Hi guys! I have a lot to do tonight, so I'm gonna make this quick: I'm sorry that I haven't replied to your reviews, but I haven't had time. I will, though! I love all of you and I read all of them and smile and appreciate them hard. Thank you. Thanks to my beta, IWriteNaked, for being so fabulous and amazing. Thanks to DeathCabForMari, spikeyhairgood, and LuckyAsLockhart for being awesome. I love youuuu.

To the person who said the thing about my writing: seriously, it's okay. There is absolutely no need to apologize. You were so polite and nice about it, and it's okay. That happens to me all the time when I read books, so I understand entirely. :)

I know this chapter's short, but it's important, I think.

I hope you guys like it!

I've been around the world and never in my wildest dreams
Would I come running home to you
I've told a million lies but now I tell a single truth
There's you in everything I do

Now remember when I told you that's the last you'll see of me
Remember when I broke you down to tears
I know I took the path that you would never want for me
I gave you hell through all the years

So I, I bet my life, I bet my life
I bet my life on you
I, I bet my life, I bet my life
I bet my life on you

"I Bet My Life" by Imagine Dragons

There are times in life when one must face realities otherwise deemed as unacceptable. These are the things that people don't believe are true or possible or necessary, things that people feel are results of over-emotional or temperamental, rash behavior.

And these are the things I'm facing now.

I knew this before. Of course I knew this before. Every time I fought with my mother, I always thought, Well, I have to get out. But I always thought about it like a temporary thing, you know? I've spent my entire life fighting with my mother and then settling back into a pre-established state of making up with her without ever actually apologizing to each other. So I always thought that, no matter what, I could permanently come back to her. That it wouldn't be something that'd affect my life massively.

But, this morning, we had a fight. Of course we did. There was nothing extraordinary about it—we fought about something, she blew it out of proportion, tried to slap me, I blocked her, and then I stormed into my room, locked it, and went out the fire escape. And then I walked. I roamed the busy streets, full of tourists and businesspeople and everyone else, by myself. I didn't call Jace, or Sebastian, or Isabelle, or Simon, or Maia. I just listened to music and breathed and willed my heart to feel a little bit lighter, because even the most minor of differences would have made me feel like I could breathe again.

And then, in the middle of all the walking and thinking, I realized something that had always been right in front of me. Something important. Something that I never really wanted to accept.

My mother and I will never really be totally okay with each other.

And I have to be okay with that.

What I mean by that is pretty simple, really. Basically, going home for long breaks is going to drive me insane. I don't know if I wanna come home for Thanksgiving. The things that she's done will stay with me forever. No amount of good things and support will erase the bad things that she's done.

And that means that we'll never really be close. I'll never really be able to say that I love my mother without wanting to hesitate or add something about the things she's done and the fact that she's far from perfect. And it sucks. Because I want to love her plainly and simply and in the way that most people do their parents. I want to love her without thinking twice about it. But I don't think I do.

I have to stay far from her. I can't live with her. She's my family, and I'm sure our relationship will improve, but that's only if we stay at arm's length, always cautious with each other. And it's not the way that family is supposed to work—it's supposed to be about unconditional love and always always always being there for each other and support and trust and love love love—but that's not the way it is with us.

And I don't think that she's a terrible person. I don't. I get along with her sometimes, like when she's making fun of the way Jon's friends talk, or when we're in the car and she's singing along to her favorite song, or when she talks about funny videos or a new recipe or the art gallery or something. She has moments where she's really great, you know, and those are the moments that have caused me to be in denial so long, because I think, This is totally fine. I can live with this.

But those slivers of good don't outweigh the bad.

And it's haunted me. It always has. I always thought that there was something wrong with me because I've never felt strongly about my family. My brother's okay, I guess; our relationship is better now that he's away too. I guess that proves my point even more.

But I ran from that truth. I mean, Isabelle's family is fucked up too (her dad's cheated on her mom, and they're always traveling, and her little brother gets on her nerves), but she is so fiercely loyal and she defends them like no one else. And she loves them. She loves them wholly and amazingly. And Simon loves her mother too, despite the fact that she's batshit crazy, religious as hell, and strict as fuck. Whenever I talked about how much apathy I felt towards my family, namely my brother and mother, the two of them would look at me with a can you please stop talking? kind of expression.

I can't deny it anymore, though. Forcing myself to visit my family would be a waste of time and money and emotional stability. The things that have happened to me won't disappear just because I want my life to be easy.

So I just won't visit as much. I'll visit twice a year, maybe. Three times the first year. I'll make sure Jace comes with me, because otherwise I'll lose my mind.

Things will never be totally okay. Right now, as I walk back into my empty apartment, I realize that I'm fine with that.

It's ten past nine o'clock in the afternoon, and my mother sits me down on the couch with a serious expression.

The boys went out to get dinner (and possibly because Mom told them to leave), which left the two of us alone. At home. For the first twenty minutes, I chilled in my room, watching TV and talking to my friends and boyfriend. But then, of course, my mom called me out, and now here I am. Sitting on the couch. With my mother.

"There are some things I want to talk to you about," she says, "and I'd rather do it sooner rather than later."

"Okaaaaaay," I say, a frown on my face. "What is it?"

She sighs. "Despite everything, I want you to know that I'm proud of you." She shifts in her seat. "You and I argue a lot. You're lazy and selfish and disorganized—"

Rage boils up inside me. "If this is just you bashing me, then I'll pass."

She shakes her head. "It's not that. You are all of those things, and I'm not, so we fight. We can't live together; I know that. I know that you needed to get away. I still don't think that I've done anything bad enough for you to want out so badly, but I'm not gonna argue about that tonight." Even though you have. "Despite our differences," she continues, "I know that you're hardworking, and you're going to do great things."

I nod. "Thanks. And thank you for paying for me to leave," I say. "I've heard that that's usually a hard things for parents, so." Awkward.

"It isn't hard for me."

"No surprise there."

"Not because of that." She shakes her head again. "You've always expressed your individuality and independence. Always. And you've always said you wanted to get out, so I've had time to prepare and adjust. And I've never wanted to hold you back—you or your brother."

I nod, taking a breath. "Well, thanks. Can I go now?"

She nods. "I'll let you know when the boys are back."

I go to my room, lock my door, and sit cross-legged on my bed. I see on my phone that I have a few texts from Isabelle, Jace, and Sebastian, but I don't answer them. I don't even read them. I just lie down and think.

My mother has done a lot of really terrible things that I will never, ever forget. I can't even forgive some of them. And when I'm upset, and when I feel like shit, they are the things that play in the back of my mind in an endless loop that makes me feel like dying. She is the one person that tore me down my entire life. And yeah, she's proud of me, and she's encouraging me now, but it hasn't always been that way. You know when you're a kid and there's always that super mean person that kicks you out of the swings or kicks sand at you or steals your lunch money (or your lunch) and makes fun of you? I never really had that kid. But I never really needed to have that kid, because I had my mother.

Which sounds, of course, super dramatic and kind of depressing. But it's true nonetheless.

However.

Despite all of the things my mother has done, there is one relatively good thing that has come out of this.

Because my mother spent so much time tearing me down and making me take hits (literally and figuratively) and being so very Jocelyn towards me, I learned to be strong. I learned to be tough. My skin is thick and my fists are always ready. Yes, I'm always ready to fight, but I don't think that's a bad thing. Even if my mother took important things from me, I came out of that whole mess alive. And stronger. And very much like myself.

And I'm proud of that.

Whether I like it or not, I am who I am largely because of her.

Let me know what you think!