damn regret; i'll try to forget

[Andrew Bretton Goforth III]

I’m wishing you were here
My weakness is my fear
Alone I am myself
No reason left for me to care
Distracted by the sound
I hear footsteps all around
Empowered by adrenaline
Feel I've been born again
Again, I am repeating myself


Brett's glance was intensely focused on the painted image of the school mascot on the wall across the gym from him. It was a nice painting, he thought, as far as random authorized graffiti was concerned. It was also upside-down. Well, to be more accurate, Brett himself was upside down. He had his hands, palms down, flat on the hardwood floor, supporting his weight, and he moved slightly, keeping his short, muscular frame perpendicular to the ground. After a moment, feeling the blood weighing on his ears and eyes, he gave a little push with his arms and sprang back onto his feet, doing a little hop-skip step in the direction of the push upon landing. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, tidying it as the blood rushed back into the rest of his body. Brett found this sort of thing extremely therapeutic, and came here whenever he had something particularly dark on his mind.

Over the past few days, Brett had been having increasingly disturbing dreams. They'd started with the flashbacks, memories dragged up from the depths of his mind he did his best to bury when he was awake. Mainly, they were of the car accident his mother had died in. (Technically, she'd died in the hospital later, but it had been the accident that had done the damage.) The strange part of it all was that in his dreams, Jon died too. Not violently, there wasn't any blood, Brett would just find himself sitting in his seat, look over, and see his twin, pale and still, eyes closed, and he'd know somehow that it was no ordinary state of unconsciousness that he was in.

Damn regret, I'll try to forget
Don’t worry about me
Cause I’m refined
Cast my line
To see what’s behind
Did you think you persuaded me to let you go?


He would come out of the dreams in a cold sweat, and with great exerted effort to wake himself. And while most dreams faded in the morning, this one seemed to stick with him. It might have been the fact that he kept having it over and over again, but something kept it clear and vivid in his mind even while he was awake, unless he found something to distract himself with. That was what the tumbling was for. When he was concentrated on propelling himself through the air, he didn't have extra effort to think about the things his mind kept inflicting upon him of its own accord.

Cheer season wasn't officially in full swing yet, but Brett thought he might as well keep his skills sharp while he was at it. The last thing he needed on top of everything else was to fall on his face in front of the whole school. He launched himself into a front handspring, turning it into a trio of them, his mind wandering as he went through the practiced move. His father and brother had been acting a little strange lately; that he could see, anyhow. With Jon going home every damned weekend, Brett tended to stay away, but he went there every now and then. His father was acting more distant than Brett had ever seen him, and Jon just seemed mopey. It was as if the family was getting worse instead of being healed by the time that had passed since the accident. Brett didn't know what to make of it at all, and he didn't like the feeling of confusion it brought, so most weekends, he just stayed at school. Now he just had to figure out what to do with himself while he was here.

You’re the only one I turn to
When I feel like no one’s there
And when I’m lonely in my darkest hour
You give me the power
To sit and pretend

[Jonathan Dominic Goforth]

There was loud laughter as the lacrosse team started parading out of the locker room and into the gym. It might have been the middle of winter, but that did not mean that Coach let the team slack. At least once a week the team was ordered to the gym to run lap after lap and then head outside and toss the ball around.

As much as Jon liked to think of himself as a normal teen, he often was allowed some slack by Coach. Today was one of those days. It was a Monday after a long weekend home, a long weekend spent in the hospital. God, he hated hospitals. Hate hospitals and doctors and anything that had to do with them. Well that wasn't true, he didn't hate the kids. He loved the kids and they loved him back, always excited when he showed up with puppets in his bag. Jon loved delighting them with live puppet shows with Princes and Princesses and dragons and knights. He couldn't escape from his hell, but he could do everything possible to help the small kids stuck with him.

A hand slapped against his back and Jon looked up with a wince. Dave looked back down at him apologetically, "Sorry, man! Forgot!" Jon just smiled and shrugged it off as the rest of the team ran for the track.

Damn, the pain. Dave just had to hit one of the more tender places. He could deal with the fatigue that came with ALL and chemo, but combine it with the shooting pain and he had to stop. With a sigh, he tried to lean against the wall as inconspicuously as possible. He didn't want the team to worry and he definitely didn't want Dave to feel bad. It wasn't Dave's fault he was sick. No, it was all Jon's fault. This was his punishment for getting his mother killed and tearing the family apart. He would bear this silently.

