Tom had been right. His place was pleasantly not triggering for Sam. Rather than reminder of that horrible night when he'd knocked his best friend out and broke up with his girlfriend, the apartment was like a solace.

Angie's citrus perfume lingered in the air as well as Tom's XY and he felt safe. Cared for. Even if it was empty and Tom and Angie had fallen apart.

Sam secretly held a hope that once Angie showed up and explained what had happened, she and Tom would be back on track, that he would apologize for that stupid text and they'd kiss and make up. Sam tried to help that along by charging Angie's phone and searching it.

Once he plugged it in, though, he realized why Tom hadn't already done that. It needed a fingerprint to unlock. So it was a dud.

To make up for it, Sam tried watching TV. He couldn't. Every line of corny dialogue from any movie reminded him either of his status of village idiot, or of Christine and their painful breakup. Videogames it was.

Viedogames worked because he needed skill and attention to get through levels, especially when he wasn't very good at it. They numbed his brain, helped him escape the miserable outside word. So much so that he jumped a mile when someone rang the doorbell.

It was two in the morning. Tom and Angie both had keys and no one else had any reason to be there because they thought the apartment was empty.

He was being too paranoid. It wasn't like anyone who could hurt him would knock. So he went to the door and opened it.

He had been so wrong. Harry stood in the doorway, Tom's arm draped over his shoulders, holding his twin off the floor. Tom seemed unconscious and probably was, because Sam didn't see any other reason he would allow Harry to touch him.

"Hey," Harry said. "I brought him home. Angie needs to fix him."

"Angie's not here," Sam said between his teeth.

"Told you, asshole," Tom mumbled, proving he wasn't actually knocked out. "Now pass me to better people and get lost."

Harry obeyed and passed Tom to Sam. He was dead weight and Sam almost toppled over.

"I couldn't leave him there like this," Harry said, shuffling his feet.

"Thanks," Sam answered, though the word seemed to puncture his throat.

"Want me to help you get him inside?"

Yeah, right. "No."

Harry sighed and bounced his fists off his thighs. "Sam, look, we need to talk."

Sam took one step back and pulled Tom over the threshold, then pushed the door closed with his foot, effectively slamming it in Harry's face. He'd dedicated enough energy to being civil to him. He wasn't up for more.

Tom was not helping at all as Sam dragged him towards the bathroom. He reeked of alcohol and was in obvious need of a cold shower.

He kept mumbling curses under his breath until Sam managed to prop him on the edge of the tub.

"What did you do?" he asked with a shake of his head.

"Got wasted. Why? Is that a you thing?"

"Your mighty coherent for how much you stink."

"One of my many talents," Tom said, imitating his voice.

"Don't do that."

"You said thank you to Harry. Should've said fuck you instead."

"Thanks for that by the way, making me face him."

"Though maybe saying that would have been a bad idea," Tom said, lost in thought. "Christine probably told him that once and he took it literally."

Sam stepped away, fighting the impulse to shove Tom in the tub. "Let's not talk about that, okay?" Harry was right about one thing though. Angie really needed to get back and fix Tom. "You really do need Angie to set you straight."

"Oh no, my dear, that ship has sailed."

"Only because you're an asshole about this whole situation, but that can be fixed."

"No, no, no." He shook his head a little too forcefully. "There's no way that's ever going to work. Angie and I are done. And for good reason. She would probably kick my ass."

"You're just being a-- Wait. Her kick your ass?"

Tom reached out his arms in an impressive display of balance. "I'm a hypocrite. A piece of garbage and a goddamn hypocrite." The grin on his face was frightening. He looked just like he'd completely lost his mind.

"What happened?" Or the better question, "What did you do?"

"I screwed some random girl in a club bathroom. Because I'm not above it. And here I come, preaching fidelity. Christine was right. I'm no better than her."

Sam just stared. The words failed to compute. It was impossible. Tom had a killer conscience which didn't allow him to do anything that even remotely resembled cheating. He'd almost thrown up over a kiss.

"Say that again."

"I thought I might be hallucinating, but nope. I'm pretty sure life doesn't work that way for me. If I imagined something horrid, I probably did it."

No, Sam couldn't believe it. "Did what?"

"Screwed her. Literally." The idea seemed to fascinate him. "I had sex with someone else."

Before he could control it, Sam's elbow shot back and his fist slammed into Tom's jaw. He fell backwards in the tub, laughing hysterically. It couldn't be healthy how much Sam had enjoyed that.

"You're right, you really are a piece of shit." He turned on the cold water and left the bathroom.

He paced like a caged lion in the living room, his thoughts spinning so fast he couldn't cling to any of them. Tom had cheated. Drunk out of his mind, but it didn't excuse anything. A hallucination? Sam wished, but Tom was right. Life didn't work that way for them.

"Oh my God." He clenched his head in his hands.

Tom was right. This was final. And not because Tom wouldn't want to take Angie back, but because there was no way he was letting that happen. Not after what Tom had done. The pain inside him felt so real it took him a while to realize that maybe it wasn't all him, that the disgust and the guilt were coming from Tom. At least he felt sorry about it. Which was the only reason Sam wasn't letting him drown in that tub.

He marched back inside the bathroom. Tom had passed out, the water pouring over him. Sam turned the shower off and pulled the plug on the tub to make sure the water would run out. He could sleep it off in his wet clothes.

