In this farewell
There's no blood, there's no alibi
Cause I've drawn regret
From the truth of a thousand lies
So let mercy comeAnd wash away what I've done

I'll face myself
To cross out what I've become
Erase myself
And let go of what I've done

-What I've Done by Linkin Park

Of all the people to knock on the door, Eric had not expected it to be her. God, she was more beautiful than ever with her black hair and blue eyes. He only knew it to be his baby sister because she wore the necklace their mother had given it to her and since then, has never taken it off. He wanted to take her into his arms and just hold her forever. Another part of him, the enraged alcoholic wanted to strangle her for doing what she had done. How many nights had he stayed up worrying, scared and searching for her? How many nights had he gone out with the police to find her? How many nights had he drank himself to sleep, wondering if she was still alive? He still kept the note she had written all those years ago in his bedside table. Everyone knew why she had ran but why did she come back? Was this some sort of punishment for his sins? He nearly growled. He has not been to church in a long time, even lost faith in God. It has been so long since he even looked at a Bible. How could he believe in such things anymore when his own baby sister, his pride and joy, ran away without an explanation? It had not been until a month after she had left that him and his brother found out why and went to beat the shit out of the kid but the asshole had not been home, lucky for him. Ever since then, everything changed.

Chris gulped, watching a swarm of emotions cross behind Eric's eyes. He looked so angry, so sad, so betrayed and she felt like the worst person in the world. "Who the hell is it?" a deep, husky voice demanded.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" Eric said, stepping to the side to allow Chris entrance. Hesitantly, she walked in, taking in the place. There was a light blue couch across from the door, a little to the left, a TV stand on the other wall, a recliner beside the couch and had smoke floating around but not only from cigarettes. The walls were white, the carpet blue. The door to her right led to the kitchen. A long oakwood table sat in front of the couch and on it was an ID card, a lighter, a pack of Newport cigarettes, an ounce worth of weed in one corner beside a small glass bong, a few empty beer cans that were crushed and many thin lines of white powder. A man wearing blue jeans and a red t-shirt. His dark brown hair was wavy like hers, almost touching his broad shoulders, framing a handsome face that looked nearly identical to Eric's. Dark blue eyes the color of denim were concentrated on the white powder. He had a dollar bill rolled up and stuck one end up his nose. With his free hand, he plugged the other nostril and snorted two lines at a time, leaning back against the couch, sniffling.

Eric slammed the door, making Chris jump. Tim glanced over, narrowing bloodshot eyes. "Who are you?" he asked, confused then held out the bill. "Want a line?" Chris shook her head, too choked up to say anything. They looked terrible, all drugged up and drunk. Her brothers had always been rebels but they had never taken it to this extent before. Once in awhile, they would drink, smoke and sometimes snort but she could tell they were doing a lot more than they used to. Tim suddenly narrowed his eyes more, realization hitting him. "Well, I'll be damned." Chris prepared herself. Eric had always been the more mellow, controlled one of the two where Tim inherited the temper and impatience, a time bomb ready to explode at any given moment. "Well, what are you doing in this neck of the woods, baby sis?" His words were the slightest bit slurred and he spoke slowly as if he really did not comprehend the situation.

"I..." Chris could not speak, could not move as her heart broke into a thousand little pieces. It hurt to see them this way. Eric walked to sit on the other side of the couch where the bong was. He picked it and the lighter up, lighting the bowl part which was positioned towards the bottom of the bong and started sucking from the top. There was water inside that bubbled, smoke rising. He filled it, thick smoke barreling inside and cleared it, not a hint of smoke left. He inhaled deeply and about fifteen seconds later, blew it out.

"Have a seat," Eric said, calmly though he looked ready to kill someone, namely, her.

"Maybe I should come back later," she suggested once she had found her voice.

"Naw, man!" Tim said, waving his hand. "Have a seat!"