Blue-gray eyes scanned the gym as he rested his head against the cool wall of the gym. The team had noticed his absence, but brushed it off, used to his fatigue and knowing the reason. There were a few boys playing basketball at the other end of the gym and there was Brett.

With a groan, he dropped his gaze and pushed away from the wall. He couldn't let Brett see him like this. With a deep breath, he pulled all of his energy together preparing to join his team in laps. He couldn't let Brett see him lag. He could only pray that Brett left soon.

[Andrew Bretton Goforth III]

Brett loved the feeling that came with pushing himself through the air. It was empowering, and at the same time, it was an outlet for all of the frustrated energy he'd been accumulating. All there was to focus on was the quiet rush of his own breath, the creak of the floorboards beneath him, the impact of his feet, and the quieter slap of his hands against the floor. That was why it surprised him when he heard the door swing open, and almost immediately after, the sound of thundering feet. He let his feet fall from the handspring, to the side like he'd been taught, landing on them squarely as his focus was diverted towards the running lacrosse team. He noticed Jon; he could hardly avoid doing so, because after all, nobody in the world had a face quite so familiar.

But he wasn't about to step down off his pedestal he'd been trying so desperately to stay on top off for the last three and a half years. He might have blamed himself for the whole thing, but no one could know that. He wasn't ready to admit to the world that he held himself responsible, and if it wasn't his fault, there was only one person whose fault it could be. And his current means of occupying himself wasn't helping him to forget that, either. Brett's mother had been rather influential in his decision to keep going at the whole gymnastics thing. She'd driven him to the lessons when he was younger, while Jon was off playing lacrosse, and he'd stuck with it. He hadn't had time to actually take lessons while he was here, and he'd long ago given up any delusions of Olympic grandeur, but he was good enough to cheerlead here, so he'd settled for that. But still, having Jon here, it had a way of repeatedly reminding him of everything he’d had and lost.

Jon seemed to be off in his own little world, though, as usual, and Brett tried to ignore him. It was getting harder and harder to do these days, what with dreams and Jon’s presence in the first place always popping up to bother him. He didn’t think it would be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that the brother he remembered as a vivacious, spirited ally had turned into a rather sullen, seemingly sulky enemy. What saddened him the most, though, was that Jon even seemed to be fading out of that. At least when they’d been fighting, they still interacted, but now, it was as if Jon had fallen out of his life completely, and whether Brett was willing to admit it or not, it felt like a huge piece of him was missing. He tried not to look in his brother’s direction, tried to focus on the handstand he was currently attempting, but his focus was gone.

[/size]

[Jonathan Dominic Goforth]

Jon quickly caught up to the middle of the pack. He received several strange and worried looks from his teammates. They knew that he had just come back from a doctor's visit. And months of experience showed that he was always weak when he came back. This time it was Joey that approached him, coming to jog along side Jon, "Are you sure you're up to this, man?"

It was currently taking all of Jon's energy to keep running, so he chose to keep quiet and just nod his head slightly. Oh God, he didn't have the energy for this. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye showed that Brett was still in the gym, currently standing on his hands. A small part of the teen started to panic. Brett wasn't going to leave, he was going to have to run all of the laps. God, there was no way he could run them all. Was his brother trying to kill him?

Jon almost froze at his thoughts. Brett did not deserve that. The man didn't even know he was sick. This was all his own fault. He was the one that had started the argument. He was the one that had killed their mom. He was the one that had hurt his brother and father so much. He was the one that had screwed Brett up. Now he had cancer, his punishment for all the trouble he put his family through and now he was blaming Brett? His mind was racing a mile a minute. It was all his fault. If only the cancer would hurry up...

With his mind running dark circles, Jon hadn't realized that he had sped up. He didn't feel the burn in his legs, the strain in all his muscles. He didn't hear the shouts of his teammates as he passed them. He was oblivious to everything until his legs gave out beneath him and his stomach churned. Several gasping, choking coughs later and Jon's stomach emptied it's self onto the track. He had tried to much too quickly. Gasping for breath he fought off the dry heaving as much as possible.

God, he was fucked.

[Andrew Bretton Goforth III]

Brett was trying not to notice as Jon sped around him, but he couldn’t help but realize that his twin was going awfully fast...faster than the rest of the team, and he didn’t sound so good, either. Brett himself ran when he could, mostly as a hobby, and he knew what healthy breathing sounded like and that most certainly wasn’t it. It sounded like Jon was about to just fall over and die, or at the very least, puke his guts up. Brett was trying not to think about it, to just focus and get back to his own activities, but it was hard to ignore when Jon was running by him wheezing like that every ten seconds.

