Page 31 of Twins for the Enemy

Neal looks above my head for a second before looking down, his eyebrows raised. Neal’s always been an open book, and it’s undeniable that he’s disappointed.

“Oh,” he says. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I say. I indicate into his apartment. “Can I come in?”

“Of course, of course, sorry. I just thought you were goingto be Samson.”

Samson is his drug dealer. I assume it’s not his real name and some reference to the Bible, but I can’t be certain if it’s ironic or not.

I sit down on his couch, which is covered in a layer of clothes and wrappers from fast food and snacks. He’s in the throes of some spiral. Part of me feels guilty that his concern for me could’ve caused him to slip deeper into his addiction.

Part of me doubts he feels concern at all.

“Are you… doing okay?” I ask. The emotional numbness starts to return to me. I can’t be upset that he isn’t asking me that question. I’m the reason he’s like this. It’s not like Kieran has been starving me or beating me.

“I’m great. Just waiting on Samson.” He looks over his shoulder like he thought he heard Samson knock.

I lean back on the couch. Something stabs me in the back, but I don’t know if I’m more worried about finding a gun or a meth pipe.

“Did you ever look into that rehab center?” I ask.

“What rehab?”

“The one I sent you the link about,” I say. “Right after I left.”

“Oh, right.” He nods several times. “Yeah, yeah. I remember. Of course. I looked at it. It seems expensive.”

“They have payment plans.”

“Seems expensive,” he mutters again. I run my fingers through my hair. Something sticky is making it cling together.

After watching him repeatedly look back at the door, I take a deep breath.

“We need to talk about the fire,” I say.

“What fire?” he asks. “Oh. Bettiol.”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “Bettiol.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“We need to. A woman was badly hurt from it. It’s the reason I shouldn’t be in Chicago. It’s why this man can blackmail—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Neal snaps, looking straight at me for the first time. “You’re talking about rehab like you care about me, but if you keep bringing that up, if you keep pressuring me—it makes me want to do drugs more. If you care, you won’t talk about it.”

I rub my temple. “Neal.”

“You were with that rich guy.” Neal perks up. “With the big house. He must have lots of money.”

“He’s not going to give me any money.”

“He could. You could convince him,” he presses me. “Or you could just steal something. He had lots of expensive things.”

He looks back at the door, holding his breath. No Samson.

I keep hoping he’ll be the brother that he used to be, but the drugs have turned him into a shadow of that man. And worse, I’m the reason for that deterioration.

He could’ve been a leader, a man who changed so many lives, but because of me, he’s living here and his only joy is his next hit.

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