Okay. So you know how I just missed him? How I never really hated him? How I just wanted to see him again? That's not all I wanted. I wanted to shout at him so much that he would finally realize everything that his leaving had cost me. Just how horrible it felt to life my life. And most of all, I wanted to punch him so hard between the legs he would sound like he had taken in a crap load of helium.

Although, I thought as I looked at my scrawny little arms, I doubt I could have made a dent in him. The last two years had been good to him; I'll give him that. He wore t-shirt, and under it I could clearly se every finely toned abs, and his arms weren't too muscular, but he could have beat the crap out of anyone I knew. Especially with the dagger he held.

Why the heck had everyone started carrying around medieval weapons? Was it some new fad I had missed? I bet this was all because of television.

But the fact that my brother now looked like a football player didn't stop me from running at him. I hit him as hard as I could over and over again, everywhere I could reach. But I was really pathetic, because he didn't even flinch. He just stood there, looking at me.

After a moment or two, Josh came over and pulled me off of him, but I fought him, kicking and pulling away. I was careful not to curse, not only because I didn't like it, but because someone might hear and get the wrong idea. I mean, two guys, holding back a screaming girl? Doesn't take someone that much imagination to get the story mixed up. And then the news would be in on it and then I would definitely be grounded.

Eventually, all of that junk food took its toll, and I could feel my body getting tired. Soon all I could do was let Josh hold me, because he was at least as strong as Oliver. He set me down on the ground, and I just sat there, staring at them from the dirt path. Then I started crying again. I know, I know, second time that day. I'm not usually that emotional, but you try going through that, it's hard to stay dry eyed.

"Tori?" Oliver stepped closer slowly, like he was afraid I would attack him again. He touched my shoulder, and I started screaming at him. Screw the news.

"No!" I scrambled up from the ground. "No, no, no. Don't touch me!" I looked at him, my big eyes getting even bigger. They had been a little puffy from earlier, but now my nose was running and everything. Not at my most attractive. "How could you?"

"What?" asked Oliver. "Touch you? Are you really that picky?" He smiled that smile, that Oliver smile, and for a moment, I almost relented. I was this close to letting him get away with everything. But then I remembered the face I saw n the mirror the day he left. The one with the huge, red, puffy eyes, and the running nose. The one with the disheveled hair that just sprung all over the place. The tears streaming down her cheeks. I remembered moms too, like she had lost him for good. Like he really was dead and we would never see him again. How could I let him get away with that?

"No!" I was getting madder and madder. How could he joke about this? Especially when he knew what he did? "Just...just leave?" I looked him in the eyes, my chest heaving from my physical exertion. "You just left! With no explanation, no good-bye?" I asked. "Even mom wouldn't even talk about you! It was like you were never there." My voice was starting to get all watery, like the tears I was crying were creeping into my throat. "But you were..." I said softly.

"Maybe it would be better if I wasn't," he said, his eyes stone cold, like it wasn't his little sister he was talking to. He was talking to me like you talk to those really annoying people who don't get you don't like them, and you're just bursting to start telling them off.

"But you were." I looked at the ground quickly, and then back at him, my eyes just as hard. "You were here, whether you like it or not. And the least you could have done is not make me try to pretend you weren't." My voice sounded harsh, like a grandmother scolding her grandchild. I winced inwardly.

"That?" he asked, spitting out the word. "You are mad at me for that?" He was yelling at me. Actually yelling. He had changed just as much as I had. I guess time is one of those things that you just have to change for, or else it eats you.

"Yes I'm mad at you for that," I cried. "Yes, I am mad at you for leaving me alone. What is so wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is that you are mad at me for protecting you," he shouted back. Then he stopped, like he had given a way a little too much. Yeah, like I hadn't had too much already.

"From what?" I asked. My tone changed again. Now it sounded like I was an angry girlfriend, asking for an explanation as to why there was some other girl's bra in his bed or something of equal horrendousness. That was awkward coming from his sister. "From guys with swords and daggers," I asked, pointing at Josh's sword. "From monsters? What do you want me to believe? I'm a little too old for boogie man stories."

"Yes, I'm protecting you from guys with swords and daggers. Yes, I am protecting you from monsters," Oliver said, rubbing his temples. "Maybe the boogie man was real after all."

"I've dealt with monsters Oliver. The human kind that surround us in Middle School." I stepped closer to him, putting my finger in his face. "I dealt with the words they thought I couldn't hear. And the laughter, and everything. Maybe you shouldn't have worried about saving me from monsters and faced whatever you left for before it ruined everything!" I screamed the last word, and I felt it echoing around the trees. I think it echoed through my body to. I almost shook at its force. I saw Oliver shiver.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked angrily. "Do you have any idea what I have been through these past to years?"

"No! I don't!" I shouted. "That's the problem. Feel free to enlighten me."

He grabbed my shoulder and shook me, like he was trying to shake into me exactly what he had gone through. "I've seen people die right in front of me. I have lost friends I thought would last forever. I've been through a war!" He shook me again, and I pulled away from him.

"You want to know what's wrong with me? I'll tell you what's wrong with me." I lifted up my shirtsleeve, and it was layered with bruises. "I am tired of getting into fight over you. Of defending you when I don't even know you anymore. I'm tired of living like you aren't there. It makes me feel like you're dead or something..." I pushed my sleeve down. "You say you've seen people die right in front of you. This entire time I've had someone dying in me. And it's so horrible."

"Worse than a war?" asked Josh. It surprised me, because he hadn't said one word the entire time we were yelling at each other.

"No, not worse than a war," I admitted. I scuffed my foot on the ground. I looked at all of the wilted and trodden on flowers that lined the path we were standing. Dirt and other little things that had fallen off of bike wheels and people shoes had muted the bright colors of purple and blue and yellow and red.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" he asked, like he was rethinking coming back. Wow. I felt all of the anger I had at him drain out like someone had pulled out the drain in my emotional bathtub.

"Yes," I said sadly. "Yes, I am glad you came back."

He let out a puff of air, like he had been holding it back. I stepped away just as he reached out to grab me up in a hug.

"I just wish you had never left." I turned to go. The clouds in the sky above me puffed along quickly I saw the scene in my head. Josh leaning up against a tree looking cool and cute, his blonde hair blowing in the wind that rushed at us all. Oliver reaching out for me, for his little sister, like he just couldn't get a hold of me because I was just out of his reach. My turning away from him, my skirt flowing in the breeze, ginger hair covering my face like a veil. All of this, the leaving, the situation, the conversation, the scene. It was all playing out some bad soap opera. "Come home when you have a better excuse for leaving than to save me from the boogie man."