"Really," she insisted. "This doesn't seem like the best-"

"Sit down!" Tim yelled, glaring at her. She swallowed past the lump on her throat and went to sit on the recliner, folding one leg under her. Tim took deep breaths, burying his face in his hands. Dammit, what was she doing here? Who did she think she was, waltzing in after three years, three damned years?! "Now," he said, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers, looking like he had not wanted to rip her head off one minute ago. His voice was calm but anger simmered below the surface. "How have you been?" He snorted two more lines of powder.

"I..." Chris was so scared. Sighing, she hung her head and whispered, "I'm sorry." That feeling, that one damned feeling that she loathed was a ball in the pit of her stomach. This time, there was no getting rid of it.

"As you very well should be," he agreed, nodding, staring her straight in the eyes with such pain that it was hard to hold his gaze. "Do you have any fucking idea what you put us through?"

"Tim," Eric said in a low voice, silently telling him to chill out.

"Do you know how many nights we stayed up, wondering where the hell you were, searching for you day and night, scared to fucking death that you were dead?!"

"I left a note," was she she could muster. One thing she hated more than anything else in the world was when her brothers were mad at her.

"Oh, a note," Tim said, as if that was the answer to everything. "Yes, a note." He raised his voice. "A fucking note that said nothing but 'I'm sorry but I have to leave. Something terrible happened and I can't stay any longer.' Yeah, what a note!"

"Tim!" Eric snapped, shaking his head and handing Tim the bong. "Chill out, man." Tim hit the bong, setting it on the table. Eric looked at Chris. "Look, we know what happened." Chris froze, praying that he would say it and remind her. "What we don't know is why you didn't tell us from the start."

"I knew that bastard was trouble," Tim muttered, snorting another line then leaning back against the couch.

"How was I supposed to tell you?" Chris asked. "It was hard enough having everyone see my misery and most of them laughing about it but to tell people?"

"Oh, like running away is better?" Tim snapped. "Leaving us to be afraid that you were dead? Yeah, that's so much better!"

"I said I was sorry," she said, trying to make him see that if she could, she would change the way things happened.

"Sorry?" he asked, slowly. "You're sorry? Does that make it all go away? Wait, let me see." He held up a finger, rolled his eyes upward then shrugged. "Nope, it's still there."

"I don't know what you want me to say!" she yelled, frustrated with him and herself. She was mad at him for talking down to her, not even giving her the tiniest bit of slack but more angry with herself for being mad at him when she clearly deserved every bit of his rage. It had been anticipated but it was so much harder to bear than she thought.

"There's nothing to say, Chris!" he told her. "It happened, it's over and done with and now you're back. Shouldn't I be happy you're alive and here now? Shouldn't I be joyful that you aren't lying dead in a ditch somewhere or worse? I should be but I'm not! I'm pissed!"

"Tim, calm down," Eric said.

"No!" Tim snapped. "You didn't write to us, call us or anything to let us know you were OK! You fucking packed up and left! You fucking..." Then Chris saw something that tore her apart, something she had never seen in her entire life. Tim's bloodshot eyes became watery, glistening. A single tear, one tiny drop slid down his cheek. That was all it took, all the motivation she needed for Chris to leap out of the recliner and wrap her arms around him, holding him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her waist while she stroked his hair. And he cried.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "So, so sorry. I didn't mean to do this to you, I swear but I was so scared, so hurt and in so much pain that I couldn't think of anything else to do. I'm sorry I didn't even write to let you know I was OK. I'm so sorry." Chris knew that if had not been for forcing herself to take pain and not cry, she would be bawling as well. Granted, her eyes watered but she refused to let the tears spill. A long time ago, she had promised herself she would never cry again. Eric's own eyes teared up and he scooted closer to wrap his siblings in his arms, holding them closely. Tim's body shook with his sobs, his hands clutching the back of her shirt as if she was the last solid thing on earth. Chris felt like the biggest bitch in the world. But she had forgot the power she had over her brothers; she was the only who could make them cry. Even though Tim had never cried, he had come close but always held back to the point where the watery eyes were there one second then gone the next. Eric had only cried twice in front of her before. Even when their parents died, neither had shed a tear.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again for it was the only thing she could say. There was no excuse for what she had done, no alibi to say what she did was right. As much as she hated to admit it, she was not innocent anymore.

She was guilty.