A/N: Little story I wrote last year. I have three years worth of stories (hundreds of them) piling up and this is the first one I've decided to post. Got a lot of feedback about the formatting and did my best to redo it. It's not indented the way I would like, but it has been broken up into more readable chunks. Guest reviews are moderated and I reserve the right to censor and/or delete any comments I deem inappropriate and/or do not meet the standards of FFnet. Please be civil and constructive. Thank you!
He doesn't eat well. He refuses to go outside on his own. I can't get him to do anything. All he does is sit in that chair all day and stare out the window. His gaze is unreadable and steady. Sometimes he'll pull up a book to read, but his eyes linger in the same page, seeing, but not thinking. Reading, but not understanding. When I dress him and put him to bed, I go back to the living room to put his book away, and when I look at it, I can see the wrinkled pages, stained with silent tears. He doesn't talk much anymore. I wish he would. I have entire conversations with him but it's like talking to a goddamn brick wall.
There's so much I want to say, but I don't know how. He'll never know how worried I was that night on the drive. He's lucky he's alive after what he went through. I know he thinks it's terrible that he can't walk, but why can't he be grateful for the life God gave him? It's not like I'm particularly happy about having a handicapped brother to look after, but the least he could do is show some appreciation. No, instead he mopes around like a damp piece of clothing, thinking about his loss. I know he thinks about Jess leaving. Sometimes I wonder if he knows why? I'm sure Jonesy or one of the others told him how I shot my own friend.
He's no friend of mine. I can't find it in my heart to forgive him. Whenever I see my brother like that, unable to walk or stand on his own, unable to rope and ride, my emotions bubble up and I hate the man. He was so close to saving him...it seems so impossible that he could have failed. And I blame him. I blame him for our troubles. He wasn't even sorry. He didn't even help me rescue Andy. What kind of man was Jess? An ex con for one, a gunslick... My friend.
No, no more. Those days are gone. He left, and if I know him, he's not coming back. A man like him takes bein shot rather personally. I thought for the first two weeks that he'd come riding down that road, all smug and indifferent, but he hasn't shown his face. I don't know how I feel about that. It's been over a year and a half now. I count the days, for some reason. I feel like I'm friends with a ghost. Hating the haunting but needing the company. The memory. I wrote a couple of notes, one in sorrow, one in anger. They're both lying dusty in my drawer. They speak louder than my voice, louder than any words I could utter, but I can't read them to anyone or myself. Because they're incriminating.
They state me as a man coinciding with everything he wants to stand for. They speak of a man who talks of second chances, but is nothing but a hypocrite. He lets his emotions rule him, he lets grudges drive him. A man who lives like that, isn't living, but merely existing. I think of these notes whenever I see Andy. I think of how rotten I am to be so mad about him. So mad that he's so damn helpless and that I need someone to blame. So mad that I let myself ruin a friendship and hurt my little brother. I know he'd handle it better if his best friend was here to help him cope, but his wounds go deeper, into his soul, where he's letting them fester. I can hardly hold it against him.
I'm the big bad brother. I'm at the point where I'm numb with the pain of everything. I just can't feel happiness anymore. I can only feel bitterness. It's infecting Andy and I know because he's so somber. I looked in on him the other night and I saw him crying. Staring up at the ceiling, unblinking. Tears, warm and quiet, rolling from the edges of his eyes and into his ears. He sat like that until he was too tired and rolled over in the covers. I wanted to curl up next to him and reassure him that everything would be fine. How can I? What can I say to him that will make everything alright again?
The doctor said he'd never walk again.
To be continued...
