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When I proposed to Eva, days and lifetimes ago, that we take the sleeper train to Paris again, I never believed it would actually happen.

We have to wait for hours at the station for night to fall. It does not fall. It creeps over us, like a dark assailant, lulling us into a false sense of security, and then— wham! It is night.

We do not have sex on the train. Instead, we sleep. She lies on top of me on the tiny single bed surrounded by six of our newest, closest friends.

I always assumed that when a couple stopped having sex, even for twenty-four hours, it was a sign of a failing relationship. Now I know that is not true. Not having sex with Eva feels phenomenal. She is stitched to my body like she belongs there. She was amputated by accident the day I was born and I have been missing her all my life.

I love her so much that I am scaring myself—truly scaring myself. I will do anything for her. I am so wild with this urge that I am almost asking for it, demanding that anything and everything come my way to try to stop me from loving her.

I want to fight for her so badly that I am scared that I will start the fight.

—

When Eva and I reach Paris, we divide and conquer. I arrange to meet Mas at a café in Pigalle. It is easier than it has ever been to convince him to come and see me. You would think that would make me happy, but instead I feel edgy. I do not like things to be too easy. I, maybe, do not like things to be too fixed.

“You look like shit,” he says when I sit down. “You must be happy.” The accusation stings a little. I have never been happy, and part of me feels I am betraying my true self.

I try to focus on the future, on my impending death. I can worry about my many issues later. “I want to ask you a favor.”

“What a surprise.” He sips his coffee.

“It’s a favor to you, too. I want to help you with your house in Bordeaux.”

He puts his cup down. “How do you know where the house is?”

“I’m sorry. I had to find it so I didn’t go there by accident,” I joke. “I am going to get help. I just have to take care of one little thing first.” That little thing being my life.

Mas rolls his eyes. “Fine. How are you going to help me?”

I scan our surroundings, then pick up the complimentary matchbox on the table. I light a match. We watch it burn. “Permit problem solved.”

“And how does this help you— No, wait. Strike that. I don’t even want to know.” He sits back in his chair. He looks happy all the time. I think that is what unsettles me the most about him. He is about to be a father, and his world has not ended. He has a normal life. A life I do not want. A life I am terrified of having. “You know,” he says, “I would love to hear something from you that’s not a variation of ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘I need a favor.’?”

I fidget in my chair. I know I am the fuckup, but maybe I do not always want to be. “Would you really?” I ask. He looks annoyed at the challenge. “I’m not saying you’re the bad guy. I know I am. But I also feel that the only things I can talk about to you are things I know you’ll listen to. I know that’s my fault. I know it is. All I can say is that I am trying to change that, finally. So I can be the brother you deserve. The one who doesn’t need you so damn badly. The one who you need. The one who leaves you alone.”

“Then you need to quit your job,” he says, like he cannot help being the older brother.

“I have quit. I’m getting out. Technically, I am out. Right now.”

“It’s that simple?”

“It will be.” I smirk a little. “If you let me torch your house.”

“That doesn’t sound simple…”

I lower my voice. “I have to fake my death. It’s the perfect out for both of us. I won’t see you again for a while. Maybe forever.”

Mas takes a deep breath.

“It’s what you want, right?” I cannot help myself, because that’s not what I want. I love my brother. I always have, even when I have not loved myself. What I really want is an apartment in Paris. Not too close, but close enough to invite him and Giselle over for Sunday dinners. To see the kids and catch up and have every normal thing I told myself I did not want because I believed I did not deserve it. Maybe I am old or maybe I am dying, because that is what I really want. Even if I can never ever have it.

“I just want you to be okay,” Mas says. “If this is what you need…” He pulls a house key off his ring and sets it on the table. “Take it.”

“One day I will save you back.”

“You already have. Look, Ethan…” He fumbles with the buttons of his jacket, the same way I do sometimes. “I hated you for going to jail. I hated you because you were gone and I needed you. I hated you because I loved you. But I never hated you for what you did.” He meets my eyes. “Maybe I’m not as good as you think I am, because I never hated you for killing him.”