I AM SO SORRY. Ugh, I just had writer's block with this story and was looking for inspiration and it's not really edited and I don't like the beginning but I'm updating anyway because it's been too long for you all.

The only thing that seemed to improve the following week were my grades.

Distance did nothing to ease my resentment, crouching low in my gut whenever I spotted my mom after work.

The distance was not what had cracked us apart in the first place. The ground had already been pried open by a headstone that was engraved with my dad's name, but my mom's actions had dismantled the tedious bridge assembled between us. It was impossible to think one could feel farther from someone living than from the dead, but suddenly, I did.

I tried brushing it off. Tried telling myself all sorts of things, as I lay sprawled stomach-first over my bed, flipping through my Trig book.

She didn't want to make it harder on me, especially after Finn.

She made a mistake. She thought she was doing what was best.

Just because she's with someone doesn't mean she didn't love Dad any less.

But the last one was the one that stuck with me the most. I couldn't get over the time. Half a year. She'd had half a year to tell me the truth and discarded every opportunity to. She'd decided I couldn't handle it. After surviving a collision, my dad's death, Finn's death, she still thought me weak.

At school, I immersed myself back in my studies, receiving approving looks from teachers whenever they handed out results to a pop quiz. It helped me mentally, but did little to boost my spirits.

That especially became true when, as the week drew to a close and I was returning to my locker, a familiar voice called out to me.

I turned around, meeting Octavia's big eyes, her brown hair fanned around her shoulders. A pile of books were clutched in her hands as she made her way over, taking care not to drop any of them. She came to a halt before me.

"Hey," she said, giving me a big smile that instantly made me suspicious.

I returned its smaller version, the smirk. "Hey, Octavia. Is everything all right?" My first thoughts jumped to Bellamy, and then I mentally chastised myself for it, shunning away the confusion that topic for the umpteenth time this week. I was still confused about what had happened the second night I'd stayed over and was in no mood to psychoanalyze it now.

Octavia shrugged. "Nothing much. Um, I just . . . uh. . . ." she bit her lip and her fingers thrummed the base of the books, like she was nervous. Her anxiety bled into me, followed by a growing sense of foreboding. Often she came to request a favor. Favors that ill-fated things seemed to have a way of following after.

"I feel weird asking you this," she started with, which didn't help curb my own anxiety.

"That never really stopped you before," I said, but not rudely. I liked Octavia, even if her requests were often out of the blue and not exactly wanted. "What is it?"

"My Dad," she blurted.

Distaste curled inside me, threatening to wrinkle my nose. I refrained for her sake.

"He wants to spend Christmas Eve with me and wants Bellamy there, too. Says he wants to make . . . amends."

It was much harder to keep myself from choking on that.

Octavia moved her weight from foot to foot and held her hands palms up, beseechingly. "I was hoping you'd come with us because I have no idea what could happen, but I have a feeling none of the possibilities are good. Not with Bellamy. And you have a way of . . . tempering him."

This time, I did wrinkle my nose. "Like a dog?"

"Like a balm," she clarified, though a red flush stood on her cheeks. She sighed. "Look, I get it if you have better things to do. But I'm just . . . I'm scared, Clarke. I don't want this to end as badly as I know it can."

I stared at her, taking in the desperation pooling in her vivid blue eyes. The worry lining her young features. Every sensible instinct told me to say no, and even if this were a good idea, Octavia was wrong about one thing. I didn't have anything to do on Christmas Eve. Picturing myself seated across my mom skirting an argument was enough to make Octavia's offer the lesser of two evils. For now.

"What about Bellamy?" I asked, before I gave her my answer. I still hadn't spoken to him directly yet, not since last week, right before the start of Christmas break. Not since he'd told me to stop playing coward and fight for change. My mom wasn't the only one I was distanced from. "Shouldn't you run this by him? He might not want me there."

Octavia shrugged and something older appeared in her face. Suddenly she sounded tired. "Honestly, Clarke, I don't think much of his attention will be on either of us."

I had a feeling she was right.

I was starting to really wonder about my judgement, and how intact it really was. Because seated in my car, staring at the Italian restaurant that rose like something monolithic before me, I suddenly regretted ever having had agreed to this.

I was, decidedly, a person of bad decisions. It was nearly enough to have me sending a text to Octavia, a text holding a decline. An unfortunate ailment that decided to sneak up on me this Christmas. But as if sensing my hesitancy, my phone buzzed in my hand with a message from her.

