Hi! Thanks to everyone that's readind this, I would love to continue it, this is my first story so I dont care if your reviews are harsh or not, but I would really like some! If anyone reviews at all then I'll continue, but if no one does then I'll take it as a sing that no one likes it and I'll stop... but anyways on with the story.

Disclaimer: I really wished that I owned these characters, but sadly, I do not.

Chapter 1 – No Hope

"Hey Clary, do you want to come over after school?" asked Simon, as he pushed his dark hair away from his eyes, which were gazing intently at his best friend.

"Sure, my mom won't mind, she's going to be a work until around 5." She looked back at him and smiled, enjoying how the light in his eyes sparkled when she smiled.

They were hanging out like they normally do, lounging in Simon's bedroom playing on his play station when Clary's phone started vibrating. Pausing the game she answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Clarissa Fray?"

"Yes, is there a problem?"

"I'm sorry to be the one to inform you about this, but there has been a terrible accident. Your mother has died.

Clary's voice stuck in her throat, her eyes already watering. With a shaky voice she asked, "What? How?"

"A transport truck lost control and swerved into oncoming traffic. Your mother was driving in the other lane when the truck hit her, I'm so sorry."

Simon, immediately knowing something was wrong, walked over and gently put a hand on her back, "Clary, what is it?"

She looked at him with eyes fill of tears, she tried not to cry but once the first one spilled, they all came tumbling after. Simon took her in his arms, hugging her, telling her it will be okay, but even as he said it he knew that neither of their lives will ever be the same again. He didn't know what was wrong, but whatever it was it must have been serious, since Clary hardly ever cried.

Between sobs she managed to say "My mom, my mom is dead." Simon gasped silently at this, Jocelyn, the kind spirited lady that made him cakes every year for his birthday, was gone. And she wasn't coming back, his eyes started to water but he held them back, he needed to help Clary, this was worse on her than it was on him.

Over the next few weeks, Clary lived with Simon, whose mother kindly offered her a place to stay, but it was not permanent. Even though Simon's mother offered to house her, she already had a guardian, her father, who her mother had left before she was born.

But the paper work was filled out, and everything was set and ready for her to live with her father, and she wasn't looking forward to it. Her mother never talked about him, but she knew of the scars on her mother's back. She had never been allowed to see him, and now she was just being put into his custody like that, without her opinion at all.

Her father lived in a little town in the middle of nowhere known (and not by many) as Idris. It was hard to find this place on a map, since its population was so minute. She rode in the front seat of the police car to her father's house, a small house beside an enormous country house. She was surprised that her father would choose to live where his house was always being compared to the mansion.

There were kids playing outside the mansion, two boys and a girl, who all stopped their game of throwing the football to watch her drive by, and stop at their neighbor's house. Clary started shaking as she walked up the stairs and to her father's house.

The police officer knocked on the door and a large man with white hair opened it. His dark and unforgiving eyes inspected Clary and then lightened as he spoke to the officer.

"Hello, Mr. Morgenstern this is Clarissa Fray, your daughter."

He looked her up and down, signed the page and brought her inside without saying a word. Then he walked to the door to the basement a said, "Clarissa, this is my study, you come in here, and you will wish that you hadn't, your room is upstairs, you will be responsible for making your own food and getting up and ready in the mornings. Stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours."

With that he left, leaving her standing in the hallway with all of her luggage, which wasn't that much. She brought some stuff upstairs and found her room immediately, it was small and dusty, and looked like it hadn't been used in a very long time. The bed was narrow and creaked when she sat on it. The thought of sleeping in her bed disgusted her, but she repressed the feeling for later, she had too much on her mind right now, but she was happy that she wouldn't be starting school for another week.

The third night that she was at her father's house was the first time he came home drunk. He walked into her room, swaying slightly, and the absent look in his eyes was her warning that he was not the same. With his slurred speech, he told her that it was her fault that he lost everything he ever loved, as his merciless hand came down again and again against her petite body, leaving marks against her pale skin.

The next morning she couldn't move. She could feel the marks that his fists had made into her torso. She wanted nothing better to do then to lie there forever, but a rumble of her stomach told her that she needed to move. Getting up, she winced as she moved her arms, which had taken the worst beating since they tried helplessly to protect her body.

She cringed at the sound of her father's voice as it drifted through the house. There was another person there too. She dressed so that her marks were unseen, maybe he could not recall the attack from all the alcohol in his system?

She made her way to the kitchen, and as she made a simple breakfast her father walked in.

"Ah, Mr. Hodge, this is my daughter, Clarissa, this is our neighbor, Mr. Hodge."

"Good Morning, Mr. Hodge," she said politely, then added, "what a lovely house you have."

"Thank you, but that isn't mine, I just live there. I am Mrs. Lightwood's brother, and since her and her husband are often out of town for their job, and they need someone to look after their children, so they called me up."

"That's very fortunate for you," she said, still smiling, but wanting to leave the small room, her father was way too close for her own comfort, "now I'm sorry but if you'll excuse me, I have to go have a shower."

She left the room, and raced up stairs quietly. Shutting her blinds, she ate her food then closed her eyes, willing sleep to take over, and her sore body to heal.

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