I'm starting to get where I like mornings. They're still, and the rush of relief I get when I rouse from a bad situation is just one of the most comforting things I'll ever experience. I appreciate the quiet solitude that comes with the rising day, especially when Mom's already up like she is today; being able to lie there and think is comforting. However, I do remember that today's Dad's last day in New York, at least until next weekend, so I probably need to get up and go enjoy it with him and Mom.

I haul myself up—the floor is cold and shocking against my feet. I just want to crawl back up, curl into a little ball, and continue my dozing, especially since I'm still slightly dizzy and achy from last night. But, I love Dad, so I continue trotting into the living room. I can hear them talking, so I slow down—I don't want to walk in on any sort of—I shudder—intimate conversation.

"Can you…?" Dad asks. I freeze. I need to know what territory I'm walking in on. "I just don't want to overstep and upset her." Oh. Of course it's about me. "She seemed fine yesterday, but she seems good at hiding emotions—she got that from you, I believe." I stay halted in my place; I want to know what Mom's going to say.

"I think about that too. She's been a little looser this weekend, but that's more because of feeling bad. She tries to keep me from getting freaked out. I admire her for it, but I just wish she'd calm down about it and actually stop trying to be an adult."

I hold back a deep sigh. I'm going to have to have a talk with Mom—I love this doting, but I don't need it. I don't want to remind them so bluntly that I've been living as an adult for several years now—more than an adult: a feral, desperate adult. I think I can handle dealing with my own emotions.

"She's independent, I'll give her that. I'm so proud of her for surviving that."

What's there to be proud of? I lived and came back a total mess. I mean, what was I going to do? Abandon them? And now I'm their biggest burden. I still have the nagging thought that they'd be better without me, even if they deny it.

"Me too."

I wait a few heartbeats before going in. My headache is buzzing a bit again, but I can play it off as tiredness. I trudge into the living room. Mom gives me a toothy grin. "Feeling better?"

"My head's cleared up, thanks," I lie and flop down onto the couch. I love that stupid couch. That stupid couch makes everything better.

"So…" Mom says in a breath, leaning forward. She looks at peace. "How would you like to go looking for a bigger apartment?"

This is quite random and throws me of a little, but whatever. It could be fun and I like the idea of a bigger space. However, one question pops into my mind: "Can I have a room? I mean— I just don't like having to hog your bed." Mostly it's true, but I do look forward to the idea of being able to hide when I need to, like when I'm freaking out of having a fit.

She shakes her head a little, smiling. "Of course. Though you don't hog it. You're more like a little cat, sitting at my feet."

I see my chance. I probably shouldn't—let sleeping dogs lie, but… "Meow," I chirp, dealing a precision strike to Dad. Mom doubles over with giggles. Dad doesn't think I'm as funny as Mom does, but, then again, he might not even remember it; I don't know how much booze he had.

We dawdle into our casual clothes and catch a cab. As it turns out, apartment hunting is incredibly, incredibly boring, and my head just keeps getting worse and worse. However, I just keep it to myself—I've got to show that, yes, I can take care of myself, and I can do a decent job. They don't need to worry so much.

When we're at the second house, a mallet hits my temple, along with the familiar buzz that come with it. I quickly excuse myself to the bathroom, lie down on the tile—it's freaking cold—pull off my sock, and shove it in my mouth, to prevent screaming or puking. And then I wait.

In what feels like a blink, I wake, choking on bile. I sit up far too quickly—dizzy—and pull myself up to the sink, where I rip the sock out of my mouth and take a long sip of water. I'm groggy and lightheaded, but I've got to get back out there; I don't need Mom and Dad freaking out on me. I've put on a tough face before—I had to before, just like I have to now. I slip back out, smile, but when we're alone, Mom still asks, "Honey, did you throw up?"

And this is why I need to bring along a toothbrush with me. I shrug. "Breakfast didn't settle. I'm okay now. I didn't make a mess."

She tenderly squeezes my shoulder, and, fortunately, doesn't question it. However, I feel like I'm a total piece of crap for lying like this. It's one thing to lie to bastards; it's another to lie to my mother. I'll probably fess up later, just to soothe my conscience.