And then, just as Brett had been thinking, Jon was throwing up, all over the track. Brett was torn between the urge to stare in disbelief and the urge to look away to suppress his own gag reflex. What the hell was going on here? Jon had never been this lame before. He’d always been ridiculously good at lacrosse, at running, at keeping himself in shape. And now he was hurling after a few laps? Jeez, that was ridiculous.

Maybe Brett should have suspected that something bigger was wrong, but something in him refused to entertain the notion. Jon had probably been drinking or something the night before, and couldn’t handle his liquor. That made more sense, he supposed. Served him right, getting drunk on a school night. Not that Brett didn’t do that sort of thing himself...routinely, too.

Something in him told him to get up, to go over to Jon, ask him if he was all right, but Brett couldn’t. His heart told him to, but his feet refused to move from the spot he was standing in. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and he bit his lip, his face nearly expressionless, no external indication of the turmoil inside. Jon had killed his mother. Jon had killed his mother. Jon had killed...And Brett knew he didn’t believe that load of shit any more than he believed the world was flat. But he couldn’t admit that, he couldn’t. God, what would his father think? Because if he went over to Jon, if he reached out like that, it was all but admitting that he had second thoughts about his anger towards his brother. And if he wanted to keep up the pretense that the whole thing was Jon’s fault, how could he ever let anyone think he’d forgive him for that?

[/size]

[Jonathan Dominic Goforth]

The lacrosse team quickly surrounded Jon, Dave running out of the gym in search of the coach or a trainer. Joey and Mike dropping to their knees on either side of him. Silvery eyes closed tightly, Jon felt cool hands wipe sweat off his forehead and he leaned into the touch as he gasped for breath. It felt so good. "Brett," he managed to cough out, "God, I..." Silvery eyes opened, looking around searching. Brett. Those hands were Mike's, not Brett's. Brett. His brother was still on the other side of the gym watching with impassive matching silvery eyes.

The team was silent, the feud between the brothers well known to them. Each man had his own opinion on who was being stupider, but each agreed that the feud was beyond stupid. Yet, there was nothing they could do to stop it. Jon had sworn the team to silence concerning his illness, and nothing anyone said to either brother would change their minds. The twins were too much alike for their own good.

Another dry heave had Jon leaning heavily on Mike. His throat burned and he couldn't stop heaving long enough to get a breath in. He could barely hear Mike yelling for someone else to try and find a trainer or medic. But the orders were unnecessary as Coach appeared with a trainer in-tow.

"Jonathan Dominic Goforth! I told you to take it easy today!" the Coach scolded as the trainer took Joey's place at his side. "At this point, I shouldn't have to even tell you that! You know what the treatments do to you!" It was her words that gave Jon the force of will needed to fight off the dry heaves. It she kept yelling at him Brett would find out. He didn't care if it killed him, Brett was not going to find out about his cancer. For a moment the lacrosse player just panted and regained his breath listening to his coach rant, but he was soon climbing to his feet and brushing everyone off.

"I'm fine. I just over did it a little bit," he explained with a scowl on his face. The trainer and coach looked ready to protest, but Jon didn't let them speak, "I'll just go lay down for the rest of the day and I'll be fine." With the final word he turned and started for the locker room door slightly unsteady.

[Andrew Bretton Goforth III]

Maybe he needed to go over there. Maybe he needed to check on his brother. No, he couldn’t do that. Oh, God, what was he going to do? He couldn’t just stand here. What was wrong with Jon, anyway? What were they doing to him? The coach seemed ridiculously upset for Jon having just pushed himself too hard running. What kind of treatments were they talking about? Were they doing some sort of experiment on his brother? He’d kill them, every last one of the bastards. He had to stop them. He couldn’t live with letting his brother die and killing his mother, he just couldn’t.

He took a step forwards, or thought he did, but when he looked down, he hadn’t moved at all. What the hell was wrong with him? What kind of person let half of his family die and didn’t do anything about it? He took a deep breath. He had to calm down. Jon was fine, he told himself. Jon was fine. He was just being a wuss, as usual, trying to show off and then biting off more than he could chew.

