Three Means 1

Chapter 5: The Letter and the Scar

    Dulce's morning was calm as the twins left, leaving her a peaceful quiet for preparing breakfast. Unfortunately, the fried eggs had a liquidity different to what she was used to. Why had a small mistake ruined her cooking skills? Perfection was something she was known for, especially in making flawless fried eggs.

    But the bad things not only happened in the kitchen. It traced back to the night before, along with the letter she couldn't stop thinking about.. Her stomach twisted with nausea and her cooking mistake made it worse. She ran towards the bathroom to expel the mess into the sink. There, in the cold, she had to deal with an involuntary purge. She figured it was a reaction to two things: an uncomfortable night and the unforgiving texture of those eggs. She felt the cold porcelain against her skin and it reminded her of the toothbrush incident. Just like her emotions, the sink had a way of making her sick all over again.

    Once she regained her composure and was sure that her stomach would no longer rebel, she slipped into a comfortable flowy dress and sandals, securing her hair in a ponytail. She grabbed the letter. Her mind was set on leaving but there was hesitance, since she was worried about breaking ties with the kindhearted parents who had placed trust in her for the exchange.

    On her way to the mailing center, those thoughts attacked her.

    "Eliza will surely make things better." She considered, fingers tight around the envelope. "Worst case scenario is she'll accommodate me. I mean, it was her idea, after all." She questioned her own rudeness. Eliza's intentions, well intentioned and unknowing of the drama that was coming her way, offered comfort. After all, the mess was Dulce's own fault, a cheater left struggling with her guilt.

A cheater.
A cheater.
Cheater.
Cheater.
Che-

    Her thoughts stopped when a tall figure appeared in front of her. A man, tall and striking, with dark hair and expressive brown eyes: Pierre.

    Their eyes met.

    He greeted her with a warm smile despite the night he endured. Endured is the correct word, since he had visible bruises that went up from his neck to his lips to the corner of his eye. She wondered if they went further down.

    "Dulce" He said.

She hesitated but there was awkwardness in the silence between them.

"Pierre" She managed. His eyes were expressive and searching.

The mailing center appeared ahead and Dulce suddenly struggled with her decisions.

Vulnerably, Pierre's hand gently touched hers, but it also brushed against the letter she was holding so tightly.

"What's this?" He asked.

"Oh, it's just a letter for a friend back home." Dulce replied, hoping he would not ask more. His eyes scanned it, which caused her to have an irrational fear, fearing he would discover her intention to leave. Something entirely different came from his mouth.

    "Listen, Dulce, I apologize deeply for what I put you through last night. It is all my fault. I shouldn't have taken you out by force. I shouldn't have embarrassed you in front of all of those...." He went on and on but his words got lost on her distracted mind. Her thoughts wandered to his injuries. Was he the only one beaten so badly? How was Arthur? How did they stop fighting? Did Angelo intervene? These questions floated through her mind.

    The cuts on his face, mixed with the dark bruises, made his words sadder than they probably were, causing Dulce to brush her fingers over his wounds. That made him step back and break the contact.

"Sorry" She said, which made him sigh "I better get going now. I'll see you later. Angelo will be making dinner."

    Dulce felt shame. Whatever happened the night before had clearly made Pierre decide to keep his distance. She wondered if the letter to Eliza would even be necessary if things with all the men in her life were settled. However, her body was on autopilot, and she sent the letter anyways.

~

    Later, after walking around the protests without a single shred of fear, she returned home before night time. The twins had warned her once that protests could turn violent at night, and she kept this in mind.

    She could smell the food from the hallway outside but couldn't identify the exact ingredients.

    "I'm back." She whispered, hoping nobody would hear her, but, as always, someone did.

    "Welcome back."

    Dulce jumped at the reply and immediately looked to her right to find Angelo and Pierre together on the sofa.

    "Food is ready, in case you want to try." Angelo said, his hands busy running fingers through Pierre's hair as he lay on Angelo's lap.

    Dulce walked over to them and noticed Pierre's eyes were closed.

    "Is he okay?" She whispered.

    "He'll be fine. He's just in a bit of pain right now, but he'll get through it." Angelo said confidently.

    "Come here and rub his hair with me. That will probably make him feel better." Angelo suggested.

    Dulce listened and kneeled in front of them before running her fingers through Pierre's hair. While rubbing the softness slowly, she noticed his bruises again and switched her hand from his hair to his injuries, rubbing them slightly as if it would make them disappear.

    "You know" Angelo started. Dulce looked up at him and waited.

    "Those bruises aren't the only thing hurting him. His heart is too." He continued. Dulce's heart ached, knowing it was because of her.

    She didn't reply. She didn't know what to say to make it better.

    As she rubbed his injuries, pushing his hair out of his face, she noticed a mark on his temple. The mark looked like an old faded surgery scar.

   "It was not meant to be the three of us, you know? but he really likes you. That's why I asked you not to hurt him. Pierre's pain makes me feel it too." Angelo said.

    "We share such a deep bond, a connection that goes beyond a sibling relationship. Since birth, we were bound together in a way you wouldn't understand. Not ever. We are... special."

    "Special?" Dulce asked, her curiosity increasing by the second.

    Angelo took a deep breath, as he lifted his hair to reveal a matching scar on his own temple, and he confessed "we were conjoined at birth."