Thanks for doing this, it read.

I dropped my head against the seat rest and let out a groan. But I couldn't deny that as far as distraction went, this one was working. I wondered if it was selfish using this circumstance as such, but Octavia was using my presence, too. At worst, I wasn't as selfless a person as Octavia probably thought. It was a price I was willing to pay.

Thoughts of my mom and Marcus and the mess that I lived inside were steadily being shoveled to the back of my mind. The lesser of two evils, that's what this was. The lesser one.

Pushing against every other instinct, I climbed out of my car. Bitter cold caressed my arms and I hurried into the restaurant, whose name I could not pronounce and didn't bother to try. A blast of heat chased away the bitter cold as I stepped through the door and into a place bedecked in booths and line lights that dangled from the rafters above. Wooden floors. It was probably simple to those used to eating out, but as this contested with my leftover meals and dry cereal, to me it was pretty nice.

The man at the counter stopped me, dressed up in a plain black uniform that was bold against his light hair. "Yes, how may I-?"

"Clarke, over here!" Octavia whispered, a hand flapping among an occupied booth in the corner.

"I'm with them," I told the waiter, and he tipped his head. "Of course. Right this way."

I followed him over to the booth, where Jay and Octavia sat opposing Bellamy. He didn't see me in time for me not to catch the words he was directing at his sister. "You asked Clarke to come?"

If I could've shared a word with Octavia privately just then, I would have. Because it was clear in the surprise and disapproval in Bellamy's face when he looked up and noticed me there that she hadn't told him I would be coming.

I was really getting tired of her doing that.

"That's me," I said awkwardly.

"I invited her," Octavia piped up and smiled brilliantly. I knew it was fake but Jae didn't. Because he didn't know her.

He smiled at me. "Nice to have you, then. Please, take a seat." I didn't miss that the nervous itching I'd witnessed from him was suddenly gone.

Octavia gestured to the booth opposite of her, where Bellamy sat by the wall. Her brother shot a heated glare at her, but she just held her smile as I scooted into the booth. Bellamy's shoulder brushed mine and that weird sensation shot down the length of my arm. I inched away.

"So, Clarke," began Jae. He wore nothing spectacular; just a spotted brown jacket and a white shirt. I guessed his pants were of the jean-variety and not slacks. He folded his fingers on the table and I suddenly felt as if I were in Marcus's office again. "No plans for Christmas Eve?"

I wondered if this was code for I don't want you here. It was hard to tell when he sounded nothing other than blatantly curious.

I blew out a long breath and shook my head. "Nope."

"What about your parents?"

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Octavia glanced between us and shook her head. "Hey, um, I'm getting hungry. Let's order." She reached over and plucked one of the menus from the small box. Her eyes met Bellamy's over the lamented sheet. "Bel, aren't you hungry?"

I risked a glance at him from the corner of my eye. His eyes seemed to be on anything but Jae, as if pretending he weren't here. "Can't say I have much of an appetite."

"I think I'll do the turkey," I said before Octavia could add anything. I pretended to be deeply invested in the list of food.

"So, Bellamy," said Jae, and I felt Bellamy's near imperceptible flinch. Something in me hardened. Was that his start to the alleged amends-making?

"How are things?" he asked on an exhale. "It's been . . . it's been a long time."

A scoff escaped Bellamy and he thrummed two fingers on the table. "Ten years," he said, and then murmured, "Best ten years of my life."

"What are you getting, Octavia?" I asked, leaning subtly over the table.

She pointed to something I couldn't see. "Roast beef. The roast beef sounds good."

"What about you, Jae?" I asked, and in my periphery I saw Bellamy look at me, as if I somehow betrayed him by talking to Jae. I didn't meet his eyes.

"We'll make it two roast beefs," Jae said, not even bothering to look at a menu. "How's school been?" He cast a look between Octavia and Bellamy.

She nodded slowly, keeping her own gaze on her brother, as if in warning. "Good. Really good."

Jae smiled, the curve of his lips seemingly foreign and unnatural. "And you, Bel?" he asked. "How's school?"

"Fine," said Bellamy, his mouth tight. "How was prison?"

I coughed and met Octavia's eyes, hoping to convey the message in mine. This isn't working.

"Bellamy," she said, voice hung low. I felt the increasing urge to duck behind my menu and stay there. What had I been thinking in agreeing to come?