He had to breathe. Brett took a gasping breath, realizing that he’d been holding the same stale lungful of oxygen since Jon had fallen. He had to follow his brother, make sure he was all right. But no one could see him. He made a big show of downing the rest of his water out of his water bottle, unscrewing it, and looking inside mournfully, then headed across the gym to the water fountain, which was right next to the locker room. Once he was over there, he looked around, made sure no one was watching, and walked inside, dodging around a corner and trying to make sure Jon couldn’t see him.

Ugh, what was he even doing here? Jon could take care of himself. He’d proven that time and time again, he didn’t need Brett. He could be out there...he should be out there, there was an unofficial cheer practice beginning in about fifteen minutes. He leaned back, resting his head against the wall, and looked around a corner again, looking for Jon. He should just leave. Maybe Jon had gone out the back door. Maybe he wasn’t here at all. Maybe Brett was just making excuses, as usual.

[/blockquote]

[Jonathan Dominic Goforth]

The walk to the locker room was slow and difficult. Jon knew that Coach and the trainer were watching him the entire way, one falter and they would be calling an ambulance or pushing him to a car and driving him themselves. Damn doctors, damn hospitals. If he had his way he would never set foot in one again except to work and see the kids. With a sigh of relief he made it to the door. Getting the door to the locker room open was actually easier than he thought it would be. Jon just rested his hands against it and let his wait fall onto them and presto the door opened. He hadn't needed to magically find more energy, he just stopped trying to stay steady.

The blond teen stumbled through the door before pulling himself back together and starting to walk towards his bag. This time, though, he didn't need to hide how hard it was to stay on his feet. It would be okay if he stumbled or fell, no one was watching. There was his bag just down the isle of lockers. His legs were screaming for him to stop moving, but he pushed on. He knew that if he stopped to rest he wouldn't move again. Just a few more steps to his bag and then if worse came to worse he could call his roommate to come get him. And Dad, he would have to call Dad before Coach did.

It didn't matter. No matter how hard he tried, how hard he pushed himself, he couldn't do it. His legs wobbled and he grabbed onto the nearest locker to steady himself, but his hand didn't have the energy either. With a curse he tumbled to the floor, hand scrapping along the lockers drawing blood, head narrowly missing the bench between the lockers. "Fuck," he cursed. He hated this, this feeling of helplessness. Tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back, he wouldn't cry. He didn't have the right to cry. He had killed Mom, this was his punishment. He would endure it in silence.

Oh damn, his body ached. He would have new bruises in the morning and at some point would need to bandage his hand, but he just couldn't move. Jon had no energy left. Stupid chemo, stupid ALL, it sucked all of the energy out of him. Fucking world, was it too much to ask for some forgiveness? But he knew it was. With a small sigh, he closed his eyes and let his head rest against the cool floor. There was nothing he could do.

[Andrew Bretton Goforth III]

No one had ever understood Brett quite the way Jon had. How could they, being as Jon was Brett's genetic mirror image? When they were younger, they'd shared a bond so strong that they had been able to finish each other's sentences, and they had an uncanny way of being able to tell when the other was particularly angry, happy, or sad. Not speaking hadn't changed any of that. It had simply made it so Brett was unable to confirm his suspicions that Jon had been feeling rather mopey lately. Over the last few years, Brett had learned to ignore the subtle mood shifts he inexplicably felt. At first, it had made things horribly worse. Both twins were acutely aware of the fact that the other was miserable. That had only served to reinforce those miserable feelings. That's why he'd tried to tune it out.

But right now, at this moment, Brett had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling so strong that he couldn't possibly think about ignoring it. Something here was terribly, terribly wrong. Jon was angry, or in pain, or hurt, or something, and Brett couldn't figure out what it was, he just knew it was bad. Forgetting his carefulness, he moved around the lockers, following the sound of movement, disregarding every other warning in his mind in pursuit of the one in his heart. He caught sight of Jon on the floor, and stopped, wondering what he was going to do now. He'd come in here, but now he wasn't sure what he ought to say...if he ought to say anything.

Why the hell was his brother lying on the floor? Brett was feeling confused, something that had been happening more and more lately. He hated it. Things in his life used to make sense. These days, nothing did. It sucked, majorly. He hated not knowing what was going on. And the more he saw Jon, the more he got the feeling that something was up that no one was telling him about. Maybe it was a giant conspiracy. Ugh, he sounded like one of those geeks from the X-Files fan club. The government. That was it. The government had kidnapped his brother and made him into the world's biggest wuss.