The rest of the day drags on. To be honest, I just want to go home, curl up in bed, and take a nice long nap to calm my body. But that would require telling my parents I feel like shit and that would just reinforce the belief that I'm just some fragile fucking flower and that just makes everything worse. I can take care of myself. And I'm okay with that.

Finally, we get back to our little cubby hole. I go straight for the shower—Dang it, I just want to let the steam seep into my skin, let it aid my post-fit ickiness.

It's times like this when I really wonder if I was right in taking action, reuniting with my parents. I really could've—and possibly should've—warned the castle of Mica and his gang, then hauled it to another land, to start fresh. I mean, it's just so damned complicated here, with all of these relationships and traumas and emotions. I just can't help but feel like everyone would be better off if I would've just left them alone. I mean, there's still the possibility—I could just leave. New York—it's safe, unlike Andalasia—and it's crowded. No one could find this face if I didn't want them too. I could just haul it to another borough, and stay there. If I laid low, I could just sneak past everyone.

But then Mom would be heartbroken. But she would get over it. I think she would be better off, as long as she didn't look; she wouldn't have as many responsibilities and could just live her life with Dad, without dealing with the little nuisance. And then I could live without having to constantly be walking a tightrope. I could just be. I could exist without the demonic memories following me, without this damned Princess title, without the knowledge that I'll have to go back; I could abandon my post. Surely, Mom and Dad wouldn't try to have another biological child—they could just adopt. Give a kid in rags some riches. Let him or her deal with it.

I step out of the shower, wipe the fog off of the mirror, and look at myself. I frown at the reflection; I have no idea what I'm doing in this world. I have no idea what I'm doing period. I'm just muddling through, wishing everything was over and said and done. Just there. Quite frankly, I kind of just want to die at the moment. However, I shake it off—I'll think about myself and my future when I'm not feeling like utter shit. I dry off, slip on my sleepwear, and walk out into the living room. Mom has Frozen in. I'm still kind of nauseous so I skip out on dinner. I don't make it to the end of the opening number.

Next thing I know, I'm in the bedroom and Dad is shaking me awake, gently. "Rosie, darling, I've got to go now."

I push myself up and hug him. "Are you coming back soon?"

"I will try. I love you. Now, why don't you go back to sleep? You need it." He gives me a kiss on the forehead, has me ease back down, and then slips out of the room. Of course, now I can't go back to sleep. I'm wide awake. I sit back up and take a few breaths; I'm crying a little bit, as ridiculous as it is. Mom's probably even more upset—I should go check on her. I hop up, feeling noticeably better. A nap always helps everything.

As predicted, she's bawling. I walk a little closer and ask, as to try to not startle her, "Are you okay?"

She turns and tries to put on a strong face. It doesn't work. "Yes, sweetheart. Go back to bed. I'll be back there in a minute."

She doesn't look that fine. I hug her. She's a cuddly person, after all.

"Rosie, really, I'm fine. Here, we'll…we'll both go back right now."

She does her nighttime routine and I'm hesitant to stray too far. She's kind of fragile at the moment. However, we both get into bed without further event. As we do, though, that guilt sneaks back into my system, eating away at my brain. I don't know how to fight without telling her the truth. So, I guess that's what I'll have to do. "Momma?"

"Yes, baby?" God, her attention's all on me. As always. Such a devoted person. And I lied to her.

I take a breath and admit, stomach filling out, "I had another fit today."

I can just see the light in her eyes fall right out for a second. She tightens her jaw and grabs me, holding me. "Oh, sweetheart. Where?"

"It was the second place we looked at." I shrug as I'm saying it. "I just went to the bathroom."

She pulls away. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asks, her voice strained. "I could've been there with you."

I try to be as nonchalant about it as I can—after all, it's not a big deal anyway. "I was fine. I've had them before. I know what to do."

"But…I could've been there and—I don't know—make it easier? Make sure you didn't bust your head?"

Even she realizes that I know what I'm doing—what with her grappling onto ways to help. "I…I've been able to deal with them for most of my life—I'm okay, Mom. I promise."

