I guess I've always liked running.

I tried to encourage Benji to join me, but it's one interest he doesn't share with me. I always felt there was something refreshing about the feel of the cool morning air on sweaty skin. Plus, I just enjoy the sense of accomplishment. I love getting home after a run and realizing that I've broken a record or something.

I know I shouldn't really be out on my own, and Benji tried to convince me not to go, but I want to feel normal again. I want to get on with my life. I just promised him that I'd only run in public places. Even the center of town isn't very busy in Waldorf, though.

I'm back at the motel, and I take a swig from my water bottle as I wander up the short driveway. I offer the receptionist - who could be the owner, I don't know - a grin and a cheery wave when I walk past the office on the way to our room. The police are still stationed outside, and they offer me waves of their own.

I tuck my water bottle under my arm and clumsily shove the key in the lock, turning the handle with my other hand. For no particular reason, I'm looking at the floor when I push the door open.

Then I look up, and drop everything I'm carrying.

There are clothes strewn everywhere - Benji's clothes - and the pot plant that was on the bench in the kitchen has been knocked off, spilling dirt all over the floor. The window is broken, covering the carpet in thousands of tiny shards of glass. My eyes finally travel to the bed, and my heart stops. I made it this morning - Benji would've never gotten around to it - but it looks as though someone's come in and deliberately torn it apart. The starched white sheets have been stained with red - the shade of red that can only be one thing. "Benji?"

I intended for my voice to sound calm and confident, but instead it sounds forced and panicky. I quickly stride over to the closed bathroom door and knock softly. I can hear the shower running. "Benji?"

There's a muffled sob on the other side of the door, and although I realize that this situation is seriously fucked up, I have to sigh in relief. "Benji, I'm coming in."

I push the door open and see my twin, sitting naked in the bottom of the shower with his knees pulled to his chest. His tattooed hands cover his face, and he doesn't even look up as I enter. The water flowing down the drain is tainted pink.

I pull the glass shower door open and kneel beside my brother, barely noticing the water as it penetrates my clothing and drives its way into my skin. I tug his hands away from his face and he lifts his bloodshot eyes to meet with mine. "Joel..."

I quickly check his shoulders for injuries, and when I see none, I wrap my arms around them and he leans into my embrace, his head nuzzling into the curve of my neck. I press my lips to his temple, hoping I can make him feel better, hoping I can stop the heart-wrenching sobs that are tearing me apart. I want to feel his pain for him. I wish I could take every ounce of pain - physical and emotional - out of him and bear it myself. I rock him gently in my arms, murmuring soft words. "Sshh, Benji, it's okay, I'm here now. I won't let anyone hurt you."

I feel an overwhelming rush of guilt as I utter these words. I'm such an idiot, I can't believe I left my brother here all alone. I guess I just figured it would be fine, under the watchful gaze of sunlight, and with the police right outside. And what's more, I didn't feel it - usually when there's something seriously wrong with my twin I feel it, and I come for him. But this time I knew nothing until I walked in that door and saw red on white.

His arms slip around me and his strong guitarist's hands cling to the fabric of my soaked white wifebeater. "Joel," he mumbles over and over, "my Joel..."

I make sure I've got a firm hold on him before slowly standing, pulling him to his feet with me. He winces in pain as I move him, and I feel another stab of guilt. "Yeah, Benj," I force a smile, "I'm your Joel and I'm here now, okay? Where are you bleeding?"

He looks me in the eye, and his expression is so hurt and confused that I'm scared he's been driven to the point of insanity. "Joel," he mumbles again, his fingers still tightly gripping my shirt, "he raped me, Joel."

I feel like kicking and screaming and breaking things. I feel like picking up a shard of glass from that broken window and going after the bastard who did this. I feel like ramming that shard of glass up his asshole and asking him how he likes having foreign objects shoved up there, with his own blood as the only lubricant. Right now, though, it's far more important that I'm here for my brother. So I just nod. "Alright, Benj, let's get you out of here and cleaned up a little."

He looks dazed, but he agrees, and I reach over with one hand and switch off the shower, still supporting him with the other. He manages to step out of the little cubicle without my help, but I can tell it's painful. I wrap two towels around him, one around his waist and one around his shoulders. "How long were you in the shower?"

I figure I was gone for maybe an hour and a half, so he could've been in there for an hour, maybe more. "Don't know," he says softly, "a long time. Couldn't get clean."

The bleeding seems to have stopped now, but I know he's still in agony that I can't even imagine. I brush his face with my fingers softly and lean in to kiss him. He shoves me away, almost violently, and I take a couple of backwards steps before I can steady myself. "Don't kiss me," he chokes out through fresh tears, "if you kiss me, he'll kill you."

If Tony doesn't kill me, the idea of not kissing him right now will. I want to pull him into my arms and kiss all his pain away. I want to make him forget about the outside world and all of the horrible things that come with it, and I want him to focus on me; because I'm his Joel, and I will never, ever do anything to hurt him. I'd rather die. Instead of pressing my lips to his, I sigh. "Stay here a minute. I'll get us some clothes to change into, and then we're leaving."

He nods. A few minutes later, and with some help from me, he's fully dressed and ready to go. I tie a shirt around his eyes and make him promise not to take it off until we've left the motel room, and I lead him to the door. He doesn't need another mental image to traumatize him for the rest of his life.

I quickly explain the situation to the cops outside, who are shocked and obviously tremendously disappointed in themselves. I have to admit, I'm pretty fucking disappointed in them, too, but when it comes down to it, it's not their fault.

Once we're safely behind the tinted windows of the police car, I kiss him. I don't care what the two cops in front of us think. He kisses me back tentatively, and I think I can almost feel his pain melting away - or at least, a little bit of it. I don't stop kissing him until we arrive at the police station ten minutes later.

I pull away but my face is still close to his. "I'm sorry for leaving you all alone, Benji," my lip is trembling as I try to hold back my own tears, "I'm such an idiot."

He just smiles and kisses my forehead. "Nothing to be sorry for, Joel. You didn't know," I think he's done, so I go to get out of the car, but he holds me back, "love you."

I squeeze his hand. "Love you too."