Well, he had to say something, so he stepped around the corner, looking down at Jon, and tried to pull an expression of sheer disdain. That was what he was supposed to be feeling, right? Not this weird sense of...worry, or pity, or whatever the hell it was he was feeling. He didn't even know any more.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded. Seriously, what the fuck was Jon doing? Lying on the floor like that. He crossed his arms, looking down, trying to appear imposing. "Did they do something to you?" Oh, shit. That had sounded like he cared.

[Jonathan Dominic Goforth]

Fuck. Fuck Brett for approaching him the one time he hadn't wanted him to. After all those times he had silently begged his brother to come over and say one civil word and been ignored. The one time he didn't want to see his twin was the one time he showed. Fuck it all. Fuck his Dad for making him transfer to this stupid school. If he was still in his old school he wouldn't have to hide this shit. Fuck his Coach for opening her mouth at the wrong time. Just fuck. Nothing ever went right in his life. No matter what he did. He tried to repent for his mother's death and got landed with ALL. He tried to keep his brother blissfully ignorant and it was starting to fall apart. He tried to stay alive for his family and all of this shit kept getting dumped on him.

With one last mental curse, Jon turned his head slightly so he could stare up at his brother, a scowl plastered across his face. This was the last thing Jon wanted to be doing at the moment. He really just wanted to go to sleep right there on the cool floor. Silver eyes narrowed as he took in his twin's appearance. The man was in a loose pair of black pants with a tight white tee-shirt. His hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail to keep it out of his face while he tumbled, and he had a light scowl on his otherwise handsome face. Was that concern that he heard? Why the hell would Brett be concerned? He had to be wrong, but studying the emotions he felt from his connection to his brother he knew that despite all the angry words Brett was slightly worried.

Worried. After all of these years, his stupid brother was worried about him? He didn't have a right to be worried! That was reserved for people who cared, for people who loved him. "Why does it matter to you?" he asked with a glare some of the anger that he had toward the situation escaping. "What do you care if I'm getting stuck full of needles and thrust under radiation?" he asked bitterly and somewhat sarcastically, "You've never given a shit before, why start now?"

But as soon as the words were out of his mouth the anger left him. None of this was Brett's fault, his twin had done nothing wrong. This was his punishment, he deserved it. He was the one that had killed their Mom. Silvery eyes softened and Jon turned his head away from his brother once again, staring at the dull lockers not truly seeing them.

[Andrew Bretton Goforth III]

I was young but I wasn't naive
I watched helpless as he turned around to leave
And still I have the pain I have to carry
A past so deep that even you could not bury if you tried

Brett had no idea what was going through his brother's mind at the moment. They'd come a long way from their earlier years, when they'd practically been able to read each other's thoughts. No one had ever known him as well as Jon had, no one, not even their parents. And somehow, in a single year, they'd lost that, and in three and a half, they'd grown further apart than people who weren't even related. As much as Brett pretended that didn't bother him, the truth was that there were still moments when he wanted to reach out, ask Jon his opinion on something. There were times when he heard something that made him laugh, and thought for a brief moment how it would make Jon laugh too, wanting to share it with him. Jon wasn't laughing right now, though, he was glaring up at Brett with a look that made Brett wonder if there would ever be any hope for the two of them.

Could Jon keep his secret? If he admitted that it was his fault, all of this, if he begged for forgiveness, would Jon be willing to give it? Or would he refuse? And if he did, would he go and tell their father that Brett had confessed to the whole thing? God, it was so agonizingly confusing. But what Jon said next caught him off guard, so off guard that he forgot all the things he'd planned to say, forgot what he'd even come in here for. "It matters," he started, and to his chagrin, his voice quavered slightly. "Because...what the fuck are you talking about?" Needles? Radiation? Was Jon just making things up as an example, or was he saying that these things were actually happening to him? Brett wanted to ask, but he doubted he'd get a civil answer.

After all this time
I never thought we'd be here
I never thought we'd be here
Well, my love for you was blind
But I couldn't make you see it
I couldn't make you see it
That I loved you more
Than you'll ever know
And part of me died when I let you go

[/i]

He did care, oh, god, he cared more than anything, wanted nothing so much as to just reach out right now and pick Jon up off the floor, tell him that he needed to feel better because Brett had never meant any of the things he'd said, all the times he'd told Jon it was his fault that their mother was dead. He didn't mean it, he swore he didn't. "I'm so sorry..." he breathed, almost inaudibly, and sank to the floor beside his twin, sliding down the lockers nearest to him, tilting his head back against them, desperately fighting a losing battle against the tears that stung his eyes and the constriction rising in his throat.

