Reflector

          I am not the stuff that dreams are made of. I know this, and so does Daryl. We have always known it, embedded in our understanding of each other, way back before our physical forms were sophisticated enough to verbalize it. No matter what you are told; there is no such thing as identical twins.
         Daryl is the image of my father. I am the image of Daryl. A copy of a copy is invariably faded. I am thinner, paler, and infinitely less interesting.
          As I grew, I learned that the only way to get out of Daryl's shadow would be to move away from his side. This would be the only way to eliminate comparison. This would also be the destruction of me. Taking away my only connection to reality. Unmaking myself.
         I do not consider my self to be a whole. I am the minute mechanism of a two part system. I am nothing more than spare batteries.
          I am almost a mirror image. A weaker signal of Daryl. I need to reflect him. All he has to do is to step away from the mirror to exist alone. Then he is free, I am left in my two dimensional fantasy world forever.
          "I'm coming in." He told me defiantly, in the manner of an armed robber caught in the act, pointing a loaded gun at his victim, daring me to not back down.
         I had rehearsed this scene in my head a thousand times that day. In my rehearsals I had always said no and left him standing in the bitter relentless rain, watching as it poured down on him, smudging the perfect edges of him. Leaving me empowered. In my fantasies I always have control. In reality I stepped aside before he had even finished talking, and led him into what had been my private haven only moments before.
          My house was messy and inaccurate, as was I. My sanctuary that had fitted me like a comfortable old slipper now embarrassed me. I hadn't put my trainers on properly, and my heels rested on the folded down backs, confirming their destruction with each step. I used my half dressed foot to push all the debris under the sofa. He kept eye contact with me and pretended not to notice the frantic activity of the bottom half of my body. In the face of it all he still offered to me a certain kindness, like treats to a pet.
         I hadn't asked him if he wanted a drink, but he put the kettle on all the same. He walked around my house, his gentle tanned hands softly touching all the things that were mine. Contaminating them. She had been mine, and Daryl had touched her. Touched her in ways I was only allowed to dream about. The flames of angry fire inside of me rose suddenly as it occurred to me; he only wanted her because I did. It was obvious now, it was a rite of passage for him. He was just simply showing me that he could. He didn't love her; he couldn't love her. Not like I could. No one could.
          "So." I said, for no other reason than to have something to say to this man who had not so long ago been my own brother.
"I'm not sorry." He said.
"I didn't ask you to be." I muttered, though we both knew that I had.
"She wasn't your girlfriend." He blurted out, leaving an after taste of metal bitterness in the air. No. She wasn't my girlfriend.
          For four years I had dreamed of her; hoped and prayed for her. Ellie Jones, the girl with the amber-brown eyes. My secret girl. For four years I had allowed myself these fantasies of the two of us. I pictured us sharing hot desperate kisses, embraced under the stars of my mirror world. Other times we would roll lazily across the embankment, her auburn hair falling over my face. We would stay like that, so intensely combined that I would almost cease to exist. Then, just as I was ready to fade into nothingness for her, she would open her copper eyes wide in surprise and laugh into me, filling me with life and I would want to live again, if only to be a beacon of her light. A vessel for her joyousness.
          And now she had discovered the better version of me that I had tried so desperately to hide from her. Now she spent lazy happy times sprawled in his bed, the smell of him on her skin. Had she laid there that previous night? That morning? That very day?
          The false memories of my love that I had treasured so dearly rose to me like ripped and faded photographs. How they mocked me now. And as I recollected them, sharp and stinging, I knew that they could never have been me. How my image had shone, how the light had danced in my eyes. In Daryl's eyes.
          He didn't stay for long, and he didn't come again. After that day a large wedge of ice had been driven deep into the heart of my family. I hear that now he is married to my girl with the amber-brown eyes. I'll see them at weddings and funerals no doubt. I'll keep my eye on him like only a twin can.
          Now I must watch from my assigned position, deep in the shadows of my mirror world, allowing my image to catch in fleeting puddles as he gently goes about leaving me behind, taking with him everything I ever wanted.
          He has stopped watching me and I will stay trapped here forever, catching all the flickers of him that snag long enough. Watching our life go by.