Doubling Down

The ghosts sneak into my dreams that night in the form of hands and mouths on bare flesh. Inexperienced fingers fumble inside pajamas, skin sliding against skin.

The illicit touch of two boys I was supposed to think of as brothers was my first foray into the world of sex. I’d learned to masturbate a few years earlier, but it wasn’t until those nights with Jude and Simon that I learned what true pleasure meant. How sweet it could be to share it with someone else, to know my touch drove them as wild as theirs drove me.

It started out as them comforting me over losing my best friend, but it evolved into so much more, until it was too big to contain. It wasn’t always sex, of course; some nights we just talked, sharing our hopes for the future, making plans for after they graduated the following year. They promised to take me on that trip Casey had flaked on. They were into art, so we planned to tour all the biggest museums on the east coast, starting with MoMA, where they could see Vincent van Gogh’s The ~Starry Night~, Simon’s favorite painting. Jude was more interested in the George Bellows collection at the National Gallery in DC.

I’d heard of Starry Night, of course—who hasn’t?—but I had to look up George Bellows to see the hauntingly potent and violent imagery of his paintings of boxers in the ring. It made sense, since both twins were on the wrestling team and spent afternoons sparring at a local gym when they didn’t have football practice.

I was looking forward to that trip so much, I started considering taking a gap year just to stay and spend time with them until they graduated. But we were reckless, and everything ended before we really had a chance to see where it would go.

We kept our trysts secret from my parents until they took a camping trip with the younger kids. The twins had summer school, so Mom and Dad left us behind, putting me in charge with the missive to not throw any parties. I obeyed that rule easily, but only because the twins and I chose to spend that week exploring our darker fantasies instead of socializing.

Suffice to say, we were so wrapped up in each other, we lost track of time and let down our guard, not realizing Sunday morning had arrived—and with it, my family.

In our defense, they were early. Hazel got stung by a bee and turned out to be allergic, so they’d spent the previous night in urgent care before heading home at the crack of dawn.

We were in the twins’ room, having laid both their bunkbed mattresses on the floor to give us more room to play. So when Dad came in, he discovered us still asleep, tangled in the sheets with me sandwiched between Jude and Simon.

It had to have been a comical sight, in retrospect. We’d been doing a little football player/cheerleader roleplaying after I found a couple of my old cheer uniforms. But the twins were in the miniskirts with their long hair in pigtails, and I was in the pads and helmet. We’d drifted off still half-dressed, my old uniforms stretched to oblivion from having two athletic young men stuffed into them. The football gear I wore smelled like Jude, and I claimed to never want to take it off. Gross, I know, but I was far less concerned about hygiene than about immersing myself in everything them that summer.

The rest of that day was a blur of anger and shame, my parents lamenting over what they did wrong, my little sisters hiding in their room. Sometime that night, Jude and Simon packed up and ran away.

They left a note, at least, but I kept it to myself out of spite, choosing to let my parents steep in worry over not being openminded enough to encourage them to stay, at least until they turned eighteen.

I didn’t search for them. I think it was partly out of shame, but also due to being under house arrest without phone or internet privileges for the remainder of the summer.

I hoped they’d return, climb through my window, and steal me away—a truly absurd wish, since my room was on the third floor of our old Victorian and there were no trees or trellises for climbing. Trust me, I did a detailed survey of the house for ways to escape, but there were none.

I spent the last two weeks of summer vacation letting Mom take me to the library to check out as many romance novels as I could carry. At least someone was getting a happily ever after, even if it couldn’t be me.

When I left for college, the seismic shift in my world was so drastic, I managed to avoid thinking about that glorious week with the twins. But the deep-seated shame clung to me, so I used the three time zones between us as an excuse to avoid my family entirely. I made friends, and even embarked on some tepid romances that never lasted, but mostly I immersed myself in school.

It wasn’t until my parents announced they were formally adopting Abby and Hazel that I finally caved and agreed to return home for the summer to help celebrate.

I adore my younger sisters, and half my guilt comes from believing I might’ve become a bad influence on them.

The sense of walking through a dream doesn’t dissipate when I wake to the familiar sounds of home, something I haven’t heard in a few years. I get a queer feeling in my belly when I lie there before opening my eyes, just listening to the rhythm of the morning.

It always begins the same way. The second the clock hits six a.m., the coffee maker’s timer kicks on, it grinds fresh beans, and starts to brew. A moment later, Dad shuffles down the stairs in his slippers, unlocks the front door, and steps out to pick up the paper. Then the girls start to stir, followed by Mom.

It’s comforting in its familiarity, yet I still feel like something important is missing.

I sit up and turn on my bedside lamp, then reach for my laptop where I left it at the foot of the bed. As I log into my social media account, my heart leaps at a new message from Casey.

Casey: !!!! Are you in town???!?

Sarah: Yep. Just for the summer. Back at home.

Casey: I missed you. Like SO much. WTF happened? You dropped off the face of the planet.

I roll my eyes at this. She’s one to talk.

Sarah: You disappeared first. Then I was grounded. Then just not in the right frame of mind for high school shit.

Casey: I hear you, neither was I. But that doesn’t excuse it…for either of us. I take at least 50% of the responsibility, but I’m willing to put it behind me if you are. So…what’s your schedule like? Want to meet up? I have so much to talk to you about.

Sarah: Just my sisters’ adoption party tomorrow. You should come.

Casey: It’s a date! But only if you promise to come out with me after. There’s this place I want to show you. You might hate it, but you might LOVE it (hoping you love it, because I do). Did I mention I missed you?

I laugh at her enthusiasm, and for the first time, things start to feel normal again. I tell her what time to show up for the party tomorrow and close the chat window, but not before checking the last one I sent last night.

My message to Jude sits unanswered, and evidently unseen. I’m disappointed, but not really surprised. I only found one twin’s profile, and it didn’t look like it’d been active in more than a year. If the twins are anywhere on social media, it isn’t on any of the big platforms, and I’m not sure where else to look.

But should I even be looking? What we did was wrong. I destroyed my parents’ trust, set a terrible example for my sisters, and worst of all, I didn’t fight hard enough to make my parents take care of the boys. It doesn’t matter how much I tell myself they were practically adults, old enough to fend for themselves—they still needed a family as much as Abby and Hazel did.

They could’ve been part of our family, if not for what we did.