She goes back into teddy bear mode, nuzzling me. "Just…let me know next time, please?" Maybe. It will depend. Probably, as I hate that guilt of not telling her. "I need to know these kinds of things. I'm your mom."

And I'm no longer a toddler, I want to say. I can handle it. I can handle it well, I might add. I need to talk to her about this. "Even thought I've been fine for three years?" She's a bit taken aback by my statement, so I add a softer, "I can take care of myself. I promise, I can."

She lets out a breath. She just sounds so stressed. Maybe she really would be better without me. "Rosie, you shouldn't have to. That's my job. It's going to be my job forever, so don't worry about it."

"But—" I interrupt, but she doesn't have it.

"You're my kid. My kid. I can take care of you—or at least I can try. You're going to be independent soon enough; please don't rush it."

For whatever reason, emotions storm through my system, bringing tears to my eyes. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of them. Damn it, this is not helping my case. But all of those memories of trying to ration my food, looking for water, and just trying to not end up pregnant—they all just flood over me, drowning me. "It's just—it's hard to go from being so…just—I got used to it. It's tough to break that habit."

She starts playing with my hair. I like it. It's really calming. Then she starts saying, rather nervously. "I—I kind of understand. My, uh—my biological mother—she was hard to live with. And, like you said, you get used to living a certain way, so I was just adapted to it. I knew what to do, when to do it…But, see, when I started living with the Tremaines, even though I knew it was different…old habits die hard."

I can't help but getting all teary and shit again. It's just that she doesn't deserve that. She's a good person—good people don't need crap like that. "That's terrible…"

She scoffs. "Eh. It could've been a lot worse. It wasn't anything major—I hoarded a bit of food, habitually sneaked out of the house even when I really didn't need to…I think it did more damage to Mom than it did me. Then May thought it was cool and started doing it too…Now that caused problems," she says, giggling softly, her mind obviously in a different decade. I'll admit, the thought of a younger May worshipping Mom's every move is kind of hilarious.

However, then my mind goes back to more serious matters. I ask, "How long did it take for you to break some of those? The habits, I mean.

She huffs. Maybe I shouldn't have asked; this isn't a good sign. "Ah…Some of them took a few weeks, some took…I couldn't unpack my emergency backpack for about a year…I still get really unsteady when I don't know where my emergency jar of nuts is at work—it's not a paralyzing fear or anything, but I do just feel better when I have that there. I probably need more therapy." I can't help but frown at that. I'm going to be a walking jumble of nerves for the rest of my life. Wow, this is encouraging. My future is so bright.

"So I'm probably going to be like this for a long time."

"No, not necessarily. I mean, one thing that you have on your side is that, though it was a lot more intense and just more bad than what I had, it was over a shorter period of time and you experienced a somewhat normal life beforehand. You had something different to this absolutely survivalist lifestyle. I didn't until I was older, so most of my habits had been ingrained into my brain at a very early age. I didn't know anything different, but you did. I mean, you had to do a lot more self-care than I had realized, but you had a starting point. Even though your experience was a lot worse than mine…I think you actually have a better…what would be the word? Prognosis? No. But you get what I mean. I just have a feeling you'll be able to bounce back better than I did and won't end up as screwed up."

I can't help but laugh at her. She's not 'screwed up', not in the least. I'm the fucked up one in the family. "I wouldn't exactly think of you as screwed up."

"I'm a lot better than I was. I'm no where near as neurotic. But I think that's just my personality—I'm still like that, in some ways. But having a kid kind of forced me to chill out. Plus your dad helped a lot…" She smiles. I can say a lot of things about them, but my parents are completely and utterly in love. It's more than kind of sweet.

"You two are like some musical couple or something," I tell her, with full honesty.

"Love can make people a bit silly. You'll find out one day."

"Hope so." I kind of doubt it at this point, but I do want it. I just need to get over these weird issues I'm having first. "I'm tired." And it's the truth.

"No kidding."

"Good night. I love you," I tell her. And with that, I turn over and fall back asleep.