IT'S A COUPLE days after Chelsea's done the beer run that she begins to be lulled into a false sense of security. She notices it when she doesn't question the dirty scuff marks in her hallway when she returns from a grocery run-- which haden't been made by her feet. But still, she makes her way inside, unsuspecting of what awaits her.

In her old town, she would have had a shoe or a bat in her hand at the slightest indication that there was an intruder. Her heart would have hammered against her chest as she willed it to stay silent, fearing whoever was in the house would hear that over her laboured breaths. But she doesn't have anything to fear. That sort of thing didn't happen in Belmont.

So it came as a surprise when Chelsea does find an intruder in her living room. At least someone that's certainly not invited into her house. She stops short of the threshold, frozen for a moment before composing herself.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you too." The intruder replies, not looking up from where she's slumped on the couch. Her blonde hair is splayed out across it, denim jacket looking more than a bit dogeared. Her boots are also caked in mud.

Chelsea tries again. "What are you doing here?"

Her blue-eyed gaze hold Chelsea's brown ones before looking away. "I need somewhere to stay. Just for a few days."

"What happened to your place?" She knows her voice sounds accusing. It's only the tip of the iceberg.

"It's. . . compromised."

Chelsea knows this is another term for the cops busting the place. She has to admit this hasn't happened for a while. The last time her sister asked her for help was nearly two years.

"You stink."

"Thanks, I haven't had a shower in a month."

"That's gross, Taylor." She wrinkles her nose. "Bathrooms upstairs."

She stands up, kicking her canvas bag a bit and before she can object, wraps her arms around her. "I knew I could count on you, Lessie."

Chelsea stiffens. "Don't call me that."

The old nickname feels foreign to her ears. But it holds a lot of weight. Of a past life. Of past hurt. She tries not to dwell on it too much, leaving Taylor to take a shower while she makes dinner.

It's macaroni and cheese, one of her childhood favourites. It's also Taylor's favourites. She comes down, freshly dressed in the clothes Chelsea had laid out in the spare room. She wonders what had happened to Taylor, what had made her come to seek her out after all this time. But she decides to wait until after dinner.

Taylor scarfs down two servings before going in for more. Chelsea notices how thin she's gotten. The bracelet on her wrist slides up and down the length of the arm every time she raises her spoon. It makes Chelsea wonder where she's been once again. There are so many questions but none are said aloud.

"You may as well eat the rest." Chelsea says.

"And dad?"

The last morsel of macaroni turns to sawdust in Chelsea's mouth. "Dad's. . ." She can't bring herself to say the d-word. "Dad's gone." She says instead, watching Taylor carefully.

There's no change in her appearance except for maybe a little tremor in her hand when she reaches for what's left in the tray.

"Right, yeah," She says, chewing slowly. "Slip of the tongue."

Chelsea's not convinced but she leaves it for the time being, busying herself with the dishes. It feels odd cleaning up after two instead of one. She puts the last plate to dry when Taylor announces she's beat and going to sleep.

Chelsea debates on whether to follow her but is afraid of what will come about any conversation they have. She's also tired but pushes through the fatigue, settling down to start her research paper.

The MacBook Zach gave works like a dream. It's super fast and easy on the eyes. Chelsea finds that she can even rest it on her front and lie down without feeling like her ribs are about to be crushed.

After a few hours of looking intently at the screen, she yawns. It's reaching close to midnight. She's close to falling asleep on the couch but forces herself up the stairs.

It takes her a moment to realise that there's something off and soon enough she does. There's no pounding music tonight, no faint shouts of teenagers getting drunk.

No party next door.

Instead, there's an eerie quiet. And in that quietness, Chelsea hears quiet sobs. The type you try to keep in but they manage to escape anyway. It's coming from Taylor's room.

Her hand hesitates on the knob before twisting it and entering the room. Taylor's facing away from her but there's the unmistakable movement from her shoulders.

Chelsea goes inside and tentatively sits down. She didn't have this, someone to hear her cries and for a selfish moment, she thinks of leaving. But it disappears after hearing another sob rack through Taylor.

"I thought you knew." Chelsea says in a whisper. "I called and texted you. I tried everything to get in contact with you but I never got a response. . ."

There's accusation in her words. Then a brief pause of the two girls just breathing. Taylor turns so her tear streaked face is illuminated by a strip of moonlight coming through the gap in the curtains.

"I lost my phone."

Chelsea nods as if she expects this. "We'll get you a new one."

"When was it?" She isn't talking about the phone.

"Nearly five months ago." Chelsea sighs, remembering the beginning of the year. "One final stroke. There was a small funeral afterwards."

She bites back the words, which you weren't there for. She wants to scream at Taylor for abandoning her the way she did. Taylor was supposed to look after her. Taylor was the older one, it should have been her responsibility. But Chelsea doesn't say any of this aloud.

She doesn't have the energy to start an argument and from the looks of it neither does Taylor. She turns, giving her back.

Chelsea takes that as her cue to leave. Taylor doesn't try to stop her.