****
Matt heard his father before he saw him.
As Jolie wheeled him up the ramp to the front door, his heart started to beat quickly. Inside the house, people were yelling, as they always were whenever his father came to visit. He might not have been like this when he was younger, but at the moment, that’s all that Nigel ever was. He shuffled around in his seat, his back scars feeling itchy, the way they always did whenever he heard his father yelling. Whether the itching was out of fear, or an invitation, Matt didn’t know.
Danni could have let him stay at one of their houses. Hell, it wasn’t out of the picture. Matt had been going over to their houses for about as long as he could remember.
The night had been going so well, oh so well. He and Jolie had gone over to look at the cows, had seen the alpacas, had gone through the booths, looked at jewelry, and other odd tidbits and antiques. The two of them had shared a bag of maple cotton candy, and then they were going to play that stupid shooting game, and then the two of them were going to have a good night.
And all throughout, Matt didn’t need help once. He was able to push his wheelchair all throughout the matted, wet grass and the mud with no problem, and if there were problems, they were small enough for him to handle on his own. He looked somewhat competent, and it was heaven.
But those sorts of things never last.
He had no indication of the attack. One moment he was shooting the ducks as they raced across his view. The next, he was blacking out, red blood and vomit coming out of his mouth. His arms felt cold and weak, and he let go of his makeshift grasp around Jolie’s neck and shoulders. Maybe if he fell back, everything could have been better. He was close enough to this wheelchair that he could have broken his neck if he hit the bar with the right angle. Then it would have been dark.
He hadn’t wished to die in a long time, and he wasn’t about to admit to himself that that thought might have flashed across his mind. What the hell did he have to feel bad about? He had a girlfriend, good friends, and a semi-decent life. The sort of thinking where one’s life ended merely for their own convenience was that talk of weak people, and Matt wasn’t weak. No, not at all.
Jolie pushed him into the house.
Nigel and Robbie were arguing in the living room. Matt smelled the scent of a candle (perhaps cinnamon) in the kitchen. It was a better smell than the one coming from his mother.
Robbie and Nigel turned to look at them.
“What happened?” Nigel said, walking over toward him.
“Nothing, Dad,” Matt said. He should have wheeled himself in. That would have shown some level of competence that his father could have paid attention to, if he paid attention to anything at all.
“Honestly, nothing happened,” Matt said.
Before his father and everyone else got any closer, Matt grabbed the wheel and rolled down the hall to his room. People were yelling behind him, but he didn’t stop. He wished he had given a better goodbye to Jolie, but this would have to do. He rolled into his room and locked the door behind him.
What did they care about something that happened that night? He was fine. He didn’t need them!
His room was too small, but he liked it. He flipped on the lights.
Matt had lived in the same house for all seventeen years of his life. Same room, too. He wheeled himself past old photos and fading posters to his bed. He lifted himself out of the chair and laid down in the bed. It felt good not to sit.
They were arguing both about him but not about him at the same time. His father had probably had a lousy day at work and needed to blow off some steam. Sure, he was a dick, but at least he was predictable. If his mother were still alive, or at least could still speak, the two of them would be in full combat mode, the fighting keeping them warm from the approaching death. Matt had seen all of it, and he didn’t want a part of it now. Robbie was still trying to talk to the man, though, and that bothered Matt. How the hell did Robbie think he was, trying to see the best in people? It was infuriating to always be seen as—
There was a knocking on his window. He turned his head and looked.
Becca was standing on the other side of the glass.
“Come in,” he said.
As his half-sister opened the window, he positioned himself in the bed so he would be sitting, leaning up against the wall behind him.
“How was the fair?” Becca said, sliding into the room. It was best that she stayed out of sight. Matt’s dad wasn’t a fan of her, and Matt suspected it had something to do with his son more than anything. If Becca had been born with the same disease as Matt, then Nigel might even like the girl and would feel reassured that his own genes weren’t the ones that caused Matt to be the way he was. But Becca was born normal, and Nigel had hated her ever since.
“It was fine,” Matt said. “How was teaching Kent?”
“It was easier when your father wasn’t here,” Becca said.
“I’m sure that can be applied to a lot of things,” Matt said.
“Are you all right, Matt?” she said.
Becca wasn’t like everyone else. Everyone else treated Matt as though he were this precious, fragile thing that was bound to break at any moment. Becca was different. She told Matt how it was, and the two of them talked like it was. It was