And Brett opened his mouth, and said the last thing in the world he was expecting himself to, probably the last thing Jon was expecting, too.

"It was my fault." he said, his tone harsh and rough with emotion. "It wasn't you, it was never you. It was...me, I know it was, I just...I never wanted to say it, and you can't blame yourself for it." His voice was hoarse, and it was a wonder how he got the words out at all. What was he saying? Jon could take this, he could spread it around, could tell people Brett was the worst kind of person, completely ruin his life. But wasn't that what he deserved? Deserved, probably. Wanted, no. He'd been running from this for so long, though, and as he sat here, trying to choke back sobs, he realized that he hadn't felt this kind of emotional release in what seemed like forever.

I would fall asleep
Only in hopes of dreaming
That everything would be like it was before
But nights like this it seems are slowly fleeting
They disappear as reality is crashing to the floor

He tried to look at Jon, begging silently, praying that Jon would give him something, anything, a glance, a nod, something that would let him know that his twin was at least considering granting the forgiveness Brett didn't know how to ask for. It was as if his whole focus had shifted in an instant, and he didn't even know where to go from here. Cheerleading practice, Jenna, all of it, everything faded to the background in the prevailing importance of this moment. Either Jon would forgive him, or he wouldn't. They could try to mend this, or it could simply get even worse from here. It all depended on what Jon said next, whether he said anything at all, or just refused to answer. Brett wouldn't blame him at all if he simply got up and left, although he hoped with his whole heart that he wouldn't.

And beyond all of that, somewhere in the back of his mind, lurking within the thoughts of his and Jon's relationship, was another worry. What was Jon talking about, with needles and all? Really, was he just saying that? And what had the coach been talking about, treatments? Something was wrong here. Something that made his once incredibly physical brother unable to run a few laps without practically passing out. What could do that to a person? Brett wasn't sure he was even ready to know the answer to that.

After all this time
I never thought we'd be here
Never thought we'd be here
Well, my love for you was blind
But I couldn't make you see it
I couldn't make you see it
That I loved you more
Than you'll ever know
And part of me died when I let you go

[/i]

[Jonathan Dominic Goforth]

Silvery eyes stared at his near mirror image in stunned amazement. Jon had not seen his brother cry since their mother's funeral. In truth, he wasn't sure he had seen the blond cry then, he barely even remembered seeing Brett there. His twin, his hard ass twin was crying in front of him. His twin he hadn't even had a civilized conversation with in three years, nearly four was crying in front of him. If it hadn't been for the turmoil, regret and pure sadness radiating off of his twin Jon would have thought he was halucinating. By the emotions he could feel from his twin were too real. Too real and too hard to ignore. And he had caused this. He was the reason his twin was crying.

Will I always, will you always
See the truth when it stares you in the face?
Will I ever, will I never free myself
By breaking these chains?

Slowly uncertainly and with the little energy his stay on the floor had regained him he reached out and took his brother's hand. The hand was strong and warm just like he remembered, but bigger. Jon could feel his heart tightening, longing for the days when he had been Brett's best friend. They had been so close, known everything about each other, had even felt each other's emotions no matter the distance. Now though, Brett had his friends and Jon had his own. There was nothing left but a shared blood and father linking the two together anymore.

I'd give my heart, I'd give my soul
I'd turn it back, it's my fault
Your destiny is forlorn
Have to live till it's undone

Then Brett spoke and Jon felt his world shatter around him. He had barely seemed to comprehend the fact that his twin cared for him when Brett's next words registered. "No, God no! I was the one that killed Mom! I was the one that started it! I was the one who killed her!" he whispered vehemently. His next words were softer, full of pain, "Otherwise I wouldn't be going through this." Everything he knew was based around this. Everything was his fault, he knew it. Brett had been telling him that for years. And then the cancer, it had taken a while but eventually he had come to realize that the cancer was his punishment.

