This is probably why all my multi-chapter Fanfictions are taking so long. I Keep getting new ideas for one-shots…
Please review/favourite this story and be sure to check out some of my others.
She was there again, the same as she always was. He could see her skin, so pale it was almost white, a thick curtain of inky hair swishing around her bare shoulders, her dark, dark eyes, so dark they were almost black.
Those eyes were what stayed with him most; their soul searching depths made him shiver, even when he awoke in his bed, sweating and breathing heavily. Who was this girl? What did she want?
Some nights he saw more of her, her full lips, painted the most vibrant shade of scarlet, her soft jaw line, the thick black lines that curled around her throat, but he never saw it all. Simon Lewis wasn't the kind of boy that was into tattooed girls, but there was something about her, with her fathomless eyes and midnight hair that made his breath hitch and his heart feel like it was no longer beating. She made him feel cold, freezing infact, like he wasn't alive at all.
There was a loud buzzing that dragged Simon from his reverie. Snatching at his bedside table for both his glasses, and his phone, he peered at the screen. The light burned his eyes at first due to the contrast between the white light of the screen and the sheer darkness of the room. His phone continued to buzz, the name across the screen reading Eric.
"What?" Simon grumbled down the phone, running a hand over his face irritably, the image of the girl beginning to fade from his memory.
"Band practice, right now, where are you?" his friends voice said down the phone, the speaker making him sound a lot deeper than he really was.
"Crap" Simon cursed, half falling off of his bed in an attempt to get dressed, grabbing a pair of jeans from the floor. "On the way"
"You forgot didn't you?" Said Eric accusingly, but Simon could hear him laughing. Simon was about to retort when Eric cut him off. "I don't care about your excuses, just hurry up, we're writing a new song today" and with that he hung up, leaving Simon alone with his thoughts once again.
He could still see her as he dressed, her dark eyes shadowed by thick lashes, the feeling of her ruby lips against his own, so soft, yet so desperate. Shaking away the thoughts, Simon grabbed his keys and left for band practice.
It was May now, too hot to wear a jacket, but the breeze was cool enough to require something to avoid discomfort. Simon had just left Java Jones, his favourite coffee shop with two coffees in his hands, one was his, the other one…well, he didn't know who it was for.
It was black coffee with very little sugar, the exact opposite of how he liked it, yet he felt obliged to order it. He saw a faint image of a bright, familiar smile and a flicker of red before his memory failed again.
Passing it off with a shrug, he dropped the coffee into the nearest bin, before proceeding to cross the road. That was when he saw her.
She was standing across the road from him, leaning against the fence with two other people. She was, in a word, beautiful. She looked around his age, seventeen possibly older. Her skin was pale, so pale it looked white, thick black hair falling to her waist. She was talking to two other people who looked the same age as her, a boy who looked as though he was chiselled out of nothing but gold and a small girl with fiery red hair and bright green eyes. Despite all three being dressed from head to foot in black, Simon couldn't get the image of white wings, like those of an angel from his mind.
She's talking to angels he thought strangely. Before he could dwell on it much further the girl turned, her face split into a perfect smile as she laughed at something the golden boy had said. Simon caught a glimpse of the curling black lines on her throat before his eyes caught hers. They were dark, so dark and so familiar, yet so foreign all at once. Her face fell.
Simon tried a weak smile at the girl, but she had already turned away, walking off in the opposite direction, her angel friends following dejectedly after her.
That wasn't the last time Simon saw the girl that day. He was leaving band practice after working for about twenty minutes, messing around for the remaining six hours, yet he still felt exhausted. The sun had set now, leaving the sky a blank expanse of darkness.
Recently, Simon had found the darkness comforting, he wasn't sure why, it used to terrify him. Walking quickly, hands in the pockets of his tattered jean, Simon made his way back home from Eric's garage, the task of writing a new song before their gig heavy on his shoulders.
