"Ya think it's true?" Murphy said.
"What're ya on about?" Connor twisted his arm out of Murphy's grasp.
"What the Sister said, idjit," Murphy said angrily. He hated it when Connor pulled away from him.
Ever since he could remember—since before he could remember—he and Connor were like one brother. They slept in the same bed, took baths together, ate together, were together every moment. Up until this year, when they turned ten. Now Connor had his own bed. They took their showers separately. Because they were "growing up," they were supposed to need privacy.
Privacy was just another word for alone.
Murphy grabbed Connor's arm again, feeling skin scrape painfully against his palm. "The Sister said ya had to love Jesus more than ya loved anyone. Even yer Ma and Da."
"So fucken what?"
"If ya don't, ya go to hell, that's what."
"Purgatory," Connor corrected him.
Connor had been listening.
"What if I can't?" Murphy said. He loved Jesus, more than their Ma, even. But not more than everyone.
He grabbed Connor's other arm, to turn them face to face. Connor's eyes were a distant blue. The older they got, the less they looked alike. It made Murphy fucking crazy.
Slowly, Connor's eyes turned a deeper blue. He stopped trying to twist out of Murphy's hands.
Murphy searched his twin's face. Sometimes they didn't need to speak. That hadn't ended. Connor was talking to him.
"Fuck, yeah," Murphy whispered. "We'll go together."