too.

"Hey, look," I spoke up and pulled my hand away from my shoulder. "See? I'm fine. You don't have to--"

I trailed off when he seized me by my shoulders and (literally) pulled me into his arms. It was like one second I was looking at his face and the next his arms were around me, and my face was pressed into his shoulder, and he was holding onto me like he was scared. He is, I told myself.

"Ophelia, I'm so fucking sorry." He spoke into my hair and I knew he meant it. I could've felt his racing heart against my own. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never--God, I'm so sorry."

I realized that my fingers were trembling a little as I buried my face against his shirt, hugging him back. At least he was here.

"It's all fine, Alas." I murmured, closing my eyes too.

But I knew it wasn't. It couldn't be fine when that photograph was still in my pocket, weighing me down like thousands of rocks pulling onto my heart. It was still there, hidden from him.

And I'll keep it hidden, I thought. As long as it's away from him, he'll be fine.

Selfish, I know. But I couldn't really have thought about showing him that picture, not at that already fragile moment. And maybe it wouldn't be a big deal anyway. Maybe he just didn't like talking about his twin brother. Maybe later, when I show him that picture, he'd tell me that he remembered it all. Maybe it really was just nothing.

I didn't know how wrong I really was at that moment.

******

Things returned to normal when we left Knightsridge the next morning, leaving back for the town of Oak Valley.

Both Alastair and I were pretty good at pretending that nothing happened that day, right after we had visited the Hawthorne's graves. Alastair seemed relieved that I didn't press onto that whole matter. And I was relieved too to not think about that photograph--which was still there with me--and pretend that everything was okay.

We both were good at that. Pretending.

I wouldn't say that I didn't wish to stay there a little bit longer, the town of Knightsridge, but after that little conversation with Mr. Smith, everything about that town seemed a little heavy.

I got back to Luce's apartment and the next few days passed by just like that. Luce was pretty adamant until I told her everything that had happened on our little trip, and I did tell her everything, just omitting a few, well, confusing parts.

Each passing day brought me closer to the end of the month when I'd be leaving back for home. It made me feel a little sick to go back home and leave all this behind, and I dreaded what would be waiting for me there. Noah. Nora. My friends. All their questions.

I wasn't ready to leave. Not when I came here to escape from all that.

Then there was that photograph, still buried deep inside my coat, which I had stuffed somewhere in my closet, not really wanting to think about it any more than I had to.

Each night I'd stare up at the ceiling, thinking about it amidst all the other things. Each night I tried to come up with an approachable way to hand over that picture to Alastair. After all, it wasn't mine. It belonged to him. And his family.

His reaction won't be nice, I kept reminding myself, but that doesn't mean I should hide it from him.

Luce tried finishing off her shifts mostly during the day and then she and I would spend our evenings and nights together. We'd sometimes go to the mall, or a random fair downtown, or an art exhibition. Sometimes Jim would join us too.

This was normal. This was the kind of normal I wanted to get used to.

Sometimes, Luce would have long night shifts and I'd convince Alas to spend some time with me. Most of the time we'd spend together at the library, and when it wasn't the library we'd go by the lake. Sometimes he came over to the apartment too.

Those were the times I looked forward to the most. With him.

Life was going pretty normal.

Until one evening, when I was all alone in the apartment, making a mess out of my closet as I tried separating all my clothes from the ones which I had not worn yet. For instance, my Shawn Mendes hoodie, or the long-sleeved green top I got from a flea market back at home. I really needed to stop wearing my usual sweaters and hoodies.

And then suddenly, out of nowhere, I had that photograph in my hands and I was staring down at it, with my clothes thrown all around me. It slightly looked like a hurricane touched my room, my closet specifically.

I felt guilt gnawing in my stomach. I don't know why I felt guilty. I don't know why it felt so wrong keeping this from Alastair.

"Maybe I should tell him." I whispered to my own self, still staring down at the picture. I'd just hand him the picture, I decided. Just tell him that Mr. Smith gave this to me, to give it to him. It didn't sound so bad when I put it like that.

And then I was calling him on my phone. Alastair, I mean.

"Hey." He answered after the second ring, sounding a little out of breath.

"Hey," I spoke up, not sure what I was going to say now that I had him. "Are...you free right now?" Real smooth.

"Yeah." There was a distinct sound on his end. It took me a while to realize that it sounded like water. Not running water, but just water.

"Were you doing something?" I asked him curiously as I put down the photograph.

"I wasn't--" Then he stopped, almost as if he didn't want to lie. It made me smile a little. "I was swimming."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He sounded unsure.

"Oh," I murmured, frowning a little.

There was silence for a few seconds with just the sound of dripping water. Then I heard him letting out a soft laugh. "Go on. You can say it."

"Say what?" I asked, folding the picture back again.

"That I shouldn't swim."

"Is that what your aunt says?" I asked him, noticing the way my voice lowered.

"Yes, Ophelia." He sounded sad. I realized that I truly hated when he sounded like that. "I'm not supposed to swim. And if anyone told her, or she finds out herself, she'd probably start keeping a 24-hour suicide watch on me." I didn't like that he sounded so matter of fact.

"Alas," I sighed, knowing perfectly well that this is the last thing I should be saying to him right now. "Swimming makes you happy. I don't care."

"You don't care?" He sounded amused now.

"No. I mean, I don't care if you swim." I rolled my eyes. "If it makes you happy, do it. I would too if I were you."

When he spoke up next, I could tell that he was smiling. "Okay."

"Okay." I nodded, then looked back at the picture. "So, you're swimming. Does that mean we can't meet up somewhere? I...need to tell you something."

He took his time to reply. And to stop myself from fidgeting, I started picking up my clothes and stuffing them back inside my closet, not even bothering to fold each up.

"Sure we can." He said. "You can just come here."

"Here?"

"College. I was staying at my dorm for a few nights." He told me.

I stopped short halfway in between closing my closet. "No way. I'm not breaking into your dorm again."

"Not the dorm." He was smiling again. "I'm at the pool right now. There's no security here."

"And you're the only one there."

"I am the only one here." He was still smiling. Dammit.

"Fine." I sighed and picked up the photograph. The photograph that I was finally going to show him. "I'll meet you there."