Part 1

He was coming home, and for that I couldn’t have been more excited. It had been almost eighteen months since I had last had the pleasure of resting my obnoxiously doe-like eyes on my older brother. Although, “older” wasn’t exactly the best terminology that could be used to describe Samuel Marzo. After all, Sam was only about three minutes older than me, so could older really be a proper term? Sam had always thought so. When we were younger, Sam was constantly reminding me of his superiority and of my peasant-like status among the family. That is until Sam got sent away so many months ago for reasons left undisclosed to the majority.

Dad had finally decided that Sam should be allowed to come home for the summer vacation and spend time with the family that had cast him out (under strict orders from our patriarch, of course). The decision to bring Sam back probably wasn’t made by Dad alone. I think that he was heavily influenced by the university botanist wife that had been pleading for the acceptance of her first son back into the family. Clara Clefton-Marzo, the mother of myself and my twin, had found her heart broken and crumbled the day that Dad had deemed Sam a disgrace and danger to his prized possession: me. I think that it was always my parents’ natural disposition to place themselves at opposite ends of the pole no matter what the disagreement. Maybe they decided a long time ago which kid would be their favorite and who would be the “other.” I really don’t know. It’s impossible to ever truly know what your parents are thinking. I don’t think I’ll ever ever really get the parental mind. Dad’s decision had been difficult up until Sam’s transgression, at which point he decided that I would be the smarter investment, while Mom, for whatever reason, found that she could never abandon her eldest son’s side.

The year and a half that I spent without having Samuel by my side was nothing less than miserable. It seemed like without Sam, I was nothing but a mere shell, a shy and timid creature locked inside of the mental box that I had hidden myself in when my brother had been torn from me. No one was there to tell me what to do, to instruct me on how to live my life. Well, save for my father, really, but as a tribute to Sam I never really did listen to the overbearing, pig-headed curmudgeon. The day that Sam left, shipped away to a Catholic boarding school filled with pedophile priests and sexually frustrated nuns, my life pretty much ceased to progress. School was nothing more than a hobby to pass the time, and a dull and slightly infuriating hobby at that. Filled with boys who did not know the difference between a compliment and a complement and who wanted nothing more than vodka, drugs and pussy (or cock, if that was their preference), I was constantly condemning my peers for their lacking intellect and preoccupation with the profane. Not that I was any kind of saint, but fuck, I was definitely superior and leagues above those whom I was forced to interact with on a daily basis. The only person that ever truly made me feel lowly and pathetic was Sam.

Fuck, I missed that feeling. I was addicted to it. Everyone has a vice; Sam just happened to be mine.

And now that my twin was coming home, I could feel the gears begin to creak with titillating anticipation. Sam would blow the dust from the stagnancy of my life and things would become exciting once again. Parties. Alcohol. Drugs. People. All the things that I had stayed away from since Sam’s departure would once again become commonplace to me. Everything would be the same as it always was.

Just a few more hours, and I would know who I was again. I needed Sam to remind me of my forgotten identity.