Long year

It had been a long year, I thought as I look at my big brother. He looks so broken, all covered in tubes and needles. I want to rip them out of his wrists and take him home. I want him to play with me and laugh like he used to.

        My little brother stands in the doorway of my hospital room. I hate to see him cry. He looks so alone.
        He blinks through his tears and looks at me mournfully, "Mum and Dad say there's a way for me to help you."
        I feel a rush of adrenalin and look away from him, watching my heart rate spike on the monitor. I don't want him to help me; he's in enough pain already. I won't allow them to put him through surgery with false hope, just because it might change my prognosis.
        Realizing that he's still watching me with tears on his cheeks, I look back. "No," I say, trying to be strong but my voice trembles.
        I don't want him to know how scared I am.

        He thinks he's so strong, but I know the truth. He shivers in his sleep and whispers prayers when he thinks I'm not listening.

        He blinks again and tears land on his faded jeans, which used to be mine. I pretend that his tears are enough for both of us, and hug him silently while he shakes in my arms.
        I feel so weak.

        With every beat of his heart against my cheek, I become more and more determined to change this. I'll give anything just to have him back.

        "I love you," he whispers, and my heart breaks into a million pieces.