I know John always wanted to live with me. As the youngest, he tried to emulate me – all my family said so. And when I wanted an independent life, he wanted that too. Of course, he couldn’t pay his own rent in his first year, so my parents said that since I lived alone in the apartment that my mother had inherited from her parents, I was obliged to share it with my brother.
I think they wanted to live without kids, too, so they dumped John on me. He’s not a bad guy, sometimes he’s really more fun and better, but I’m used to living alone. It was the freedom I wanted, the opportunities I dreamed of. When you live alone, you’re your own boss. You cook whatever you want, clean when you think it’s necessary and only for yourself, and you can also bring your girlfriend to visit. It doesn’t work that way with my brother.
John’s a butt plug. He always has to be with me, sticking around as the third extra even when my girlfriend comes over. And he’s at all my friends’ gatherings, too. I want to separate my family from my personal life a little bit, and ever since John started living with me, it’s impossible. He doesn’t understand when I ask him not to come home at night and gets offended when I openly say that it annoys me that he’s prying into my acquaintances when he should have his own.
One apartment for two with my brother is some kind of curse, not a gift of fate, as my parents think. I guess it’s only fair that John and I get an equal share, but I want to move out. I’d rather pay my rent already, and let my parents pay the small one’s rent at my mom’s apartment, just so I don’t have to put up with constant interference.
Family is good and cool, until they start crossing the line and trying to stick it to you for the rest of your life. It’s not like John and I are Siamese twins to suffer like this.
