29.

AFTERWARDS, I stood on my porch watching dizzily as Jace waved goodbye and drove off, the minivan chugging down the street until it was only a dot on the horizon.

It was surreal. I was dating Jace. I just made out with Jace.

I held a hand to my forehead, my mind spinning. He'd just left, and I already missed him – missed his touch, his laugh, his lame jokes. I was counting down the hours until I'd see him again.

I had groaned on and on about how I didn't want to leave – that we should have just refilled his gas and drove and drove until we couldn't anymore. He laughed and pressed a long kiss to my mouth, his hands stroking lazy circles on my arms.

"Good luck," he had whispered against my lips, and I'd swallowed his words with a final peck before eventually I had to get out.

I turned to my house, still bleary-eyed and not quite present. My keys were cold in my fingers and I pushed them into the lock, twisting the handle and slipping inside. The living room seemed empty, but I'd seen the car in the driveway. I sobered immediately.

I had to be quiet. Careful.

I slipped my bag off my shoulder, slipping it silently onto a hook beside the door. My hands braced themselves on the edge of the door, pushing it slowly – so slowly – with only fingertips.

It closed behind me with a barely-there click, but that was enough for my mother.

She stepped out of the kitchen, her hands on her hips and brow severely wrinkled.

"Jasmine Ali," she said, her accent thick.

Oh no. That meant she was angry.

"Hi, Mama," I replied timidly, shucking my shoes off and heading straight for the stairs. She stepped in front of me, clicking her tongue.

"No. I have been sitting here worried sick for the past hour. How can you just disappear without a word?"

"I told Dad –"

"Do you understand how worried I've been?" she interrupted. "I have been calling everyone I can think of – Piper, your last therapist, the school, Jenna. Where on earth have you been?"

God, the CIA had nothing on my mother's surveillance. She had the whole town watching me.

"I was out," I said quietly.

"Yes, I gathered," she replied, frowning. She shook her head, waving her hands at me. "You can't just leave the house as you please! Out." She scoffed. "In my country, you do not leave the house without telling your parents where, when and who with. So, tell me Jasmine, out where?"

"Out as in out visiting Amber, Mom," I snapped.

Her eyes widened and I savoured it. I was sick of beating around the bush. I was sick of the silent glances, the vague 'are you okay's? I was tired of pretending. So, I stepped closer, curling my lip.

"It's November 18th, Mom," I continued, my blood hot in my veins. "Did you forget? Amber would've been eighteen today. I went to wish her a happy birthday."

She shifted uncomfortably beneath my gaze. We'd both fallen silent. All I could hear was the huffing of my breath. She stepped backwards, avoiding my eyes.

"I was worried, habibti. You understand."

"I know, Ma. You remind me every second of every day. I can't use the toilet without you praying for me."

She sucked in a sharp breath, her stare turning wild. "Don't be absurd. I am your mother. It's normal for me to worry about you. Especially when you disappear from the house without a single word!"

"I told Dad!" I was yelling now.

"I don't care! You tell me. You come to me and tell me personally!" She was yelling too. "I am your mother!"

"You weren't home," I sputtered, shaking my head. "What was I supposed to do, wait? Sit around all day, waiting?"

"Yes!" she replied. "Yes, exactly that."

We fell into a painful silence. My chest ached. Everything ached. I wanted to cry.

How could my day go from so amazing to this? How did I go from confessing to my boyfriend, to being yelled at by my mother?

I shook my head, a silent breath leaving my lips.

"I never had to before," I murmured.

"What?" my mother snapped. "Speak up, Jasmine. I cannot hear you."

"I never had to before, Mom," I repeated, my voice raising, my eyes lifting to cut into hers.

She faltered. "Before what?"

"Before Amber died," I spat. "Remember? Amber? Amber Liu? Died in a car crash next to my bleeding body? You let me go anywhere with her."

"That's because – because Amber was a good girl." She shifted awkwardly, her voice wavering. "She was good. But she's gone now, and there's nothing we can do about that." She ran a hand over her weary face. "Go and take a shower, habibti. I'll heat up some food for you."

"No," I said, stepping forward. "You always do this."

She frowned. "Do what? What do I always do?"

"This!" I said, waving my hands about. "Avoid. Change the topic. As soon as Amber is mentioned, you get flustered. You pretend she never existed. But guess what, Mom? She did exist! She existed and she was my best friend and I watched her die. We can't ignore that!"

"I'm not ignoring it –"

"You are!" I sputtered. "Tell me, then. What did we do on her death anniversary this year?"

"I – Nothing. Death is not something to celebrate, Jasmine."

"But life is," I replied. I shook my head. I thought of how painful it had been to stay in West Mormet after Amber died.

Life had turned grey. It had turned into a wet mulch of grey and rain and never-ending tears. It had become doctor appointments and pretend smiles. It had become exhaustion and wading through the water, searching for the surface – for a break – but never finding it.

Still never finding it.

But then Jace had come into my life, and it turned from grey into gold. And suddenly everything was alight because he understood.

And even if it was one of those days – one of those days where I was stuck beneath the water, watching the world spin in slow motion – the gold still shone through, like sun rays piercing the surface and bathing me in light.

And I had learned to appreciate my scars. Appreciate Amber, and all she had given me, both in life and death. I learned to appreciate that I could walk, that I was alive. And even if I forgot it sometimes, I was working on it, and that was perhaps the most important lesson of all.

