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I'm a bad person.
Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds histrionic and self-serving, oh poor me, I'm so terrible, and would you please tell me that I'm not. But that's not what it's about. It's just the plain, honest truth.
Everybody in life has a choice about who they'll be, whether they'll be a saint or a son-of-a-bitch. I want to be a good person, want to do the right thing, but somehow things always get twisted and ruined. And everybody knows that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And it seems like all my good intentions go very, very bad.
I always tried to be the good son, the one with a steel spine, the one who could always be counted on when the shit hit the fan. I gave up everything for my family, with never a complaint. I would have died for my family. Should have, even.
I was ready to go, when I stared that pretty Reaper in the face. I knew it was the right thing to do, and I was ready. But the worst possible thing happened…I waited too long. If I hadn't fought so hard, hadn't been so fucking stubborn, it would have all been different. Because I was afraid, too scared to do the right thing, I waited too long and my dad, who I loved and idolized, gave himself up to save me. Me. How can I live with that? How can I go through every day knowing I'm responsible for making Sam an orphan?
And then there's Sammy. I tried to do the right thing by him, by bringing him back. It's what a big brother does. I wasn't going to let him down, and I did what I had to do to make it right. But I screwed it up. Dad was the smart one. He didn't ask for a year, a day, an hour. He knew that I could never stand for what he had done, that it would haunt me every day for the rest of the life I shouldn't still be living. But that's what I did to Sam. I saved his life, but I hurt his heart, and I don't know how to live with that, either.
All the things, all the people I've killed, it's all been for them. For Mom, for Dad, for Sam. I sold my soul, the one thing I ever had that was only mine, for my family. I've never done anything for me, for just me. Everything I've ever been, anyplace I've ever gone, was for family. To do anything else would make me feel guiltier than I already do, than I always have.
And God Almighty, do I feel guilty.
As it is, every night when I go to bed I have that sick lump in the pit of my stomach, the one that reminds me that no matter how hard I tried that day, it wasn't good enough. Mom and Dad are still gone. Sam still cries sometimes when he thinks I don't see. And I just don't know what else I can do, because every choice ends up going wrong.
And I think that's what hurts most of all.