“You know why I don’t want your help?” he screams at me. “Because you don’t understand. You don’t see me.”
“What are you talking about? All I see is you!”
“No! You see a kid in a wheelchair. You see your little brother, who you’re in charge of, who you’ve had to change your whole life for. You see your own stupid, stupid guilt. But you don’t see me. Logan. You haven’t seen me since the accident.”
“That’s not true.” I crouch down in front of him so that we’re eye to eye. I’m sick at what he’s saying, sick that he believes it. Even more sick at the idea that it might be true. “I love you, Logan.”
“You love who I used to be. You don’t love me. How can you, when you never listen? You’re too busy telling me what I should do or how I should do it or why I can’t do something to listen to what I want. To hear what I’m saying.”
“I don’t—” I break off, unsure of what I’m supposed to say. Of what he needs me to say.
“You do. I asked you to let me try out a monoski—”
“Is that what this is about?” I run a frustrated hand over the back of my neck. “Logan, they’re dangerous—”
“No more dangerous than outrunning an avalanche! No more dangerous than sitting a sick kid on your snowboard and taking him down a fucking half-pipe. How come you listen to Timmy, you give him what he wants, but I can’t even get you to think about what I want?”
“Jesus, Logan, Timmy’s going to die soon—”
“I could have died! Seven months ago I could have died in that car crash with Mom and Dad.”
“But you didn’t!”
“No, I didn’t! I’m still here. I’m right here, but you keep treating me like I’m not. You keep treating me like I’m just as gone as they are.”
“No, Logan. No—”
“See. You’re not even listening!”
Fuck. Shit. Goddamnit. “What do you want me to say? That I worry about you? That I’m terrified something is going to happen to you? That I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt—”
“News flash, Ash. I’m already hurt! I’m paralyzed.”
Guilt twists sickly in my stomach. “Believe me, I know that—”
“See! There it is again. Right there. On your face. Right now!”
“What?!”
“You feel sorry for me!”
“Jesus, Logan, of course I feel sorry about what happened to you—”
“No! No! That’s not what I’m talking about. That’s fine. You can be upset about what happened. You can feel bad that Mom and Dad died, that I nearly did. But that’s not what you’re feeling. That’s not how you look at me. You pity me. You feel sorry for me.
“How do you think that feels? I wake up every day, knowing I’m going to see that look on your face. Knowing I’m going to have to spend the day pretending that I don’t hate the way you look at me. Don’t hate the way you feel about me. You know, I have to face that from everybody else every damn day of my life. I have to see it on the faces of people everywhere I go. Do you think that’s easy? Do you think it makes me feel good to know that they’re all wondering what happened to me? That they’re all feeling sorry for me?
“I take it from them because I don’t have a choice. I put up with it at school because it doesn’t matter what they think. But you’re my brother. You’re supposed to see more than that—”
“I do.”
“No!” He dashes at the tears making tracks down his cheeks. “No, you don’t! That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You think you see more. You think you’re helping me. But you’re not, Ash. You’re not.”
I don’t know what to say to
him, don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do here. Everything sounds wrong in my head, and I’m terrified that I’m just going to make things worse between us. God knows, that’s the last thing I want to do. So in the end, I just stand here, looking at him. Waiting for some clue that he has no interest in giving me.
Silence stretches between us, until Logan figures out that I’ve got nothing to say. Not that that’s true—I have a million things to say. I just don’t know how to say them. How to get him to understand them.