It was December 19th, 2015. Three weeks after my twenty-first birthday. The night that the windows were streaked with frigid rain that made them look as though they were mourning. The night that would change everything.  

I was home for the winter holidays, but already, I was itching to leave, to go back to the Rhode Island School of Design, where I was currently in my junior year, studying photography. Colorado used to feel like home, my heart eager to roam the mountains, my feet only satisfied while on a snowboard. But that wasn't who I was anymore. My family just didn't understand the difference between their mountain girl and the young woman who loved art.

So I texted with Yolanda, my roommate, who was spending her holidays in Trinidad and Tobago with her cousins, and studying illustration at RISD. My fingers were clicking away as I manufactured a witty response to the sleeping cat GIF that she had sent(half of Yolanda's texts were GIFS of cats). That was when the doorbell rang. 

I always hated our doorbell. When it roared, it sounded like a frog trying to be louder than a goat trying to be louder than a bass drum. In high school, I had convinced my parents to install a knocker and disable the doorbell, but the moment I moved away, they immediately tore down the knocker and went back to using the doorbell. 

Sighing, I placed my phone down on the armrest of the chair and sauntered over to the door, taking my time. I wasn't feeling up to guests. Hopefully, it was just FedEx or UPS or something, dropping off a package. 

The lock on our door was incredibly inconvenient. It was a switch that had to be turned 180° counterclockwise, 45° clockwise, 90° counterclockwise, and 30° clockwise again. That entire process involved a lot of fiddling with the stubborn switch that never wanted to move more than 2° in either direction. I used to be a professional. Who knew that four months without practice would soften my fingers so much? 

Two whole minutes later, I wrenched open the door and found myself staring face-to-face with my sister. "Brielle." The name slipped from my lips before I could stop it. I took a step backwards from the door, my heart starting to race. It had been two years since I last saw her, when she had run away from home to get married, and vowed to never return. So what the hell was she doing here?

The edges of my vision blurred, tinted with red. An uncountable amount of feelings were whizzing through me. Joy. Relief. Shock. Fear. And rage. Boiling rage. I had argued with my sister before. Sometimes, by the end of it, I would retreat to my room, sobbing until nothing was left. Never had I felt this fury. It made the world underneath my feet spin. I forced myself to take several deep breaths, or I would have ripped out her throat. 

Instead, I slammed the door and locked it. Then, as the doorbell started ringing again, I pulled up a chair and placed it against the door. I couldn't be tempted. I never wanted to see Brielle's pouting face again. 

Seven minutes later, she was sitting on our living room couch. I stood above her, my arms folded, my eyes blazing. It was only after she started to wail that I had finally opened the door. And once I knew what was going on, she was leaving. My parents couldn't know about this. Not after she hurt them. 

Brielle trembled, clearly uncomfortable. Her head turned a few times, taking in her surroundings. I felt like a security guard, staring a burglar in the face. I knew exactly why she had come here, but she didn't know that I knew. Maybe it was time to clue her in. I should have done so long ago. 

"Zizi-" 

"Don't," I broke in. "You don't get to come here after your boyfriend throws you on the street just like we warned you he would. We gave you a million chances to come home, Brielle. You refused to take any of them, because you were being selfish. And you blew it. We don't want you here any more. Don't pretend like you know me, because you don't. I've changed while you were off ruining your own life, and evidently, you haven't. Until you recognize that you suck, you don't get to come back. So why don't you just go find another life to wreck? It's what you do best." I turned away, storming into the kitchen. 

Brielle was weeping when I returned, with a cup of water in my hand and a pack of food. I wasn't heartless. I wouldn't just kick her out when she was obviously desperate. Her ribs were quite prominent, and her clothes were baggy and dirty. The gorgeous, shallow, self-absorbed girl who once loved pain and danger would shriek at the sight of her future self. 

"Azalea, please just hear me out," she begged. "I promise that if you still won't give me a chance, I will leave and never bother you again. But I need a place to stay. I've been on my own for the last two months, and my money ran out, and I can't find a job or anything, and I just-you're the only one who will understand. Please."

She had always been an actress. Able to win my parents over with nothing more than a look and a few blubbering looks. I liked to think I was immune to her charms. And yet, I was overwhelmed with pity at her dismal situation. So I let her talk. What harm could it do?

At the end of her extensive monologue, I was more convinced than ever that she was a washout. I was also persuaded that she needed my help. "You can't stay here," I told her. "Our parents will murder us both. No joke. If I mention your name, they make me sleep on the couch. But I could call Grace. Her folks on a cruise, and she has a spare room." Grace was Brielle's closest friend from childhood, and the only one who had forgiven her when she left.  

The thing was, when she left, Brielle had taken one thousand dollars with her, leaving our family seriously struggling, especially since my father had just been fired and I was on my way to college. If she was going to come back and try to make it up to our parents, she would have to start by paying back that sum. By getting a job and working for it. Not a job that involved modeling or alcohol or sexy clothes or "bad boys." It was to my utter surprise when Brielle didn't protest. Instead, she seemed to understand the seriousness of what she had done. That was what assured me that I was doing the right thing. 

"Zizi," Brielle called me, and I stopped, before I turned to her and shook my head. 

"You want to stay, you can't pretend like you know everything about me. I'm not the same, Brielle. I've spent four months at college. Two years without a sister. And I swear I'll throw you out if you don't accept that." It seemed harsh, but how could I be polite? I was already giving her everything. 

"Why are you doing this?" Brielle asked. "You could have turned me away, but you didn't. Why?"

I sighed. "We've both changed. Everyone changes. Everything that seems like it will last changes. This moment will someday be forgotten. Someday, this mistake will be behind you. Maybe someday, our parents will forgive you. Maybe they won't. But how they feel right now isn't going to last. How we feel isn't going to last." I looked away. "Sisterhood doesn't change. It will last as long as we're alive. No matter what happens, I will always be your older sister. For infinity." 

That was when I felt her arms around me. A hot tear slid down my cheek as I leaned into her shoulder. My heart had been wounded, and in that moment, it felt as though Brielle was the only one who could thaw it. 

If only that moment could have been so infinite.