I sniffed, meeting my mother's eyes.

"Life is worth celebrating," I told her. "Memories. We could've done something. We could've remembered her in some way. That's how she lives on, Ma. Through us. And if we keep ignoring her – she's going to disappear."

My voice broke and tears rolled over my cheeks. I swiped at them in frustration. I didn't want to cry. Especially not in front of my mother. She'd only worry more.

I knew she was scared. Scared of me falling back into that dark place I'd found myself in after Amber died. She was scared of that broken girl in the hospital bed. The one who cried so much, she'd run out of tears. The one who refused to speak. The one who couldn't walk, couldn't eat.

The one she'd found in her room, blood dripping from her wrists.

It was a mother's worst nightmare. I knew she felt like she'd failed me.

And the guilt sat heavy in my stomach. Every time I saw her eyes flicker to my wrists, the guilt sank lower. Every time she changed the topic, dancing around Amber's name. Every time her smile slipped when I said the wrong thing.

But that was it, wasn't it?

I was always censoring myself around her.

Was that smile convincing enough?

Don't mention Amber.

Tell her you made a friend. Normal girls have more than one friend.

Don't mention Amber.

Smile. Smile more. Pretend you have to go study for an exam. She won't realise you're crying. Make sure she sees you eat.

Don't mention Amber.

Smile more.

I was always trying to burden her less, make her worry less, try to convince her I didn't need to be wrapped in bubble wrap and shipped off to another round of doctors – but all that did was stifle myself. Bury me deeper beneath the rising waves.

And I was sick of it.

"I know you hide our photo albums with her," I said finally. "Whenever you mention the past, you dance around her name. And you know what? I'm sick of it. I'm sick of it. I miss Amber."

"I know, sweetheart."

"No," I cut her off. "You don't. Because I've never told you. I've never been honest with you. I miss her so much, Mama. I dream of her every night. I see her every time I close my eyes. I see her blood staining the streets I walk on. I hear her voice, screaming and crying. I miss her."

"Don't say that, habibti," she snapped. She stepped backwards, tutting at me. "It's because you speak like that that you sit in your room all day. You need to get out there, Jasmine. Make new friends."

I groaned, looking to the ceiling. I needed all the patience in the world if I wanted to get through to her.

She wasn't understanding me. Or maybe she was, and she was just too stubborn to see it my way.

"Except I haven't been speaking like this for the past year, Ma, and guess what? I still sat in my room all day. I still dreamt of Amber every night and woke with tears in my eyes. I was still depressed." I released a breath, my frown deepening. "No matter how desperately I try to ignore it, it's not going to go away. This isn't the neighbourhood dog passing away. You can't just sweep it under the rug. You can't avoid it forever."

My mom refused to listen. She shook her head, her eyes shutting disdainfully. "You need to forget, Jasmine. You have to stop thinking about her and move on."

"No, Mom!" I shouted finally. I exhaled loudly out of frustration. "No! You can't stay in the eye of the storm forever. Eventually you're going to have to continue through it –"

"No, Jasmine, you need to –"

"You're not listening!" I yelled.

"Don't raise your voice at me!" she shouted back.

"But you won't listen –"

"What is going on here?" My dad asked, materialising behind my mom. His brow wrinkled as he towered over the two of us.

My mother pointed at me. "Your daughter is being disrespectful."

"She won't listen to me!" I retaliated.

"It's because you are disrespecting me. You want respect? You need to earn it," she replied, her lips pressed into a thin line.

I groaned, throwing my hands out.

"You know what? You're never going to listen." I released a bitter chuckle, the realisation finally sinking in. "You're never going to understand. I'm sick of it, Mom. I'm sick of avoiding Amber. Pretending she never died. And if that's what you want to do, then be my guest, but me? I'm done."

And with that, I stormed past her, stomping up the stairs and towards my room. She bolted after me, her slipper gripped in her hand.

"Don't walk away from me!" she yelled.

I refused to acknowledge her, continuing to storm towards my room.

"Get back here!" she shouted.

"Layla," my dad tried.

Her slipper slammed into the wall beside me and I glanced back at her over my shoulder with wide eyes.

"Get back here," she repeated, seething through clenched teeth.

"No," I said.

"No?"

"No."

She stilled. Then, her other slipper was in her hand and I was running the rest of the way to my room.

I slammed my door shut behind me, hearing the thud of her slipper colliding with the door just as it closed.

I released a heavy breath, clicking my lock into place, and sliding down until I was sitting on the floor.

The house had turned silent. Barely, I could hear my father calming my mother down, but I knew nothing would help. Not now. Not after I'd gone and tossed a grenade into the middle of my already tense relationship with my mother.

A part of me was devastated.

What had I done? There was no going back from this. My mother would have me back in therapy by next week, with Piper monitoring my every move.

But then a part of me felt – what? Relief?

Like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I didn't have to pretend anymore. I didn't have to please my mother and creep on broken glass with her.

No, I'd taken that grenade and I'd blown up the entire God damned house. I'd torn down the walls that I'd built a year ago. I'd smashed that perfect white picket fence that my mother desperately clung to.

I'd torn the entire façade to shreds.

And I started to laugh.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

Thank you all so much for 40k reads! That's honestly unbelievable ily all so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know your thoughts because we're approaching the last 10 chapters... any predictions?