I stopped other work and wrote this in two days, with one edit. I'll cross my fingers that there aren't too many mistakes. Pacing was hard on this one. It does start slow, so be warned.
I hope you enjoy this one, folks, as far-fetched as it is. Cheers!
*****
I never thought of Peter this way before, but I can't get the thoughts out of my head.
My brother and I are twins. I'll come straight out and admit that we do not hold many, if any, of the "twin stereotypes" one might hear about. We're not close or connected in any special way. In fact, growing up we were always fighting. We didn't share the same interests, we weren't the same gender, and he was considerably smarter than me, which I suppose I envied. That said, I was more athletic and popular. It annoyed him.
The atmosphere in our upper middle-class household bordered the lines of tolerable and toxic. In our late teens, Peter and I learned it was best not to engage with each other. It prevented unnecessary arguments and bitterness. We simply respected boundaries and acknowledged each other's presence every now and then.
My brother was the epitome of "nerd" in every way throughout school. He was short and scrawny his freshman year, wore big glasses on his face, and was kind of a know-it-all. He grew taller going throughout high school, but stayed skinny and lanky. The nerd persona remained with him and he never acquired many friends.
It wasn't until his senior year that he met Jon Adler, his best friend now. He's almost as nerdy as Peter, with the exception of being addicted to running. He somehow got Peter into and for the last four years, they've run seven to ten miles every morning.
Peter and I were destined to stay in our home town and go to Cal U, no matter what. Dad's an alum, and an important one. The school itself is respectable and large, but Peter could have gone to any top ten school in the nation, on full academic scholarship. He wasn't exactly thrilled at being a prisoner to Dad's demands. Still, Peter recognized how important it was to our father.
Besides, Dad also bought us a townhouse a quarter mile from campus and gave us a monthly stipend. For extra money, I worked a few hours a week waiting tables, while Peter coded one-off projects every now and then. We had it pretty good, with no expenses and no debt. We shared the space at the townhouse in the same manner as we did in high school, by ignoring each other. He handled his groceries and toiletries; I did mine. We never shared or stole anything from each other. Having lived this way for so long, it felt normal to both of us.
So on this fine Saturday morning, I was finishing up a school paper when my printer failed. Peter would normally have been out on his run with Jon, but he had mentioned a tech conference he was going to this weekend. I knew if I texted or called asking, he would say no. He cringes whenever anyone steps in his room, very protective of his things.
If Peter were here, he would certainly let me to email the file to him, so he could print it off and bring it to me. We were respectful enough to help with such odd requests, of course. Even if I could send the file directly to his printer (which I cannot do, because it isn't on wi-fi), he would have insisted on bringing it to me personally, rather than allowing me to fetch it from his room myself. Neither of us allowed each other in our rooms. Again, habits and rules of the boundaries we established in our childhood. Peter would utterly freak if he found out I so much as stepped the six paces into his room to get that paper.
But I had to do it. I swore I'd get it to the TA by noon and she was coming in on a Saturday, already making special time for me. I moved the file to a USB drive and went for it, hoping I wouldn't leave evidence of my presence behind.
We didn't have locks on our doors, because we didn't need them. Years of trust building accomplishes that. Hell, Peter didn't even have a password on his desktop. Again, he just knew I would never cross these boundaries.
Here I was, crossing these boundaries. I felt like a cheating spouse, in a way.
I quickly popped the flash drive in the bay and clicked on the file. In my nervous, even though I knew Peter was out for the entire day. Once the file was opened, I clicked the print button and off it went. After a short warmup, the printer hummed and spat out twelve sheets of paper, before stopping. Thank goodness there hadn't been any snags.
I reached over to take them off the printer when I heard the most heart-dropping sound. The keys to the door. Peter was working his way in. No one else had a key to the townhouse. Not even our parents. Never before have I acted so fast to escape a situation.
First, understand that our townhouse is unusual in that the bedrooms are on the bottom floor, while upstairs leads to an open loft, containing the living room, kitchen and dining area altogether. Downstairs, the front door opens into a foyer and then a hall. The foyer's spiral staircase takes you upstairs, while the hall leads you to the two bedrooms and bathroom in between. One can clearly see into the hall from the foyer. My bedroom was first, followed by the door to the bath, and then Peter's room.
Like lightning, I zipped to Peter's door, closing it fast, but quietly. As it opens to the inside of the room, Peter couldn't see me closing it, even if he had already made it inside the foyer already. I heard the front door closing behind him. I jumped back, snatching the papers of the printer and yanking the USB drive out of the bay. I quickly closed the folder and ducked under his desk, pulling the chair behind me. This left me cramped, but otherwise unseen.
Here's where it gets really scary.
Peter is still a nerd, in every way. His desk is important to him and a few years ago he spent a fortune on graduation money buying this gigantic thing. It's wide, deep, and several inches higher than most desks, with deep shelving on both sides. The center monitor can be adjusted horizontally and vertically, allowing the user to use the desk standing, which Peter did more frequently than sitting. The whole thing is massive and fancy, easily taking up half the space in his room. Fortunately for me, it's wide enough to duck under and still pull the chair all the way back into it. It just left me in an awkward position.
Speaking of the chair. Another fortune, a gift from Dad. Peter always kept it neatly tucked into the desk when he wasn't using it, likely to save space. Ironic, as often as he worked standing up, the chair was pulled away, taking up even more functional space in the room.
As I said, the desk is deep. Over three feet, maybe as much as four. I'm small and lithe, except for maybe these c-cups I wrangle with every now and then. Maybe if I weren't all of 100 pounds soaking wet, they wouldn't seem so big. Anyway, I was able to pin myself against the back wall, but my legs were pulled back and spread wide, with my head between my knees practically, and my tits squeezed out past them. As I said, an awkward position, but it allowed me to pull the chair all the way in, to its tucked position.
"Astrid? Hey, A? You home?" I heard my brother calling as he walked down the hall.
Of course I didn't respond. Hell, I was holding my breath. I heard him tapping on my door, calling my name again, before giving up and coming to his room. He opened the door and walked further in before I saw him. Considering how far back I was under the desk, I could only see him from the waist down and no more. He was wearing sweats. I wasn't Sherlock Holmes, but even I could figure out he must have been on his daily run.
'Didn't you have some conference to go to?' I thought to myself.
Just then, his phone buzzed. It dawned on me that my phone was in my room and if it went off without being answered, Peter would be highly suspicious of something. I prayed it wouldn't.
"Oh, hey, Mom."
There was a pause. I couldn't hear anything but Peter's side of the conversation.
