On my way home from my appointment, still rattled from the doctor's orders and from running into Graham, I fiddle with the mobile dialer on my steering wheel to call my sister. It rings twice before her high-pitched voice bellows through my car.

"What?" Hallie never answers the phone with a ‘hello,’ I’ve grown used to that since my parent’s got her a phone last year.

"I need you to come outside in like two minutes to help me," before I even finish talking I know that she’s going to be difficult.

"I'm busy," she says. I can picture her rolling her eyes as the words leave her mouth.

"I'm on crutches, so you can either get out here and help me, or I'll beat you with them when I come inside," I smirk at myself. "Your choice."

She huffs and hangs up the phone.

When I pull up to the house, she's sitting on the front porch in a navy blue puffer coat that consumes her whole body, and she taps her foot on the step. Her legs are bare, and I roll my eyes.

I don't even make it out of the car before she starts asking me questions.

"What'd the doctor say?"

"Nothing is broken, just bruised," I push myself out of the car, and her hand lightly touches my shoulder as she helps me out of the driver's seat.

"How long are you off the ice?" Her crystal blue eyes water from the cold.

"Three weeks," I say, pointing to the back seat so she can retrieve my crutches. "Why didn't you put pants on?"

She pulls her navy blue Canada Goose jacket up and shows me her black Soffe shorts.

"I have pants on," she says handing me my crutches.

Without me having to ask, she puts my book bag on her back and grabs my tan Louis Vuitton bag from my passenger seat.

"Thanks, Hal," I’m shocked at how genuinely helpful she’s being.

"You're welcome...cripple," she laughs, and I roll my eyes.

After explaining everything that I'd learned at my doctor's visit, I attempt to make my way upstairs to my bedroom. I'd underestimated how hard getting up the stairs would be given my injury, so my dad helps me up the stairs and into my bedroom.

Before he retreats to his own bedroom, he places a gentle kiss on my forehead just like he used to when I was little.

“Everything will be okay, Scar,” he says as he shuts my bedroom door.

Everything inside of me wants to believe his words, but I know that this injury is going to set me back one way or another.

Once I change into my pajamas and take one of my prescribed extra strength Tylenol, I pull my tiffany-blue planner from my book bag and look to see what homework I can get ahead on. I decide to start writing a practice SAT essay that's due on Friday because if I can get some of it done tonight, I'll have more time to binge watch The Vampire Diaries on Netflix for the next few weeks.

After a half hour, I start hearing the whispers from my parent's bedroom growing louder and louder with every word. Their fighting has increased drastically over the past few months, but if you didn’t live in this house, you'd never know that.

Their voices are muffled so I can't make out exactly what is going on on the other side of the wall, but I know that whatever it is - it's not good. After a few minutes, a light knock on my door snaps me out of trying to make out the words of their fight, and Hallie pushes my door open wearing a plaid pajama set and her fuzzy Ugg slippers.

I give her a small smile and pat my bed signaling for her to come and sit next to me. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she sniffles as she makes her way over to me.

She lays down on my bed next to me and tucks her head into my neck. Within seconds she's sobbing, and I remember that the little brat who is usually so mean and spiteful is only thirteen-years-old. I run my fingers through her hair over and over again until her sobs stop and her breathing settles. She lets out one last sniffle before helping herself under my white down comforter and rolling over to face away from me. I rub her back until I hear her breathing grow heavier from sleep.

It's funny how siblings who fight all day are brought together by something so destructive.