Jae cleared his throat and I resisted the urge to do the same. "I don't think that's a suitable topic for company," he said, and I didn't know whether he was referred to me or Octavia. We both fit into the category, me being a stranger, her being estranged.

I chanced a look at Bellamy, his profile something carved from stone. "Fine," he ground, practically spitting the word through his teeth.

"Octavia's an excellent student," I prattled off the first thing that came to mind, regardless of whether or not I knew it to be true. Bellamy shot me another glare, but again, I ignored it.

Jae's glacial eyes flicked to his daughter at his side. "Really?"

"I . . . think Clarke is exaggerating a little," mumbled Octavia. "But my grades are good."

Jae smiled that same foreign upturn of his mouth, the one that did little to soothe and more to aggravate.

Seeing the clenched fist crowning Bellamy's knee, I knew he was equally aggravated. But at least we were on the same side.

"That's good to hear," Jae beamed. "Education is important."

"If you have such an appreciation for school," started Bellamy, eyes like chips of coal, "then I wouldn't have expected you to have taken me out so early from mine." He shrugged as much as the tension in his shoulders would allow. "Or maybe your philosophy was a little different back then."

"Bellamy," hissed Octavia, a little clearer this time. He didn't show any sign of having heard her.

"Clarke," Jae suddenly said, clearly looking down a different avenue for subject matter. I stifled the desire to stare him down, instead rearranging my expression into one of simple curiosity. "How have your classes been?"

I licked my dry lips. "They're"—

"Clarke's a top student," interjected Octavia who was fiddling with her cloth napkin. "She's known as the Princess of Arcadia High."

I didn't correct her that that was technically no longer true.

Jae nodded as if he were impressed. "How prestigious," he said. And then, "You should work with Bellamy."

At the mention, that fist beneath the table tightened harder, knuckles going white.

Before Bellamy could snap, I said through a thin smile in a matter-of-fact voice, "Bellamy is actually an incredible student himself. I doubt I'd be any help to him."

Jae cocked an eyebrow in his son's direction. "Is that so?"

In my periphery, I saw the muscle in Bellamy's jaw feather.

"Then why aren't you some hot shot in school, too?"

I bristled at the turn of direction and once again, spoke before Bellamy had the chance. "My mom is a renown surgeon," I explained. "She used to donate funds to the school. Most of the School Board knows her."

"I see," said Jae, lips pressing into a terse line, curly hair looking oily under the small light. "And you reap the benefits."

Anger bloomed inside me at the thinly-veiled accusation. "My grades are my own," I told him.

He crossed his arms over his chest as the waiter materialized with a tray of waters. "I'm sure they are," he said, when the waiter left. "And what field are you interested in that could maintain such support?"

It was my turn to clench my teeth. "It's the student body who came up with a nickname," I said, my tone even and unruffled. "But I don't think my ambition is the factor, so much as the simple sob story of being the girl whose father and boyfriend were both killed within a year of each other that drew people's attention." I picked up my glass of ice water. "That would certainly be the time one would focus on earning the teachers' favor."

I could feel Octavia's eyes on me and I swore the bones in Bellamy's fist threatened to shatter.

But Jae seemed unbothered, if not a little surprised. "I didn't mean to offend you," he said.

I actually smiled, returning my glass to the table without drinking any of it. "Believe me, you didn't. Because that would suggest I cared about your opinion. And we've only just met."

Octavia's mouth dropped open and I only felt marginally guilty for abandoning her. Most of my attention though, was on the man next to me, his anger singeing the length of my sleeve. Impulsively, I reached beneath the table and planted my hand over his fist. My nerves jumped at the contact, but I kept perfectly still.

I saw his eyes flicker to my face in my periphery before glancing down at our joined hands. He didn't move his away until the food arrived.

"Your mom, Clarke," said Jae as he began cutting up his roast beef. "She makes good money? Surgeons have high wages, I hear."

Despite current circumstance, I wanted to defend my mom, tell him exactly how hard she worked for that money. I might've had issues with her current personal life and the lies involved, but I knew what she put into her job. Everything, down to her sweat and blood. But to keep the atmosphere friendly, I just said, "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

I hoped that was the end of it. But as I was astutely knowledgeable on, we often did not get what we wanted.

"And your dad?" he continued. "What did he do, before?"

Before. Before he died, and couldn't do it anymore.