He was taking a detour through Central Park, a strange sense of longing snatching at his heart as he did so. It was like de ja vu, like he had been here before on a night similar to this one, but he couldn't place it. He couldn't help the feeling of anger swelling through him, like something horrible had happened, something that greatly impacted his life, but he couldn't pin point what it was.
He was standing, staring at the moons reflection on a small pond when he finally saw her again. She looked like she had earlier, dressed head to toe in black leather. Her heavily buckled jacket was open to reveal a grey t-shirt underneath; one he was sure had writing on it, her ridiculously high heels digging into the soft ground. She sat with her knees to her chest; her skin was white under the glow of the moon, her dark eyes shimmering with what Simon thought to be tears.
She stared at the sky, her mouth moving slowly as she stared longingly, at what, Simon didn't know.
She's counting the stars. He thought as he watched her, not wanting to move away, even when he noticed how creepy he was being. There was something, something about this girl. Why did he dream about her? Why was he seeing her wherever he went? He felt the urge to confront her, to ask what it was about her, but by the time he'd plucked up the courage, she was gone.
A few days went by before Simon saw the beautiful girl again. In person at least, he still saw her at night, still felt her lips on his own, her breath on his cheek as he ran his lips across her throat, right where her pulse was thumping widely against the skin. Why did he like it there so much?
She was once again, across the road from him, only this time, she was alone, no angels for her to talk to. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, away from her face, revealing even more of the curling black lines that snaked up her throat. She wore the same clothing, the buckled black jacket closed this time as she fiddled with the clasps at the sleeves cuffs.
Her dark eyes looked wary, hopeful even, as they followed every car that passed her, falling slightly every time one passed her by. It looked as though she was talking to herself, her full lips moving ever so slightly with every vehicle that passed.
Making a wish on a passing car. He thought solemnly as he watched her straighten up slightly, tucking something unidentifiable from this distance into the waist band of her trousers. She didn't look at him as she left this time, only clutched a white piece of paper very tightly in her hands, her heels clicking on the concrete sidewalk as she left, unnoticed by all but one.
One week before their first gig, Eric saw fit to invite their entire band to a club, the very same club they would be performing at in seven days. Simon tried not to feel nervous as he stood by the bar, trying effortlessly to stop his brown hair from falling into his eyes.
"Any progress on the song?" Eric asked as he sidled up beside Simon, seating himself comfortably on the neighbouring bar stool.
"I'm getting there" Simon said awkwardly, seeming to become very interested in his pink, alcohol free drink.
"You'd better be" Said Eric jokingly "We've already needed to replace our singer, don't want to lose our bassist as well" with a friendly clap to Simons shoulder, Eric left, presumably to find his girlfriend in the throng of dancing bodies.
Through the gaps of glittering skin and thick party smoke, Simon saw her again. She was only ten feet away, wearing a long white dress that covered a lot more skin than what Eric's girlfriend wore. The black tattoos were all perfectly hidden, but Simon could see a red ruby, the size of a baby's fist, sitting delicately at the base of the girl's throat. Her dark eyes were made darker by the shadowy eye makeup that glittered under the lights, her inky black hair shinning blue.
He watched her, trying to be subtle about it as a man, probably about twenty years old with thick green hair approached her. They began to talk and the girl laughed, twirling her long hair between her fingers, looking seductively at the man through her thick lashes.
The man placed a hand on her waist, guiding her towards the dance floor. Simon wanted her to refuse, but she didn't. A fierce protectiveness over came him. Who did this man think he was, dancing with her and looking at her like that? She didn't belong to him. A new thought struck him; this girl didn't belong to Simon either.
She's dancing with strangers. He thought, finishing his drink in one, painful gulp. This girl was from Simon's dreams; he reminded himself, that was where she'd always be. What would happen if he approached her, if he actually spoke too her. The various scenarios of rejection flicked through his mind and Simon fought the urge to laugh. How naïve he was to believe, even for a second, that he had any chance with this girl, with this beautiful, angelic girl. She was a dream girl, nothing more.
She was crying. Simon could see her from where he stood within the trees. He was at the park again, planning to just go for a meaningless walk, when he stumbled upon her. She was sat the way she had before, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her long legs as she stared at the sky.
