Justin

When Addie leaves to head home for dinner, I feel better than I have in years.

As of today, I've set a new record for being seizure-free. Eleven days. Eleven days of living like an almost normal person. Either the meds have finally started to work or I've been getting enough sleep and eating the right food. Maybe it's a combination of all three.

Whatever the cause, I'm so happy that my mom begins to throw questions at me during dinner.

"What's got you smiling?" Mom asks after a forkful of rice pilaf.

Chris rolls his eyes. "Isn't it obvious, Mom? He's in love with that Addie girl."

I reach over and rustle my little brother's hair. "Since when do you know what love is?"

Chris tries to swat my hand away, but because of the fact that he's smiling, I can tell he likes this banter between us. And I do too. Our relationship has been extremely unstable for the past year now that he's gotten older and can understand things better, and I desperately miss the way we used to be. I just want at least one thing to represent how things used to be in this family.

I know it will never be the same as it was. The only possible way for that to happen is if Chris was permitted to stop going back and forth between our parents and stay in one home, preferably this one, where I know he's safe and not stuck with some volatile psychopath we have the sad privilege of calling our father. Where I can protect both him and Mom in case anything happens again. But if we can get along, that's good enough for me.

With an ache in my heart, I look at the scar my mom bears just above her right eyebrow. The events of that day replay again and again in my head. A shiver caresses my spine and goosebumps dot my skin. I just can't bear to think what would have happened if I hadn't been there to pull my father away from her. It was four years ago, but that's the thing about traumatic events and pain – you only adapt to them, they never go away. No matter what you do, you've seen it and it will be in your mind forever, sometimes acting as a movie stuck on replay and other days hiding in the deepest, darkest parts.

Something smacking the side of my face brings me back into reality. "Huh?" I ask, reaching up to wipe my face. My fingers come back coated in rice pilaf. I instantly scope out the culprit: Chris. "What was that for?" I ask, trying hard to not break my poker face.

"Mom asked you a question," he replies, warily eyeing my fork as if he thinks I'm going to fling food right back at him.

"Oh," I say. "Sorry." I turn to Mom. "What?"

With a small smile on her face, she looks down at her food, pushing it around with her fork. "I was wondering if you're ready for your midterm?"

I think back to all the studying Addie and I have been doing, narrowly avoiding what happened after the studying. I definitely can't think about that right now. "Addie's done everything she can to help me," I reply. "I think I am ready. She actually made me a practice exam and I got an A on it." Just for safe measure, I throw in a shrug and take another bite of dinner. "I think I can do it."

"That's wonderful of Addie," Mom says. "She's certainly a good tutor."

"Oh," I smile, "she is."

"Yeah," Chris laughs, "especially when Justin gets a question right." He makes a dramatic kissing face and I kick him under the table, silently telling him to shut up.

"Really?" Mom asks.

I glare at my little brother, who is smirking like an idiot. Little bugger. I can't get away with anything anymore. "You know what?" I ask, standing up with my empty plate. "I'm exhausted from all the studying we did. I think I'm going to go to bed early."

Without waiting for a response, I head to the kitchen, plate and cutlery in hand, and try to come up with a way I can spite Chris without getting into trouble. I thought brothers followed the bro code. And now he's spilling all my secrets?

I shake my head, smiling to myself. It's the most we've talked in a long time and it didn't seem like one was out to get the other at all. I call that progress.

After washing my dishes and placing them in the drying rack next to the sink, I begin to round up what I need before bed: a tall glass of water and my pills that are above the fridge. I used to keep them in my bedroom on the nightstand, but seeing them every morning would always put me in a bad mood. At least this way I only have to see the prescription bottle for a minute and then I can hide it behind the cupboard door again.

As I'm counting out my pills, I begin to think about how good it's felt being seizure-free for eleven days. It's odd to be happy while doing something I hate, but it's better than the negative, draining feeling I usually get. If the meds can do their job, then I won't have to tell Addie or anyone else about what's wrong with me.

I've just choked the first three chalky pills down with a couple swigs of water when a familiar sensation begins to build in my stomach. It starts out slow, like a siren in the distance, and then it quickly takes over. The siren is now screaming in my ear.

The glass slips from my hand, along with the pills, and soon my feet are covered in glass and little white circles.

Leaning forward, I grip the edge of the counter, trying to fight off the aura. This is what I meant when I told Addie I hate the unknown. I don't know if this oncoming seizure is going to be a partial one or a tonic-clonic one. And it scares me. I'm either going to be stuck behind this barrier, fully aware of what's going on around me but unable to respond, or I'm going to lose consciousness and my muscles are going to become uncontrollable.

In an instant, I feel a hand resting on my back.

Through the partial seizure, I know that my mom is standing behind me, attempting to make this situation more comfortable for me. I know that she is leading me away from the mess around my feet. And I know she's telling Chris to leave. But I can't respond to any of that. All I can do is stare at the wall, hug Mom, and hope and pray that this feeling of fear and anxiety that's consuming me is going to go away.

I don't know how much time has passed before it begins to fade.

"Justin?" Mom asks when my grip loosens a bit. She pulls out of the hug and looks at me. "Are you okay?"

I begin to nod my head, ready to tell her that I'm going to be fine (even though I'm ten times more exhausted than I was before), but I freeze. It's like I've suddenly been pushed into ice-cold water.

Shit.

I know what's about to happen.

But before I can warn my mom in any way, I fall forward, my consciousness leaving me before my knees even hit the tile.

* * *

When I wake up, I feel like I've been beaten to death with a bat. I don't know how long I've been unconscious. The confusion is messing with my mind.

And whether I want to or not, I begin to cry.

It happens every time after a clonic-tonic seizure. I'm so overtired, confused, and left feeling hopeless that my emotions are hard to handle; I break down instantly.

Now knowing that I'm lying on the kitchen floor with a pillow beneath my head and a blanket over top of me, I feel the anger burn through me with just as much potency as the despair and lack of hope.

Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this?

Things were going so well and now I'm right back at the beginning. But I guess that's my fault, right? I took advantage of the happiness when I know I shouldn't of. Because, come on, I knew it was too good to be true. It always is. It's like I've been put on this planet to suffer.

The sobs shake my body in a different way than earlier, and I hear my mom begin to whisper words that mean nothing to me.

"It's going to be okay, Justin."

"You can get through this. We're all here to help."

"I'm so sorry."

"If I could trade places with you, I would."

I want to reply to her, but I'm just too tired. Mentally, physically, and emotionally. As long as I have this crippling condition, things are never going to be okay. Epilepsy is unpredictable – it can turn the best of days into hell in the blink of an eye.

And then there's the fact that I'm dangerous to other people and to myself.

I squeeze my eyes shut and slam my fist against the floor, enjoying the stinging pain that follows, radiating through my hand.

I hate this.

Epilepsy is not just a seizure. It's the lack of control, the worried family, forgetting meds, the crippling anxiety that strangles you, the depression, the body jerks, the ache after a clonic-tonic seizure, and the confusion after a partial seizure. It's the fear you won't wake up next time. It's the side effects of the medication. It's the scars of wounds and forgotten memories.

And sometimes I wish I wouldn't wake up to relive it again and again.