n.:.o.:.r.:.w.:.a.:.y. .p.:.a.:.r.:.e.:.a {6}

"F-f-for f-fuck's sake dad."

"Norway, what have I told you about your language."

I press my fingers over aching eyes, (half green, half brown) and wait for my dad to finish with his latest experiment. I bite my lip to keep any sounds from coming out, I chew up the insides of my cheeks to remind myself there's other pain than what he's doing to me. My legs are strapped tightly to the table, there's no running for me. All I can do is lie here and take it.

At least he can't hurt Nige anymore. At least there's that.

Dad drips the acid slowly, one little drop at a time onto my leg, destroying the old scar tissue there and making it shake in agony. I dig my nails into my arms, drawing blood and chew hard on my cheeks in an effort to stay quiet. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of my screams. I won't cry either.

The last time I cried, it was for something that hurt far worse than this.

Dad reaches for the second vial, the one that would have been for Nige if he was still alive. The old familiar smell of my flesh burning away hits me and I lay back to stare wordlessly up at the ceiling. I can lie to myself, pretend that it barely even hurts. I tell myself it's just a tickle. I'm good at playing pretend. I always have been.

"Norway, the answer to question two, please."

I raise my head, slipping the book I was reading further underneath my desk. I try to decide in the split second I have whether or not Mrs. Morrison saw me reading. Possibly. She's old but good.

"It-it-it-it-it's ....." I lick my lips and try again, "It-it'sss th-th-th-th-th-"

"Thirty-nine point two six eight, Mrs. Morrison."

My cheeks bloom with heat and I slide down in my chair a little more as Mrs. Morrison berates my rescuer. Sometimes I think she just likes to watch me try to speak in class. She's not the only teacher. Or student.

My ears burn from the muffled snickering that comes from the back of the class. One of these days I'll get out early on good behaviour and a hole will come along to swallow me up.

So far no luck.

I have too many books. They never all fit in my backpack. I hug them to my chest while I walk down the hall after school, various texts from courses two years ahead of my age making my arms ache. I hid in the bathroom today for an hour, waiting for everyone to be gone before I tried leaving.

Still, I look over my shoulder as I hurry down the halls, feet out of sync. I don't feel like being shoved into a locker today.

"H-h-h-hey," I say, voice soft. I sit in front of him, knees to my chest, stack of books beside me. It's clouded over but it hasn't rained yet and Dad doesn't expect me home for another twenty minutes. "I-I-I-I fffound a-a g-good r-rock yes-yester-yesterday." I take it from my pocket and place it in front of him, right next to a line-up of ten others. I found it on my walk home and took it home. I shined it up just for him.

I stay there for as long as I can, I've timed it so I can make it home in five minutes from here. I don't want to go just yet. I know Dad's waiting for me and he doesn't like to be kept waiting but I don't get to spend much time with Nige as it is.

I press my fingers to my lips and then to his headstone, wiping them over the smooth marble down to the indents of his name.

"S-see you l-l-la-later."

I wake up at three in the morning with tears in my eyes because my leg hurts so bad or because of the dream I just had. I dreamed I was in a big house, so big it spanned across the district. I knew Nigel was looking for me, I could hear him calling down the halls but no matter how far I walked I couldn't find him.

I sit up in bed and push my fingers into the spot on my leg that always hurts the worst from where the piece of metal tore through it. They gave me medication for the pain last year and I watched my father pour the little pills into the trash bin the very next day. I couldn't make a move to stop him, it hurt too much to walk.

It hurt to have my eyes open, to even breath.

I learned how it could ache to be alive last year after the accident.

The moon is full outside my window, just for me. When I was younger and stupider I used to think that the moon followed us home, that it went everywhere with Nige and I. It used to make me feel safe.

Now I feel it watching me.

My eyes fall on a figure walking down the street. It's Dad coming home from work.

I lie back down in bed and pretend to be asleep. The pretending works and although I hear the front door to our condo open, it's far away sounding. The noise doesn't hurt me and my thoughts scatter.

"Fuckin' Retard."

My shoulder slams into a locker and the stack of books in my arms fall to the floor. I shut my eyes, the sudden pain making my knees go weak and I fall to them with a sharp 'thud'.

The boys laugh and one of them kicks the locker near my head. I don't flinch as the sharp sound resonates through my brain, I just start collecting my books. I focus on the letters on the astronomy book in front of me. There are stars beneath the words. They're slightly blurred on the stiff cardboard cover of the text.

'Bang.'

One of them shoves the textbook out of my hand and it falls onto the floor, standing up like a tent.

I think about what it would be like to be dead.

"Lie back Norway."

He's got a knife in his hands, big and sharp. I do what I'm told, at least it isn't acid today. He straps my arms down onto the table so I can't struggle and lays the flat of the blade against my bare torso. Scars run up and down my skin like wildfire from years of his experiments, sometimes acid, sometimes fire, knives too.

He doesn't surprise me much anymore.

I don't know why he still does the 'experiments'. Nigel isn't here anymore.

I guess it's because they were never really experiments on the first place. Dad always blamed us for Mom dying.

Now I've killed Nigel too.

I shut my eyes as he digs the blade into my skin, drawing lines in me, over and over and over again.

"Sh-shit Nige," I say and I wipe my nose with the back of my fist.

His headstone stares back at me, bleak and as unfeeling as his corpse rotting away in the dark dirt beneath me. It's one in the morning and dad won't be home for a few more hours. I don't have to worry about getting home.

A tear slips down my cheek and my collar catches it, oddly hot in the cold of the fall night.

"Sh-sh-sh-shit I-" my throat folds up tight and I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. I don't have anything left in me to say to him, I don't have anything but apologies. It hurts to be here, in front of his grave, alone. I miss my brother, my other half. He was my mirror image and now when I look for my reflection all I see is a ghost.

It's haunting.

I miss him.

I miss my mother.

I can't help thinking I'm already dead and this is my hell for killing them both. I can't help thinking this guilt, Dad's torture, it's what I deserve. If it weren't for me, they'd both be alive. If they weren't so hell bent on protecting me, useless, helpless Norway, it'd be ok.

But I killed them.

Both of them.

"-I-I-I'm s-sssso sorry?"