Rain was splintering down like shards of ice, breaking through Simon's denim jacket from the moment he left his house. His glasses were speckled with raindrops, his hair stuck to his face, what a state he must look. Yet she still managed to look beautiful.
Her long, black hair was down, thin strands plastered to her face with rain. Today of all days, her jacket was absent. Instead she wore a grey t-shirt (clearly too large for her slim frame) with the same tight black trousers and killer heeled boots. She rocked slightly, her sobs echoing through the empty park like music. Her voice, however broken, sounded beautiful as she muttered to herself, words Simon was too far away to distinguish.
She's falling apart. Simon thought longingly as he watched her, the way her body shook with either cold or sobs, Simon didn't know. Her dark eyes were clenched shut as tears fell down her cheeks, mingling with the rain.
It was strange, Simon thought, to see this girl so broken, so shattered. She was strong, at least Simon believed she was. He'd only ever seen her in his dreams, and even then she had been different. Her face was pale, but it still had flashes of colouring, unlike the pastiness her complexion held now. There was also an air of confidence about her when he'd seen her before, dream or not, but now, now she looked like she'd break into millions of devastated pieces at the slightest touch.
He longed to touch her, to pick her up his arms and hold her, hold her like she was everything to him, like he'd never forget a moment they spent together, but something stopped him. There was no other way to describe it than as and ache, a physical and emotional ache that dragged him away from this broken girl, the girl who looked as thought she'd lost the world, and for all Simon knew, she might have.
Before Simon's battle could be won, she left; the grey shirt looked almost black from where it was soaked through, the words across the front almost impossible to distinguish from the fabric. But Simon read them perfectly. The t-shirt read Made in Brooklyn. It was strange, He had sworn her owned a t-shirt like that, but he hadn't seen it in months now.
The night of the gig dawned and to say Simon was nervous was an understatement. He had showed his band the finished song two nights before, and they had loved it, each of them learning it to perfection for the night.
The club was packed; Simon could easily see that from his spot on the stage. People were jammed into all gaps they could find, some pointing at the band, some ogling at the bands banner that hung above their heads. THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS it read in large white lettering across a black background, a strange image or symbol drawn in grey behind the words. Simon had designed the banner, he didn't know where he'd gotten the idea, or why his friends had lapped it up so easily, but they had, and now wasn't the time to dwell.
The music started and the singer, Kurk, began to sing the lyrics Simon had so thoughtfully written.
She's watching the taxi driver, he pulls away
She's been locked up inside her apartment a hundred days
Simon wasn't entirely sure what was happening, his finger felt numb as he tried desperately to play the right notes, to not mess up. This was their first gig and he wouldn't be the one to ruin it. He couldn't do that to the band.
She says "Yeah, he's still coming, just a little bit late
He got stuck at the Laundromat washing his cape"
She's just watching the clouds roll by and they spell her name
Like Lois Lane
It was incredibly hard to believe how much Simon's friends had adored the song. Sure his friends were all considered as nerdy as he was himself, but a song referencing a superhero every other line, Simon thought it would have been a bit much. But the crowd seemed to love it, so they all continued to play like it was the last time they ever would.
And she smiles, oh the way she smiles
His friends may not have known the subject that created this song, the desired girl that Simon was playing the notes to so passionately, but they didn't need to know. The song was a message, a message he wished she would hear and understand, his girl, his dream girl. Her face was crystal clear in his mind; he swore he could almost see her.
She's talking to angels,
But he could see her, right before his own eyes. She was staring at him, her dark eyes boring into his own. She didn't turn away this time, just continued to stare, a sad sort of longing flickering through her eyes.
Counting the stars
He remembered the way she had looked that night in the park, her face pale, her hair darker than he'd ever seen it, but he could see something else. He saw as she walked into a pond, her green coat fanning out around her as she shivered, he could see her with another man, a man with a dark ponytail and a leaf on his cheek.
