Author's Note: Updates are most likely going to slow down a little bit (yeah, I know I always say that. . .note that this time I said "most likely") because I'm coming into the hardest chapters of the story and I want to make sure I do them right. The last chapter was kind of a turning point in the story, although it was just a little more than halfway in the length. I guess you could view my story like a doughnut. Right now, you've just fallen in the one side of the hole in the middle. So that means that once you get across it, you get back to the sweet part. Ok, wow that was weird. . .I think I'll shut up now. . .

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Chapter 25: Coming Home

May 15th

2:11 PM

The Loft

"I can't believe she'd do that!"

Roger slammed the refrigerator door so hard the whole thing rocked forward and nearly fell over, then popped the top off yet another beer and took a large swig, spilling it all down the front of his shirt.

"Shit!"

"Roger. . ." Mark called from his seat at the table, "We've been through this about a hundred times already. And quite honestly, I don't blame her."

"Asshole," Roger muttered, dabbing at his shirt with a paper towel. "I thought she'd at least tell me!"

"Roger. . ." Mark sighed, "I'm not even sure whether they would have let her contact you. I mean, she did pretty much tell them it was your fault."

"Yeah well she kind of had to. 'Oh, no, Mr. Doctor, I didn't really want to kill myself, I just did it because my boyfriend was being a bastard. Please oh please let me go.'" Roger mimicked bitterly.

After nearly two weeks of treatment and psychological testing, Mimi had arranged for her parents to pick her up from the hospital and take her to stay with them in Buffalo. She'd called Mark the night before, asking him to send her things to the house and not to let Roger know until she'd already left the hospital. Naturally, Roger was furious when he found out.

"And going to stay with her fucking parents? I mean, come on. She's told me at least a hundred times how much she hates them!"

Roger took another swig of his beer and went to sit on the couch, his gait a little unsteady. He'd already had several beers and hadn't eaten anything since the night before, and the alcohol in his blood stream plus the emotion was beginning to take a toll on him.

"Do you hate your parents as much as you say you do?" Mark asked calmly. He was beginning to feel like the designated human punching bag since Mimi had left.

"No. . .but. . . .that's different!" Roger said, looking slightly confused.

"Roger, I really think you should go lie down. You've hardly slept at all since the accident."

"No shit," Roger muttered. "You wanna know why I don't fucking sleep anymore?"

Roger looked expectantly at Mark.

"Umm . . .yeah, sure," Mark answered, wishing he hadn't brought it up. All Roger wanted to do lately was fight, and anything Mark said seemed to be fair game for an argument.

"I don't sleep anymore because every time I close my eyes I see it. I see the look on her face just before. . .just before. . ."

Roger reached into his pocked and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He got up and handed it to Mark, his hand shaking slightly.

"What is this?" Mark asked, his voice edged with fear.

"I found it under the bed this morning. It's what she was writing the day that she. . .that day."

Mark read over the crumpled, tear stained paper, and a strange look came over his face. He looked up at Roger.

"She was. . .writing a letter. . .to the baby. . ." Mark said, his voice weak with astonishment.

"Yeah," Roger answered grimly, "the baby that I killed."

~~~**~~~

"Mimi, honey, welcome home."

Mimi took a deep breath and tried not to cry, wondering why the sound of her mother's voice suddenly made her want to break down. She'd spent so long running away from her parents and her past that she hadn't realized she'd actually missed them. They'd only been in minimal phone contact since—well, since she'd run away six years ago, and while they knew pretty much everything that was important in her life since then, Mimi realized that she knew very little about them.

Her mother's once long curly hair was now cut into a short bob, and carefully straightened and streaked with highlights. Her father looked as though he'd aged about twenty years, and Mimi realized she wouldn't have recognized him. His hair was thin and graying, and there were deep creases across his brow and under his eyes.

Even the house looked different. It was small and gray, with a very small, rectangular backyard surrounded by a chain link fence. There was a rather wild patch on the side of the house that had once been a garden but now bore more resemblance to a jungle. Viny bean plants snaked their way around the slender stems of pea plants and smothered tomatoes. Mutant weeds grew three times their natural size. The paint on the front of the house was starting to peel slightly, and the once light shingles were now a dark, dusty shade of grayish brown.

Mimi climbed out of the car, carrying the small overnight bag Mark had brought her at the hospital the week before, and followed her mother into the house. It was dark inside, and the house smelled of lemon cleaner and air conditioning that hasn't been used for a long time. Strange, Mimi thought, how you never notice that your own house has a smell until you've been away from it.

Her mother led her into the room that had once been hers. Mimi carefully averted her eyes and they walked passed the doorway of the room just before hers, keeping them straight ahead down the hallway. The house, although modest, seemed strangely luxurious after years of living in the loft.

"Here."

Mimi's mother pushed the door to her old room open. It was mostly empty, but the bed was made up. Mimi felt a slight pang at the fact that her parents had removed all traces of her childhood. Then again, she didn't blame them after what had happened. Mimi dropped her bag in the empty closet, kicked her shoes off and climbed up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged.

"If you need anything, you know where to find me," her mother said gently.

"Yeah. . ." Mimi said distantly, looking out the window.

"Will you be okay if I leave you alone now?"

"Yes. I just want to sleep." Mimi watched her mother leave, then crawled under the covers and curled up.

"Forget regret," she muttered to herself, then laughed bitterly. "Right.

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