Not again.

I drop to my knees, lifting my brother’s head into my arms. His face is the same as mine, like looking into a mirror. Only his cheeks are sunken, his skin gaunt, his eyes no longer the color of honey but the color of dirty water. Drugs. I wish I knew when it started, or how he let it get so bad, but I don’t. It just came on me like a hurricane; one minute he was just going out partying, the next he was suffering mood swings and isolating himself.

I should have known.

But we’re young, just starting out, both of us are leading our own lives. We no longer live in each other’s pockets like we did when we were boys. How was I to know he was using so heavily?

I should have.

That’s just the simple answer.

I should have fucking known.

He’s my brother, but not only that, he’s my twin.

I feel him in a way nobody could ever understand.

I should have been looking out for him.

“Brax, wake up, come on. Wake up, man.”

I shake him a little, but his head is flopping. He’s sprawled out on his bed. Luckily, I had the sense to come by his apartment and check if he’s okay. He’s not, and panic grips my chest. Why the fuck is he doing this? What the hell happened to him to make him this bad? We had a good upbringing, we had good parents before they passed away a few years ago, everything was good.

So, what went wrong?

And why didn’t he tell me about it?

I turn my brother to his side, sticking my fingers down his throat over and over. They’re barely getting coated in saliva because his mouth is so dry. I don’t know if he’s like this because of drugs, or alcohol, or both. I don’t know what he did last night. I was out, I should have been with him. I press my fingers in until he makes a groaning sound and starts to gag.

I keep them in there.

Over and over I press until he finally vomits. I move my hand just in time as he spills his stomach all over the bed. He does this, gagging and retching, until there is nothing left. Then he flops to his back, breathing rapid, face way too pale. I pull out my phone and dial an ambulance. He needs medical attention. And he needs it now. I give the lady on the phone the address then I hang up.

“What’s going on?”

I twist to see his roommate, Ashton, standing by the door, coffee in one hand, toast in the other, looking completely unaware. His eyes go to the vomit on Braxton’s bed, and his face screws up. “Yuck.”

“You didn’t fuckin’ think to check him?” I bark at the young, stupid man.

He jerks his head back and looks at me. “He’s a grown man. I’m not going to come into his room to check him every day. Didn’t even know he was home.”

“You know he has a fuckin’ problem!” I roar, fists clenching, face burning.

“Calm down, Koda. He’s a grown fucking man. It isn’t my job to fucking take care of him.”

“He could have died in here. If I didn’t come over, he’d be dead. Is that what you want? All because you can’t check?”

Ashton shakes his head. “Your brother has a problem. That problem ain’t mine. I’ve tried to fucking look out for him. He don’t want nothing to do with it. He’s out there, drinking, doing drugs, and fucking with the wrong people. If that doesn’t kill him—” he jerks a finger at the vomit “—then I guarantee someone else will with the shit he’s been getting into.”

I narrow my eyes. “What shit?”

Ashton shrugs. “Don’t know.”

“Bullshit, you just said it’ll get him killed so you know fuckin’ somethin’. What shit?”

Ashton’s eyes dart to the left, then to the right, then settle back on mine. “He’s been dealing. Working for dangerous people. You can’t be a junkie and deal drugs. You’re going to get yourself into serious trouble. We all know this. If you have an addiction, you’re going to mess up. He has an addiction. And he’s messing up. Taking the drugs for himself, dodging people, pissing off the wrong men.”

“Names,” I demand. “Give me names.”

“Don’t know names,” he says, backing out of the room a little. “And I’m not about to find out. I’m moving out this week. Not living where it’s dangerous. Your brother needs to help himself. I got shit to do, a life to live, I ain’t getting involved in whatever he’s sunk himself into.”

I glare at him.

But at the same time, I understand.

He’s young, he’s working, he doesn’t need to get involved in shit that doesn’t concern him.

“Fair enough,” I mutter, running my hand through my hair then down over my face, exhaling loudly. “Is that all you can tell me?”

“That’s all I can tell you, man. And I only know that because I’ve overheard him talking and heard rumors around. Want to know anything else, you’re going to have to ask him. Not sure he’s going to tell you anything, though.”

I glance down at my brother, pale and panting on the bed, still out of it, eyes closed, but twitching occasionally. He’s in a bad way. But it isn’t just about him anymore, it’s about whatever shit that he’s gotten himself involved in.

Which means it’s now about me, too.

Fuck.