I had a twin once, unseen and small enough to be called a benign tumour but he had a voice and a name. I remember my mum showing me the scan where there were two distinct embryos and the next scan showing just the one. Somewhere in those few weeks I swallowed him but he never died.
Not until last month.
I'd always heard him in my mind, his deeper voice sitting alongside my own inner thoughts. He never told me he was dying and I never felt anything change until he went silent one day. About a week later the cold I thought I was fighting took a turn for the worse.
He was rotting away inside me.
After realising that I was actually alone for the first time in my life I started to spiral. The world felt so empty and my body hurt and I kept pushing myself to move forwards until I collapsed at work. It all became a blur after that until a few days ago.
They cut him out and threw him away while I slept.
I never even got to say goodbye and they'd already disposed of him before I'd even left the theatre. Just tossed my brother away with actual tumours, ruptured appendixes and actual medical waste but he wasn't waste - he'd never been waste.
He was my brother, my hidden twin and now he's hidden from me as well.
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