"Environmental scientist," I said robotically.

"Probably don't need that insurance," Jae added passively after swallowing. "Did it go to the school, too?"

It took me longer than the others to catch on to what he was saying. What he was talking about. My father's life insurance. The smell of gravy was suddenly cloying.

"Dad," mumbled Octavia uncomfortably, either from the situation or the title she was giving him. "You shouldn't be talking about this."

"We're just discussing money," said Jae with a shrug. "A privilege you kids didn't have growing up."

"Yeah, there were a lot of privileges we didn't have growing up," Bellamy hissed at my side.

Jae paused in his eating, fork hanging from his hand as he looked up. "I did what I could."

"You certainly did. And that was nothing at all."

"We didn't have the money," he said, and this time there was a bite in Jae's tone. "If we'd gotten more from your mother's policy"—

Bellamy stood up so fast my water glass shuddered. "Don't," he snapped, towering over Jae, "Don't talk about mom. Not here. Not ever. And especially not to me."

Jae raised his palms up, as if surrendering. "Fine, fine. I'm just trying to tell you. Money matters in this world, son. It matters about as much as it takes to earn."

"And what did you spend yours on?" challenged Bellamy. "Liquor. Booze. Drugs. Yeah, that's some investment, Dad."

The last word echoed around the table and Jae wasn't even given the opportunity to reply before Bellamy gestured for me to slide out of the booth. "This dinner's over."

"It hasn't even been paid for yet," said Jae, as if that were enough to keep Bellamy planted there. He quickly motioned to the waiter who returned with the total in a navy check folder.

Jae padded down the front pockets of his jacket and pulled out a black wallet. He opened it up and thumbed a pair of bills I thought was a one and a ten. A few agonizing seconds fell away until, with a sigh, Jae's gaze met Bellamy's. "I seem to be a little short."

Those hands found their way into fists again. Bellamy scoffed. "Why am I not surprised?" He shook his head. "Find a way to deal with it yourself."

"Now just hold on a second," said Jae. Slowly, those blue eyes, so similar and yet so unlike Octavia's, found mine. "You could afford to lose a few dollars, right?"

I saw the fire light in Bellamy's eyes, dancing on the coals of his pupils. "Are you out of your mind?" he hissed and I felt his rage mounting, threatening to let those fists fly. "What gives you any right to ask her that? You wanted this dinner, so you can pay for it."

"I'd love to," said Jae. "I really would. But it's not as if I've had much time to earn money. People aren't exactly jumping at the chance to hire someone on parole."

Those hands were starting to shake and I saw the fear growing in Octavia's eyes. This was headed down a dangerous path, the one Octavia had been wishing to avoid, and as much as I wanted to tell Bellamy exactly where to hit to inflict the most damage, I squared my shoulders and looked back to Jae.

"That's fine," I said. "I'll pay it."

Bellamy whirled around, eyes slicing to mine. "Are you-? No you're not. You're not giving him a cent, Clarke."

It sounded like a warning, but I never did heed his much. I pulled my bag into my lap and dug out my own wallet. "It's my money, Bellamy. I'll decide where I spend it."

"Forget it, I'll pay," he said, almost vehemently. "Just put that back."

I looked over at him, incredulous.

The thought of Bellamy giving his money to Jae was infinitely worse than me giving him mine and I yanked out three twenties and grabbed the check folder before Bellamy could.

He let out a curse and reached for it. "Clarke—"

I looked at him, hard, and leaned in, just close enough to say without being overheard, "He's taken enough from you."

Then I tucked the money into the blue folder in time for the waiter to swing by a moment later and collect it from me.

I slid out of the booth and slowly, as if his soles were weighted by iron, Bellamy followed. He suddenly seemed resigned and for a second, I didn't recognize the expression on his face. The haunted look in his eyes.

Shame. That's what it was.

But then he blinked, and it was gone.

He moved over to Jae and motioned Octavia out. She listened. But then Bellamy stopped at the edge of the seat, Jae having yet to stand from the booth. Bellamy's presence in the narrow space didn't allow him to, and the words that came from him weren't ones of fire, but ones of ice and steel. "Don't ever ask anything from her again."

Jae peered up at his son. "Pride can make a man do dangerous things, Bellamy. It would do you well to loosen your chains some."

Bellamy leaned down, so close his hand touched the tabletop. "And it would do us all well to see you back in them."