And I Repeat

"I swear, if I only find out… " his hand released my neck from its tight grip. He took a couple of steps back, looking me up and down, grimacing as if it wasn't his son standing before him, but a leprous slave. All of this seemed painfully familiar, yet unreal.   I was asleep, and my personal nightmare was haunting me again. I tried to wake up with an effort of will, but it quickly became clear that I was stuck in this dream.   "Geta, do you really think you can escape?" the father figure suddenly increased in size, his voice echoing in my head. Everything around me dimmed, as if someone had extinguished the sun. Every time this dream started the same way, and every time it ended differently.   My name sounded louder and louder, increasingly. I couldn't go anywhere from the palace hall, which had suddenly turned into the Tarpeian Rock. Now I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and if I stumbled, I would fall down. The surroundings looked artificial, even the night sky. There were no stars, no clouds, no wind. There was nothing but me and my father, whom I feared most in the world at that moment.   "Geta, why are you silent?" he grinned unkindly, approaching me again. "I loved you so much…"   Everything he said, every word, sounded menacing and insane. This wasn't a conversation with a beloved son.   The distance between us was shrinking, and I stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed by fear, unable to move.   "I loved you!" he shouted so loudly that I instinctively covered my ears with my hands. "Tell me, Geta, how does it feel to know that you killed your own father?"   A smile, or rather, a predatory grin, touched his face. He revealed a secret that even Caracalla didn't know. I had arranged everything so that no one would guess. But my subconscious remembered it and was now using it against me.   I opened my mouth to pathetically apologize, to beg for mercy, but my father suddenly lunged at me, pushing me down.   ***   At the parents' funeral, my brother didn't look sad. It seemed he was barely holding back a smirk. I knew he had wanted this for a long time, although I hadn't assumed until now that someone had contributed to their deaths. I, on the other hand, played my part better. Why did I do it? Like Caracalla, at some point I just got tired of waiting. A useless mother, who was never any good, and a despot father, who only thought about the empire, not his sons… They shouldn't have remained in power for so long. As Caracalla recently said to a bunch of old men: "Times are changing." And this time, luck was on our side.   No one suspected anything. Quintus, Acacius, Lucilla, the particularly attentive senators — they all looked at us with silent reproach, probably for a second assuming that two people couldn't suddenly die on the same day. However, I was well prepared, I chose the right poison and set the stage. The unfortunate coincidence looked like a simple accident. Father didn't have time to write a will, so the throne belonged to both of us. Everything was going according to plan.   ***   Except for tonight, the usual nightmares haven't haunted me for about a month — since the very moment of the coronation. At first, I thought I had finally found freedom, having gotten rid of my parents.  Partly, it was true. Caracalla and I could feast, play games, drink wine, contradict the fools from the senate, and enjoy each other's company. No one dared to tell us what to do; no one could threaten us; and no inhabitant of the most powerful empire in history had the right to grab me by the throat anymore. I felt (and continued to feel) like a god, but a certain melancholy settled within me. The days were indistinguishable from one another, and always, going to bed, pondering the situation, I came to the same conclusion.   I would have done the same today, catching my breath after waking up in silent horror. But the door to my bedroom opened, and Caracalla appeared on the threshold.   "Can't sleep?" I asked, not attaching much importance to his arrival. My brother often couldn't sleep.   "I was thinking…" Caracalla began, not moving from the spot. The moonlight, breaking through the small window, only outlined his silhouette, so I couldn't make out his face. "I miss them."   "Miss who?" I pretended not to understand what he was talking about. I wanted to discuss this topic least of all, especially after such a restless sleep.   "Don't pretend," Caracalla finally took a few steps forward, and the moon was able to illuminate his face sufficiently, "This is your doing, isn't it?"   "What makes you think that?" I muttered, trying to hide the tension that gripped me.   "I know you too well, brother," he came up to me and knelt beside the bed. There was no insane grimace on his face; Caracalla was conscious.   I sighed, shamefully looking away. I knew that if I looked him in the eye, he would understand everything. But the answer to his question was clear anyway, and my meaningful silence only confirmed it.   After a couple of seconds, I received a hot slap. Deep down, I admitted that I deserved it and wasn't angry with my brother.   "I thought it wasn't an accident," he hissed.   "I did it for you. For us," I tried to justify myself, realizing that there are no justifications for murder. "Caracalla, listen to me…"   "How could you, Geta?" shouted my brother, almost screeching. "Our father wasn't a gift. I know this like no one else because I was the unloved son. But you… You got everything! Wasn't it enough for you?!"   "What are you talking about? 'Everything'? His prohibitions, his control, surveillance, stupid decrees, this dictatorship and the eternal fear that we would do something wrong… Don't you remember this anymore? He hated both of us! Is that 'everything' in your opinion?"   Caracalla was silent, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes. Now was not the time for hysterics, but only a miracle could stop the impending storm of emotions. My brother knew how to keep secrets, he wouldn't betray me. However, I couldn't stand arguing with him, because in the end, he turned out to be right.   "Tell me, Caracalla," I began insinuatingly, sitting down next to him on the floor, "do you remember what we dreamed of? Once, our main dream was to be left alone, together. You have power, you have me. If our father were alive, you wouldn't have any of this. He would have crossed you out of the will and, at the same time, out of my life, as he tried to do once. Have you forgotten about this?"   My brother stared into space. He shook his head and buried his face in my shoulder.   "So, when I'm not the way you want me to be, I'll die too?"   "What?" I was taken aback.   Caracalla pulled away and looked me in the eye. I struggled to maintain eye contact.   "If you ever hate me… Will you kill me the same way you killed our parents?" he asked childishly, as if it wasn't a conversation about life and death, but about why leaves fall from trees.   I was confused. My brother had a talent for complicating things.   "How can I hate you?" I sincerely didn't understand what he was talking about.   "You hate everyone who doesn't act the way you want them to," he replied innocently.   Perhaps his remark was fair.   "Perhaps there is some truth in that. But I can't hate you. Maybe get angry or…" I carefully chose my words, "or something like that. But hate? No, never."   Was I telling the truth? Or just what Caracalla wanted to hear? I was entangled in my own web of deceit, unable to admit the lie to myself. I came back to the point where I had to decide how far I was willing to go for Caracalla.   "You shouldn't make such decisions alone," he was still looking at me intently. "Yes, I was unlucky, and I didn't particularly like our father. Yes, I was waiting. But this… Geta, this is too much."   I felt remorse. But not because I had orchestrated the death of my parents, but because my brother was suffering because of me. The only person who mattered was now unhappy. However, I still didn't admit my mistake.   "I was wrong not to let you know," I replied. "I'm ready to apologize for that. But what's done is done. We'll have to live with it."   Caracalla didn't seem satisfied with my answer.   "You're always ruining everything!" he started screeching again, making me wonder how to comfort him. "And I… I'm left alone with the beast! Why did you do this, Geta? Who asked you to?"   No one asked me. I was just sure I was doing the right thing.   "Calm down, Caracalla. Neither you nor I can bring anything back. I won't hurt you, you know that," I tried to take his hands, but my brother didn't allow me to.   Tears streamed from his eyes, and Caracalla himself shuddered with sobs. I couldn't help him and probably looked bewildered. Since we became emperors, he had been crying more and more often. And I knew it was because of me.   I gently lifted his face by the chin and cupped it, gently touching the cold, wet skin with my fingers.   "I hate everyone but you," I whispered. "Look at me. I promised at the funeral that I would stand up for you. I will keep my word, no matter what you do. You can always count on me. Just trust me."   Caracalla hugged me and pressed his face against my neck.   "How can I trust you, brother?" he lamented without malice, and I could barely make out his words. "After what you've done?"   I stroked my brother's back with one hand, running the other through his tangled hair.   "I did it for us," I repeated firmly. "But remember, Caracalla: you are everything to me. It's completely different."   He just sniffled and continued to cry. My heart was breaking when I thought about the pain I had caused him. Thousands of slaps and lashes wouldn't be enough to atone for my betrayal of him. Caracalla never cried over the death of our parents. Until today, I lived in full confidence that he wanted it as much as I did.   In despair, I began to kiss his wet face: cheeks, forehead, nose, chin — everything I saw. It wouldn't comfort him, but I wanted to comfort myself at least. I touched his lips, and Caracalla opened his mouth slightly. I tried to be gentle, giving a chaste, almost innocent kiss. My brother responded weakly, but now wasn't the best time for anything more.   We just sat on the floor in each other's arms. For a second, it seemed to me that this was enough.   "Will you stay with me?" I offered when I noticed that Caracalla was beginning to calm down.   "Of course, brother," he smiled faintly, and I noted to myself that this smile was very sad.   What have I done?