Making a wish on a passing car
The words sounded as thought they were travelling through water, or being heard through a very thick wall, he could feel more than he heard. And she was still watching him, clearly entranced the same way he was, but where he was fascinated and wary, she was miserable and lost. He could see her as she danced and laughed, the way she did with her friends, the way she did with her brother, the way she did with him.
She's dancing with strangers,
It was a flurry of pictures now, her in the white dress, her in the black gear, her in her bra. It was bizarre, it was exactly like his dream, but he could see her, he could see all of her. The way her body curved perfectly, the feel of it under his fingertips, she felt glorious, despite the thin white scars that covered her skin.
Falling apart
He could see more now, he could see her face, younger looking due to lack of makeup, her hair and tangled mess. She had puffy red eyes, tear stained cheeks as she lay atop of him. 'Do you really think this is going to make you feel any better?' he had asked and her reply, a sultry purr, had been 'I feel better already'.
But was that real? Of was that another dream? No. it had to be real. He would never in a million years want to see his dream girl miserable, and this girl clearly was. He may not be able to control his dreams, but he could stop them.
Waiting for superman to pick her up
He saw her differently now, her body limp in another boy's arms. Her eyes were shut, the thick lashes casting shadows down over her ever paling face, her leg torn to ribbons. It all felt so real, the pain, the horror of the situation, the slice against his wrist, one he had made, before pouring his blood onto the wound. He had saved her, he was a hero.
In his arms, yeah, in his arms, yeah
It should have been him that held her, him that carried her; it was always supposed to be him. It was hard to picture it now. The music was jolting; clearly Simon had lost sense of what was happening. Nothing made sense anymore. The girl's eyes met his again, her dark eyes shinning with some new found emotion, one he'd never seen before. Beneath the sorrow and longing there was hope, a spark of it, glittering in those inky depths. She was waiting, he knew it, He'd known all along that she was waiting for something, some hero to come and save her.
Waiting for Superman
Only now did he realise that this hero, the one she was waiting for, her superman, was him.
Simon hadn't realised he had left the stage until he heard the confused gasps and the angry shouts from his band members, but none of it mattered. It was him; he knew it was. She was waiting for him. Suddenly, everything made sense, the dreams, the flashes, the obsession, everything.
A strength that Simon had never experienced flooded through him the closer he got. He could still see her eyes, shocked and confused, but hopeful. The crowd parted, letting the runaway bassist through to whatever it was he found to be more important.
He was in front of her, his brown eyes, the colour of coffee looking into hers, so dark they looked black. Reaching out, Simon gently laid a hand on her cheek, feeling the rush of warmth from her pale cheek. She leant into his touch involuntarily, her eyes fluttering shut, the glittering eye makeup sparkling in the lights of the club.
"Simon" she breathed, her eyes opening slightly to look at him.
"Isabelle" he said back. Everything fell silent, like there weren't in a club, like they weren't in a room full of people. They felt transported, like they were all alone, and in Simon's mind, they were. He could remember, maybe not wholly, but he remembered her. The feel of her skin, the sound of her voice the smell of her perfume, everything made sense.
She smiled slightly, clearly wanting to say something more, but Simon silenced her, pressing his lips to hers. She responded immediately, like it was instinct. Her arms were around his neck, his snaking around her waist as they both tried to pull the other closer.
More images were flashing, him and Isabelle in Idris, both of them in Magnus's flat, her distraught face as he went to face the angel. Of all the things he had forgotten, bus times, homework, lyrics, how could he of ever forgotten her.
She made everything real; she woke him up from the dream he'd been locked in for so long. She had waited for him, despite everything, she had waited, and now Simon had a lot to make up for. But now wasn't the time. They pulled apart, both breathing heavily as they stared at one another, their foreheads touching.
"You remember" she said quietly, so quiet he was amazed he even heard her at all. Her dark eyes closed, as though she was taking it all in, her grip on Simon tightening, afraid he'd disappear.
"How could I forget" he replied, nuzzling slightly at her nose, making her smile. "You're a heart breaker, Isabelle Lightwood. I remember that much, at least"