I'd give my heart, I'd give my soul
I'd turn it back
And then at last I'll be on my way

He gave his brother's hand one last squeeze, knowing that it would be the last time he would ever touch his brother like that. Once Brett realized that it was his fault, his twin would never want to talk to him like this again. Fighting back tears that threatened to form, he pulled his hand gently away dropping it back to the floor. Silvery eyes closed and he rolled his head away from his brother with quiet words, "You've always been right, always known. It was my fault. I was the one that started the argument. I was the one that killed Mom." There he had finally said the words that had been haunting them for years.

[Andrew Bretton Goforth III]

And I am here still waiting
Though I still have my doubts
I am damaged at best
Like you've already figured out

The look Jon was giving him was making Brett feel uneasy. Was that accusation? It didn't look like it. Astonishment? That's what it seemed like, but that didn't make any sense at all. Brett had been expecting something like satisfaction, or anger, or even sadness, but that look of surprise caught him off guard a little. Why the hell was Jon so surprised? Hadn't he said it was Brett's fault? Or had he? Brett couldn't think, couldn't get his facts straight at all, and he dug his knuckles into tear-dampened eyes, angrily trying to wipe away the proof of his concern. God, he couldn't be doing this. He absolutely could not be breaking down in front of Jon. This was ridiculous. He'd never be able to live it down.

And then, when he thought Jon was ready to say something about how completely audacious Brett was to even be asking for that kind of forgiveness after what he'd done, Jon reached out and grabbed his hand. Brett looked up, somewhat shocked, but didn't pull away. When was the last time he'd voluntarily touched his twin, or vice-versa? Had it been at the funeral? Had he even hugged Jon at the funeral? He knew he'd done his share of touching someone at the funeral, but it sure hadn't been Jon, it had been that Alexis girl. Brett wasn't even sure who she'd been, a friend of a friend, someone he'd only bothered to ensure wasn't related to him before making a move on her. That was the kind of emotional condition this whole affair had left him in. He was so damaged now that he'd had sex with a girl he didn't even know in a back room at his own mother's funeral. And that had been at the beginning. God only knew if he was even fixable now.

'm falling apart
I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart
That's still beating
In the pain
There is healing
In your name
I find meaning
So I'm holding on
I'm barely holding on to you

[/i]

"Oh, my god, you can't believe that." he breathed, when Jon finally spoke. "I never meant it. Any of it, I just said it because I thought...I thought if I blamed you, no one would blame me, and god, it hurts so fucking much to just live with knowing it myself, I can't imagine if everybody knew..." It felt so strange to be talking to Jon like this. He'd sworn for so long that Jon could never know, would never be able to hear the things he'd been thinking, the things that had kept him awake at night for so long. "I never really blamed you."

He scooted closer to Jon, drawn nearer by the sudden show of emotion on his brother's part. "Jon, I..." When was the last time he'd actually said his brother's name without feigning some sort of spite or bitterness behind it? He couldn't even remember. "Jon, you can't think that." Now that he realized the truth...or at least part of it, he was determined that Jon had to see the error of that kind of thinking. Brett had spent so long denying that the whole thing was his fault that it had become imbedded in his mind as the only thing he knew to be true beyond the shadow of a doubt. "Listen, you don't...you don't have to pretend, if that's what you're doing and if it's not, damn...I mean..." He swallowed hard. "You just can't think it's your fault." He wanted to add "but please, don't tell dad it's mine" but he decided against it. But what could he do? Jon looked like he wasn't feeling well, and after what he'd seen in the gym, Brett guessed that was a pretty accurate assessment.

"Are you...okay?" It was a simple question, but it was amazing the amount of effort it took Brett just to spit it out, how much concentration it took him to overcome the instinctive dismissal he'd tried to train himself into showing.

The broken locks were a warning
You got inside my head
I tried my best to be guarded
I'm an open book instead
And I still see your reflection
Inside of my eyes
That are looking for purpose
They're still looking for life

[/i][/size][/blockquote]

[Jonathan Dominic Goforth]

The tears that he had fought so hard to keep back spilled from silvery eyes. For years he had been holding himself together. For years he had been dealing with the guilt of killing his own mother, of destroying his own family, of changing his brother so drastically. For a few months he had lived at home, withdrawn into himself, fought with his twin. Oh the fighting, it had been fast, vicious and deep cutting. The few months that he had remained home seemed to move slowly, only prolonging the torture. As soon as possible Jon was accepted to and moved into a boarding school for high school. He threw himself into lacrosse and school work, nearly always coming up with an excuse to keep from coming home. He had put all of that distance between himself and his family because it had been his fault. It had been his fault and he didn't want to tear his father and brother up any more than he already had. In fact the only reason he had returned was because of the cancer. He was fighting so hard to keep from tearing his family apart even more. Yet, here Brett was telling him that it wasn't his fault? If it wasn't his fault than why did he have to go through all of that?

