“You have a tattoo that basically says, don’t drag yourself down. What are you doing now?” “I’m fighting—” “You’re dying!” he screams at me. “You’re dying right in front of me.” His furious eyes pool with tears, his vulnerability shining through. Making him seem younger. Fragile. My little brother. I sit up. “Hey, I’m doing all right. I’m right here. I haven’t died.” I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. He blinks and his tears fall. “I never understood. Not when Daisy explained it, not when you did. I didn’t get it, but now I do.” My frown darkens. “What do you mean?” “Climbing is a part of
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