But once out, he had no idea what to do with himself. Tom's words spun inside Sam's head.

I'm not better than Christine.

Did Christine actually feel as bad as his twin about the whole thing? No! She kept up an affair for who knew how long, actively hiding it, lying. It wasn't a drunken mistake.

Still no excuse. How could Tom do something like that? Sam had been drunk too and it didn't make him want to bang some chick inside a seedy club bathroom.

So he spent the rest of his night panicking, fighting his impulse to go pummel Tom, and taking a refreshing nap on the couch.

When the light of day woke him up, he strode back into the bathroom. Tom was still sleeping, but Sam had no mercy for the guilty, so he shoved his twin until he groaned and seemed to wake up.

"Where am I?" he croaked.

"Wonderland," Sam spat out. "So tell me, was it all booze or did you pop some pills?"

"Give me a sec." Tom winced and looked around. He seemed to accept where he was because he eased himself to the edge of the tub and placed his feet down on the tiles. "I think my head is about to explode."

"You deserve it, asshole."

"I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry, just please not so loud."

Sam clenched his fists, once again overcome by the need to bop him one. He couldn't even scream now? He so wanted to scream.

"What happened?" Tom finally asked.

"You tell me."

"Wish I could. Sort of lost my bearings around the second bottle of vodka."

Wow, he did go big. "How are you not covered in vomit?"

He shrugged then flinched. "I don't usually throw up from booze. How did I get here?"

"Harry. Thanks for that, by the way."

Tom winced again and massaged his temples. "Oh, yeah. He was there. But I think it told him to fuck off and leave us alone, not hug me and bring me home."

"Well, he apparently didn't listen. So you do remember some stuff." Sam's eyes focused on the back of Tom's right hand which he used to rub his forehead. "What's that on your hand?"

He turned it over, watching it with almost innocent fascination. "It appears to be a phone number."

"From the girl you screwed?"

"What?" The panic on Tom's face was as honest as they came. There was no way he remembered and was making a show.

Sam didn't know what to say now, feeling worse than before. Tom wouldn't have his silence. He reached out and grabbed his shirt.

"What did you just say?" His tone was angry, but the despair was painfully obvious.

"Last night, when you came in, you told me you had sex with some chick in the club bathroom."

"Bullshit," Tom said between his teeth. "I didn't, I..." His voice faded as he made desperate attempts to remember. "I couldn't have. I was too drunk to even... how could I..."

Sam sat on the closed toilet, all anger sipping out of him as Tom's pain took over his senses.

"Shit," he whispered. "Shit, shit, shit. Fuck!"

"Any luck remembering?" Sam asked.

"How...?" Tom took his sunglasses off and looked at Sam. There was a darkness in them that made Sam shudder. "I couldn't have. I didn't want to. I..." He clenched his head in his hands.

"So I'm guessing you're not going to call her back?"

Tom looked at his hand and frowned. "No, this is from the bartender."

"The hot blonde?"

Tom eyed him, but then decided it was probably okay since he was legitimately single, so he just nodded and sighed.

"So it wasn't her you screwed?"

Tom shook his head this time. "I can't remember. All I remember is Angie."

"Angie?" Sam asked, confused.

"I had this dream that I was with her in the club and... you know. But I can't..." He froze.

In a moment, he was on his feet and shoving Sam off the toilet. Before Sam could protest, he lifted the lid and vomited inside.

Sam decided he didn't want to see that, so he left the bathroom and sat on the couch. This was getting so complicated, so messed up. It hadn't been a whim, an act meant to hurt Angie. It was still wrong and unjustified, but it made him feel bad for Tom.

A few moments later, he stepped out of the bathroom on shaky feet. His face was a mask devoid of all feelings. It made Sam shudder, but he still had to ask.

"Remembered? Did you do it?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Sam took that to mean yes. The misery on his twin's face was answer enough.

"Just do me a favor. Don't tell Jimmy and Kyle. I don't want to be murdered." Tom turned to the bedroom. "I'll be home once I'm sober. You can do whatever you like until then."

"I'll wait and we can go home together."

Tom threw him a fleeting smile. "Thanks. For not hating me."

"I think you hate yourself enough right now."

"You have no idea." And he entered his bedroom and slammed the door.

Sam got off the couch and headed for the kitchen in search for potential breakfast. Before he could even open the fridge, Tom came out, a disgusted look on his face.

"I can't sleep in there. Not on the bed where Angie and I... Ugh!"

"Take the couch--" He froze when he saw the look on Tom's face. "Okay, let me put it another way. Is there any surface in this apartment where you could safely sleep?"

Tom shook his head and Sam felt a lot crappier. He and Angie had an entire life there which they'd both managed to destroy in just one week.

"Let's go home then."

This time Tom nodded. Their mother would be at work so maybe there was a chance to slip this under the radar. Though that wouldn't fix anything. Not by a long shot.

♠️♠️♠️

And this wretched chapter is finally over. I have big plans for the next. Good plans? Ha ha, you're too cute.

Sam's reactions? Justified? Should he be more understanding? And Harry... at least he's persistent.

I'm taking full advantage of the flow and will write ad much as I can until the muse dies out again. Here's hoping to more. The next chapter should be interesting to say the least.

Thanks so much for reading!