Three Means 1

Bruised

The confession did not come as a surprise to Dulce; indeed, her expression remained inscrutable. It was a relief to understand that the peculiar nature of their relationship might be attributed to their twinship. Memories, vivid and unsettling, of their shared nakedness in a single bed flitted through her mind, causing her to shake her head in a useless attempt to banish them. Having never experienced the intimacy of siblings or the closeness of a deep friendship, she was at a loss to comprehend the normalcy of such a bond.

"Are you guys comfortable with each other?" she ventured, her voice steady despite the storm within her thoughts.

"What do you mean by that?" Angelo's reply was swift, his expression impossible to interpret, catching her off guard. She had presumed he would intuitively grasp her meaning, sparing her the necessity of elucidation.

"You know..." she began, but his unwavering gaze compelled her to elaborate.

"I've seen you sleep together before," she confessed, her breath held in anticipation. He did not respond immediately; instead, a knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Mhm...?" he murmured, his tone an invitation for her to continue.

"Naked," she concluded, her gaze dropping to avoid the intensity of his eyes.

Angelo, with a gentle yet insistent touch, lifted her chin with two fingers, compelling her to meet his gaze.

"We're close," he stated simply, his words a mere whisper of the complexities that lay beneath. His brief response, far from illuminating, only deepened her doubt.

    Understanding the pointlessness of further questions, Dulce shifted her focus. She placed her hand over Pierre's, lifting it gently to inspect the fresh, raw wounds on his knuckles.

    "I'm sorry, Pierre," she whispered, hoping her apology might reach him. But his soft, steady breathing continued; he was asleep.

    "Don't worry, Dulce. It takes a lot more than what you did to actually hurt him," Angelo interjected, attempting to ease her guilt. Instead, his words deepened her concern. Takes a lot more? Has Pierre been hurt before? Her eyes returned to the wounds, pondering what might have caused him greater pain.

    Tenderly, she brought Pierre's knuckles to her lips, planting soft kisses upon them, once and then twice. Absorbed in her efforts to soothe his pain, she failed to notice his gaze upon her. After the third kiss, she finally sensed his eyes, half-lidded and smiling softly.

    "Hey there," he murmured, amused by her gentle ministrations. Startled, she released his hand and rose quickly from her knees, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

Pierre, now awake and disoriented, sat up from Angelo's lap, his eyes fixed on her in silent expectation. But she offered no explanation. Instead, she turned and walked away, retreating to her room and once again turning her back on Pierre.

    She closed the door behind her and wondered why she ran away like that? It was an intimate moment she, herself, started. Why was she acting like a little bitch? She rolled her eyes and plopped herself on the bed, hoping time would go by quickly so the boys could fall asleep before she takes a shower. However, a knock on her door was heard and then a faint voice from behind it spoke "Can I come in?" It was Pierre and her heart sank again. Why was she feeling this way?

    "Sure, come in." She responded, sitting up against the frame of the bed. She crossed her legs, in an attempt to being more coy and he smiled once he noticed her attempt.

    He settled onto the round sofa near the door, his movements deliberate, his gaze steady. For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching her with an intensity that was both unsettling and thrilling. The silence between them stretched, charged with an unspoken understanding. Their eyes met and lingered, each quietly admiring the other.