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The burns were healed enough, but they still hurt when I moved too thoughtlessly, and my leg throbbed every time I breathed. I struggled with the blinds, appropriately named in this case. I was blind and couldn't find the damn handle to close them up tight. I must have looked like a fool, fumbling my way up the window. Mom would usually come to my rescue, but after the horrible things I said to her, I wouldn't have been surprised if she kicked me out of the house and left me on the street.
    I didn't deserve to be taken care of. The pain reminded me of that every day.
    So, I sat there, pointlessly staring at God knows what, while I listened to my mother's heavy breaths. She was hanging on by a thread because of me.
    "Merrick..."
    "Please, Mom. Just go before I say something stupid."
    I heard the step she took into my room, and I tensed, every muscle in my body going stiff as a board. I didn't want her to touch me. I didn't want to feel her motherly tenderness. I just wanted to be angry and damage everything I could get my hands on.
    My insides shook as the tight hold on my control started to weaken.
    "Sweetheart, I know this is hard for you, but you can't shut down. You have so much to live for and that's all we want. For you to live."
    I didn't respond. I just sat there like I always did, in my pathetic wheelchair, with my pathetic broken body that was unable to do anything on its own. For the love of God, I'm thirty years old and my mother has to wipe my ass for me.
    I was done. If I couldn't take care of myself, what was the point?
    "I'll be back tomorrow. Get some sleep and call if you need anything. You have your cell?"
    I lifted the small black phone up for her to see, then tucked it back into my pocket. If I lost this, who knows what would happen? I had used it a couple of times already and hated myself for it. It was when I'd been trying to go to the bathroom and slipped out of the chair before I could position myself correctly. I ended up on the floor with pain shooting through every nerve in my body. The phone was in my pocket, and I had to call the only number that was programmed into it.
    Mom.
    She brought Dad along with her that night. I never felt more humiliated in my life. I couldn't see his face, but I could feel the pity and the sorrow. The last thing I wanted my dad to see was one of his sons getting hurt because he couldn't get himself on the toilet. I knew he loved me. I even knew he was proud of me, but in my mind, the pride melted away in that one moment of weakness.
    I shook my head and forced the images out of my mind. They only made me emotional; that was unacceptable. Anger was the only thing I wanted to feel anymore. I could handle anger. I knew its weaknesses and its strengths. Plus, it welcomed me more than sadness ever did.
    "I love you, Merrick."
    Again, I stayed silent, and I wanted to strangle myself for it. Mom was only trying to help, but for the life of me, I just couldn't let her.
    This was my penance. The consequence I had to suffer through to somehow make up for losing my friends. It would never make up for it completely, but it certainly was a start.
    I listened to Mom making her way through the house, switching off lights that she turned on earlier in the night. It was a task I wasn't grateful to lose.
    Who the hell misses turning lights on and off?
    I do.
    God, I missed it. I missed light . Seeing one flicker of light would bring me joy, but it would be short lived. Lights always turn off. The sun eventually hides away. So, why not embrace the darkness?
    Because I have always hated the dark, that's why.
    Who the fuck likes darkness? There couldn't possibly be a soul out there that would be happy with darkness every minute of every day. It was depressing and lonely and ... cold.
    I listened to my mother shut and lock the door before hearing her car back out of the driveway. She wouldn't be coming back tonight; that's how our fight started in the first place. I was tired of needing a