S E P I A

Of all the things that causes depression, feeling unwanted is what Kris loathes the most. He thinks being ignored is a torment; that it is meant for things that are apt to be replaced. But he's not a mundane. He's a person, and no one deserves to feel, and be taken over.

Kris sits by the bedroom window, feet bouncing agitatedly as he bites the nails off his fingers. After that night with Grace, before the Christmas break takes place, and until the second of January in the new year, that's all he's been doing---staring out the window and trying to fathom his thoughts.

There's a medium-sized box on his bedside table, covered in a plain silver wrapper with a white ribbon set more to its side, that is now covered in dusts for staying there for days, untouched.

It is a simple gift for Rose---a token of appreciation, as he likes to call it---that he's bought on his first time wandering alone inside a mall. Since that day, he's been hoping that she will like its simplicity; that she will appreciate its beauty like how he appreciates hers.

Exactly on Christmas day, he's texted her to meet him in Hot Mugs so he can finally give it to her. But she never replied.

"Network problem," he's presumed. So even though she didn't send a single reply, he has worn his new pair of clothes and has gone to the coffee shop.

"I waited," he tells himself. But no Rose has ever showed up.

He has tried calling her, but all calls has been diverted to voicemail, and she hasn't called him back.

Facebook is not pretty much his thing---he doesn't have one---so being updated through it will never work. And so he wait.

Until gifts have been given, greetings have been exchanged, fireworks have been lit up to the sky, and carols have been sung, but his gift for her stays exactly where he's left it, waiting for the right time.

"Man, we should hang out," Raphael says in one of his voicemails, but Kris chooses to ignore it. He's never really gotten out of his room until it's time for his first Wednesday session with Dr. Sario that new year.

The place has never been so new to him. So new that he has to stay in one corner, unwary to everything around him. He's bouncing his feet, feeling so much far away from his comfort zone.

"Happy new year, Kris," the doctor says, hoping to get any reaction from him. But he just stares at the man, blankly, though series of reactions are running in his mind.

"He's gotten bigger," Kris comments upon seeing the doctor's bigger belly. "But he has new clothes," he adds, mentally complimenting Dr. Sario's new uniform, and completely ignoring his remarks.

"Kris?" He blinks, unaware of what the doctor has just said. "How's your new year?" Dr. Sario asks again as his forehead creases, revealing lines that tells of worries. But Kris still he doesn't answer, and instead lowers his head like his old self will usually do.

Dr. Sario then shakes his head with a frown as he scribbles something on his writing pad. He's thought that there has been an improvement in Kris' condition, but it turns out that his calculations aren't accurate. He has to come up with a different approach, he thinks, so he can know the core of Kris' problem.

"What about Kirt?" Kris instantly stiffens upon hearing his name, a thing the doctor has noticed, getting his attention. If Kris' stare is lingering on him just a while ago, now his gaze is fixated to only his bouncing feet.

Man versus himself, he notes, finally getting to something.

"Is he still bugging you?" he asks again, formulating a conclusion. "I thought you said you've driven him away?" The doctor's voice has become provoking, and aggressive, Kris notices it. And he doesn't like it. He thinks he's digging his personal space; his past.

"Since when did he start showing up?"

His brows furrowed, feeling the shooting pain inside his head. "He transferred back to school, okay? I don't know. I don't really know," he says, rocking back and forth.

"What do you mean, Kris? What are you talking about?" The doctor won't let it slip. Their usual time is up but he's still scribbling things on his pad, doing his stuff, and it seems that he will not let Kris go anytime sooner. "Kris, don't make this hard for yourself. You need to accept things," he says, putting emphasis on every word.

"What really happened on that day? What really happened to your brother?" he asks again. Kris feels poison in his every question, and he thinks it's too much to take.

"Tell me what happened to Kirt."

The vague series of images he's seen on the car weeks ago, before he's fainted out, is now finally adjusting to a much clearer view. Once, everything is dark, but then Dr. Sario starts to ask questions and suddenly, it's like a switch has been flicked, and his once dark clouded mind is instantly filled with colors.

The beach, the Frisbee, the Hawaiian shorts and skinny bodies, they are all coming to him now, all at once.

"Let it flow, Kris. Let it go."

And he does. Even though the hardest but right thing to do is to accept things the way they are.

Lances of the setting light scatter through the teeming waters. The tides hiss as it lashes the beach, sizzling as it chafes the pebbles and dashes the sand, before it finally retreats offshore. It then releases a steady sound, as if gaining momentum, before it fizzes again, spits out grit and slaps the shingle in ravage; swirls and whirls before it becomes calm again.

