Gaze – Rudy Civello

June 25, 2026

My uncles used to let me drink beer with them when my mum fell asleep. They weren’t really my uncles. They were my mum’s pals. Every night as my mum started to dose off my uncle Tommy would take her up to bed, or if he wasn’t there my uncle Jamesy, then I’d take a beer from the fridge. At first my uncle Jamesy used to get me one, til he snapped at me one night.
        Dae ah look like your fuckin butler.
        I shook my head. He nodded towards the fridge.
        Get me wan tae.
        Right Lyra ye gonnae show yer auld uncle Jamesy whit ye learned at dancin this week, he’d say.
        Lyra loved it. Ever since we were wee the one thing she loved more than anything was attention. And she was never short of it. People used to stop my mum in the street and tell her how beautiful Lyra was.
        So if Lyra got the looks whit the fuck did Liam get, I heard one of her pals say, as I stood outside the living room listening.
        Lyra ran to her room and put on her dancing clothes. Usually she wore shorts and a sports bra. Though if my uncle Paul was there she’d put on one of the fucked up costumes she had to wear for competitions with a tiny wee skirt that barely covered her arse. I hated going to bed and leaving her in there asleep on my uncle Jamesy’s lap. Though sometimes when Lyra came into the room, she’d climb into my bunk, then fall asleep in my arms.
        Sometimes I’ll say something and I have this gut feeling that I shouldn’t but can’t think of any logical reason why not so I say it anyway, then I find out why I shouldn’t. It’s harder when you’re younger and spend so much time around adults to recognise that there are blind spots in your brain, things you just can’t yet comprehend. Though I don’t know if I’ve ever fully grew out of that, doing or saying things I feel I probably shouldn’t, but being unable to think of what else to say or do so saying or doing it anyway. I felt something similar to this when I’d lie in my bed with Lyra. We used to take baths together. My mum showed us photos. Whenever one of us would hit the other, my mum would make us apologise to each other and give each other a kiss and a cuddle. So lying in bed together, trying to make sense of something that felt exciting at first then started to feel wrong at a point when it felt like we were too far gone, knowing that we would only feel like this in this moment then forget all about it by the next day and do the same thing again that night, didn’t feel like the worst thing in the world. I thought and still think to an extent that us lying there together in each other’s arms was quite sweet. It wasn’t til years later when I got my first girlfriend, Erin, that where I placed my hands as we kissed, where she positioned her legs as she lay in my arms in bed and how I felt as I watched her dance, made me realise just how much Lyra and I had experimented with each other. Though by this point she didn’t speak to me at all.
        My relationship with Erin didn’t last long. She wouldn’t tell me why.
        Lyra and I had one class together at school, woodwork. I only took it because every other class was either full or I didn’t have the grades for it. Lyra took it because the group of boys she spent her teenage years being passed between took it. It was a small class. She was the only girl. Lyra, James, Tommy and Paul were on one side of the class. My mate Johnny and I were in the middle. Then all the cunts that actually cared about woodworking were down the other side nearest the teacher. No one knew Lyra and I were related apart from Johnny and Paul. Paul was nice to me whenever he was in our house, but he ignored me in school. He was always picking on Johnny. Johnny was terrified of him.
        People used to play this game called nervous. It was basically you ran a hand up one another’s leg and if you didn’t stop the other person’s hand you won. Lyra prided herself on being undefeated at nervous. Everyone used to watch her running her hand up James and Tommy’s legs until they pushed her away at the last second. Sometimes she’d play nervous with the cunts at the front of the class and when they reached the top of her leg she’d let out this loud groan and they’d shite themselves and James, Tommy and Paul would kill themselves laughing. The teacher just pretended he couldn’t see what was going on. She always did Paul last. He was undefeated at nervous, though he only ever played it with Lyra.
        On the last day of fourth year my mum made Lyra and I go to school. Lyra wore this extremely short skirt. She, Paul and I were the only people in class that day. By this point they were going out with each other.
        Last ever game a nervous, said Paul.
        No, said Lyra.
        Go for old time’s sake.
        I turned round as I heard Lyra unzip Paul’s trousers. I saw her dancing across our living room, all the bitterness I felt at everything coming so much easier to her dissipating as she leaped, span and shaked her body, her face going from one grateful for attention, to one of discomfort, to losing herself in her art, transcending her environment. I could hear my mum’s pals whispering things but I couldn’t hear what, just a drone, as Lyra moved in perfect syncopation. I hoped her smile was genuine. I hated leaving her in the living room in my uncle Jamesy’s lap.
        I noticed Lyra and Paul staring at me. I excused myself to the toilet and headed straight to my next class. That day as I walked home I noticed Paul walking behind me. I don’t remember what happened next, but I woke up in hospital with Lyra sitting on a chair beside me.
        Ah’ve split up wi Paul, said Lyra.
        Ah didnae think he was gonnae do all that.
        We sat in silence for about half an hour. I could tell she wanted to cry, so I smiled at her. She stood up and left.
        Ah think you’ve got a wee bit of OCD son, said my mum.
        Ah think that’s what aw the starins aboot.
        I never knew that people seen me staring all the time. I thought everybody stared at everybody and never noticed other people staring because they were too busy staring themselves. I always assumed people stared at me but I just never saw them. Obviously not.
        I never went to my mum’s funeral. That night Lyra turned up at my door drunk. She slapped me across the face.
        Why were you not there today, she said.
        Then she hugged me. I held her in my arms, thinking this is the hug we should’ve had years ago. She still smelled the same. She walked into my living room.
        This place is actually nice.
        Don’t sound too surprised.
        D’you have anythin for drinkin?
        I shook my head.
        Ye okay?
        I nodded.
        You?
        She nodded.
        She looked good. She had on a white shirt with a black cardigan, black skirt, black tights. She’d slipped out of her shoes. She’d had her lips done. Her hair was darker. She rested her head in her hands.
        It’s not your fault, she said.
        Ah ye can’t help it… but back then was so… ah know ye can’t help it… but am your sister… your twin fuckin sister… you were supposed to look after me.
        What is it, I said.
        It’s that, it’s the way you look at me. Do you want to fuck me or something.
        I nodded. Turns out it was a rhetorical question.