Jon just shook his head silently, tears leaking down his cheeks. It didn't matter what his brother told him, what his brother believed, everything was Jon's fault. It had been years since the teen had cried, had let the emotions out and now he was doing so in his brother's presence. He wanted to just run, or maybe even curl up so that Brett couldn't see the tears, but his twin had found him at one of his weakest moments. Jon still didn't have the energy to move. Sure he could move his arm a little and turn his head, but he couldn't push himself to his feet, or even crawl the last few feet to his bag.

Brett's last question set Jon's entire body on alert. It was the question he had avoided earlier, the question he was trying to avoid at all costs. And still his twin asked his voice straining nearly choking out the words. Tears still falling down his face from Brett's earlier revelations, Jon looked at his brother long and hard before answering, "'M fine." His brother's face was taut with worry, confusion and emotional relief. It was the worry and concern that nearly had Jon blurting out that he wasn't fine. It hurt so much to keep his ALL from his own brother, especially when his brother was concerned for the first time in a long time. No! No, I'm not! his mind screamed, I'm dying and you don't even know! while his mouth spoke completely different words, "Just over did it." Once the words were out of his mouth, Jon let his body relax some. His brother would either believe him or not. Probably not, the words sounded fake to even his ears.

[Andrew Bretton Goforth III]

I did my best to notice
When the call came down the line
Up to the platform of surrender
I was brought but I was kind
And sometimes I get nervous
When I see an open door
Close your eyes
Clear your heart...
Cut the cord

[/i]

Oh, God, now Jon was crying too. Brett hadn’t meant to make his twin cry; although there were certainly a lot of times when he’d wished he could do just that. Now wasn’t one of them, though. This was different. This was an entirely different moment altogether. He didn’t want to break things, not anymore, he wanted to fix them, and he had his doubts that he’d ever be able to do it. He didn’t want to sit here with Jon and argue over the truth of their mother’s death; it seemed that they both blamed each other and there wasn’t any point in getting into another fight that was as much a mirror image of the old one as Jon was of Brett himself. It was funny, how much they paralleled each other. They were so much the same, but so very different.

Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?

[/i]

Overdid it? Brett couldn’t help thinking that was a bit of an understatement. He’d never seen Jon collapse like that, not even when they’d run track, the one sport they’d ever played together. Brett had quit after he’d started getting into Gymnastics seriously in high school, and not long after that, the accident had happened. He wasn’t sure if Jon had quit, too, or what had happened. For a long time, he hadn’t cared. He knew Jon played lacrosse, though, and that required a lot of running, so for Jon to let himself get out of shape enough to hurl all over the floor was a little strange. Not that in-shape runners didn’t hurl, but they certainly knew they were about to, and Brett imagined they probably didn’t want to do that in front of a bunch of people, least of all the brother with whom they shared a mutual hatred.

Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Give my regards to soul and romance,
They always did the best they could
And so long to devotion
You taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye
Wish me well..
You've gotta let me go

[/i]

He didn’t know how to let go. He’d been hating himself, fearing this conversation, taking things out on his brother for so long that it was like a circuit inside him that he couldn’t turn off, couldn’t find the switch for, no matter what he told himself. He had to get over it. He had to. God, he was so fucked up. People who weren’t fucked up didn’t do the things he did. They didn’t sleep with girls they didn’t know at their mother’s funeral, they didn’t blame their twin brothers for things they knew were their fault, and the certainly didn’t make their mothers crash into telephone poles by being whiney little bitches in the back seat. How could he be what Jon needed him to be when he wasn’t even stable enough to know who he was? He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know who he was. He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be friends with the person he knew he’d become, that he knew.

Will your system be alright
When you dream of home tonight?
There is no message we're receiving
Let me know is your heart still beating

He didn’t want to make Jon feel any worse, though, and he had a feeling that prying and saying “are you sure? You look awful?” wasn’t going to help. So he sat where he was, trying to think of what to say to make his brother feel better and make himself less uncomfortable at the same time. ”You don’t sound okay.” he said, frowning in concern. Maybe Jon was actually sick. ”Dude, maybe you have the flu. I hear it’s going around. You should take it easy...”[/size][/blockquote]