The sound of genuine laughter of two young guys are evidently hanging in the air, with the wind carrying it and letting anyone nearby hear it.

"Take this, Kris!" Kirt hollers, the water splashing his feet, as he leans his arm backwards before forcefully tossing the plastic disc in midair, towards the other side where Kris is anticipating it.

Kris extends his arms in the air, but he fails to make contact with the disc, making it hit his forehead and setting him falling to the sand. It flabbergasts Kirt more than he should be so he runs to his brother's aid as fast as he can.

"Kris! Crap!" he mutters as he sees the evident wound on Kris' forehead. "Man, wake up!" His voice becomes breathy as keeps on shrugging Kris to wake him up. "Ambulance. I'm going to call an ambulance." He jolts up, but just before he runs for help, Kris lets out a menacing sound of laughter, rolling on the sand, to the moving tides, as his stomach ache.

"Really," Kirt says in an annoyed tone but it doesn't take long before he joins Kris on the ground, charging him until he is over him. "No fun, man. Did you see how worried I was?" he tells him, pinning his arms over his head so he won't fight back.

"Yes, yes. You should've seen your face." Kris continues to tease, still laughing, but he stops midway as he takes notice of Kirt's now serious facade. "What?" But Kirt doesn't answer. He just lets his gaze linger on Kris' eyes, not minding the soft wave that almost engulfs their bodies.

Kris thinks that his brother is just admiring how they look exactly alike---same black hair, black orbs, pale skin, and naturally red lips. But when Kirt's eyes averted to his lips and stays there, confusion strikes him hard. "Kirt?" But he can't seem to hear it and instead leans closer and closer until their lips meet.

With wide eyes, Kris pushes his twin back, rather harshly, until they both sit up with the water in turmoil around them. He doesn't talk. Only Kirt utters his almost inaudible apology as he tries to get to Kris. But Kris backs away, further into the sea just to stay far from Kirt who just keeps on trailing with him.

"Stay away, Kirt," he warns. But Kirt doesn't stop until he has Kris in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he tells him, keeping it on repeat.

"Let me go, Kirt." Kris struggles, fights back without realizing that they are driving themselves deeper, the current moving up to their chests. "Kirt!" He pushes him, harder than he does earlier, creating a gap between them, before a bigger wave collapses onto them.

He had been returned offshore, along with the retreating tides, but Kirt is nowhere in sight. He thinks he's playing prank on him like he's done to him, but the sun finally sets and the night encompasses the sky, yet Kirt hasn't moved out to shore.

Red and blue flashing lights, and a number of beach staffs, police and some divers crowds the beach. He can hear his mom's plead to find his son, and his dad's quiet sob, but he hasn't spoken a thing. No, not even the fact that the both of them has shared a kiss; not even the truth of him pushing Kirt to his death.

Kris' pants is now stained by hot tears that are still streaming down his face, continuously, without a stop. He always know that revealing the truth will hurt that bad, but now that he agad spoken about it, it feels like a weight has been lifted from his back. He feels free.

"Did you find him?" Dr. Sario speaks again, pertaining to Kirt's body, refreshing Kris' memory.

"Yeah." He's found him after two days, paler, fatter, lifeless.

"Do you still see him?"

Yes. At the lockers, at the clinic, at the halls, in his room---when he's made himself believe that Kirt has gone through the window---and in all corners, standing behind the shadows,

"And have you told your parents? The truth?," he asks again but Kris shakes his head, full of shame.

"But you will tell them, right?"

"Yeah." His voice is full of hesitation but everything that is inevitable should always meet its end. "I will."

Kent has never seen his son that weak, his feet wobbling at every step he takes towards their car. Dr. Sario hasn't wished for his presence that time, and he doesn't ask either. Maybe there's nothing to be updated about.

"Your mother called. There's someone waiting for you back home," he says, but Kris is still too preoccupied to listen; to care at least. Or maybe, the presence of Kirt smiling at him by the rearview mirror distracts his thought even more.

"Why hasn't he gone yet?" he asks himself. The doctor has told him that acceptance is the key. He's finally let it out, but there he is, still bugging him.

"I told you Kris," Kirt's smile just grows wider, seeing Kris feel so dumbfounded, "I will never let you be alone ever again." A wicked laughter fills the car that only Kris can hear as he sees the fading image of Kirt, satisfied like he always is.

A phantom of the past, that's what he is---made to meddle with the present; to haunt it; to destroy it.

Now, is he real? Only Kris knows.