In My Head

Blanket ~ Kaden

I open my eyes slowly. My whole body is stiff and aching. This is when the little seizures like to happen, right when I wake up. Sometimes little ones turn into big ones.

My stomach goes cold. Nobody's in the great room with me. I'm alone.

I shove the blanket away, turn to my side, and push myself up to sit back into the couch. I concentrate on the water sparkling in the pool while my head reels around like I'm riding the tea cup at Disney Land.

Then I spot everyone, sitting at the kitchen table in the nook near the kitchen. Mom and Dad are sitting with their backs to me. Logan's in the only chair on the side of the table facing me. And he's been watching me. My muscles loosen up.

Now I realize why I woke up-I need to pee.

I lean forward, get my feet underneath me, and stand up. My head spins around again, and I have to lean over on the arm of the couch to stay on my feet. This time it takes a while for my head to slow back down.

When I think I'm ready, I straighten up and take a few test-steps toward my room. My head cooperates, and so does the rest of my body. I keep walking, but I feel god-awful. Sore all over, physically drained, pounding headache. I must have only been asleep for a couple hours. I hold my wrist up to check the time, but I'm not wearing my watch. Right, that's why I missed my dose, because I left my digital watch in Oregon.

I finally make it back to my room. I go through to the bathroom, stumble up to the second smaller room with the shower and toilet, and pull that door shut behind me.

God, this room is small. If I go down in here, I could really kill myself. I use the toilet as fast as I can, trying not to think about all the different ways I could fall and crack my head open on the side of the shower, or the porcelain, or the tiled floor. Or break my neck if I fell just the right way into the wall.

I flush and get out, feeling a sense of relief that comes back to slap me in the face. I can't even take a leak without freaking out. Just another thing to add to the list of crap that makes me not normal.

Logan's in the doorway to his room. Somehow, knowing he was here, just in case, mellows me out. I go to my sink to wash my hands.

Logan comes over and tentatively touches my shoulder. "How ya feeling?"

"Like crap," I say honestly. I scrub, rinse, and turn the water off.

"I'm sorry," Logan says, a blanket statement to cover everything-the seizure, the argument in the car, the fact that I have epilepsy in the first place. But it doesn't cover everything. Not even close. It's like a baby blanket, too small to cover most of my body, leaving me cold.

I don't need his pity. "Sorry doesn't help, Logan."

"I screwed up. How can I fix it?" His hand tenses up on my shoulder.

"Stop it," I blurt. "I'm the one who should apologize but Mom wouldn't-" I cut myself off before I say too much or break down into tears.

Logan's face goes tight as the sadness hits him too. He steps up and carefully pulls me into a full hug, pressing his fists against my shoulder blades.

"God, Kade. I'm not trying to take the blame for what you said to Mom." He takes a huffy breath, right in my ear. "I'm trying to apologize for making it sound like I don't want to help you. Like I can't take care of you. That's not true. I really do want to help you. I really can take care of you."

My body floods with emotions. He wants to help me, take care of me. Not handle me. "Logan-" My voice catches. I hug him back, resting my wet fists against his shoulder blades.

Logan hugs me tightly, a painful reminder that I feel like I ran a marathon this afternoon. Instead of complaining like I always do when Mom tries to hug me after seizures, I let it go. It hurts, but I let him hold on to me and burn my body up. I start to feel warm again.