Hey everyone! I'm ren, and this is the first piece of fanfiction i have written that i actually feel okay with posting. This is just the beginning, but i thought it would be enough to start with and i promise at least another [much longer] chapter later tonight! This being my first piece i would absolutely love some feedback and feel free to be as critical as you want, i can take it :P
disclaimer; these character belong entirely to cassandra clare, who i am not.
warning; this is rated M for a reason. If you cannot handle self-harm, drug use and sexual content, you may not want to read this.
Clary's point of view.
Clary laid back on her black pillow, crimson hair billowing out on the cloth, the color of blood. She closed her big, cat-like green eyes and enjoyed the warm numbness that was overtaking her from the Percocets she took. She lived her life for these little pleasures.
what else do I have to live for? She thought. She turned her head to scan her teeny apartment from her bed. The walls were red. She loved red, the carpets were a dingy white color. The walls were plastered with her work. She was what others would probably call a "starving artist". She was 22 and had made it halfway through art school at NYU before her parents died and the money for school did too. Now she was working at sketchy club called Pandemonium so she could eat and pay the rent on this shithole. Aside from being small, her apartment was in a dangerous part of the city and five floors up, with no elevator. The only upside of living and working in sketchy places was the fact that her drug supply never ran dry, there were endless back alley drug dealers willing to get you whatever you wanted if you had the money and kids at the club who had stolen from their parents medicine cabinets. Percocets were her favorite, but she would settle for whatever narcotics she could get, they were the only thing, besides cutting that seemed to numb the pain of the hell that was her life. She was skinny cause she couldn't always afford enough food and had angry red scars and burns running up her arms and legs. She didn't even bother covering them anymore, it wasn't like there was anyone who cared about her or even noticed. The only thing that mattered at the club was her chest, though she was practically a stripper, she still held on to one thing; her virginity. She didn't know why she cared anymore, but it seemed like possibly the only valuable thing she had left, then she looked down at her bony body and small boobs, not to mention all her scars.
No, it wasn't valuable. No one would want anything so damaged. With that thought she laid back down on her pillow and let the numbness wash over her like a warm blanket and for that moment she was at peace.
Jace's point of view.
Jace gazed out the glass wall of his penthouse apartment. It was a clear night and he could see all the lights of the New York skyline as well as the Hudson River. He used to love this view, but now he felt trapped, but no one knew that.
He turned back to his big bed. It was sleek with a black head board and white sheets. His decor was simple and clean lined. He liked it very clean and had gone through many maids since none of them could seem to get it right.
His eyes landed on his newest decoration. She was a victoria secret model he had met at a marketing party a few weeks ago. Her name was Izzy Lightwood. She had sleek black hair which was draped over the curve of her thin back. Anyone could see how beautiful she was, but to him she was just another girl; a means to an end. His father, Valentine had always said everything went better with a woman on your arm, the prettier the better. Because of that, Jace was careful to always have a woman with him when he went to fundraising events or any other work functions. It wasn't like this was a challenge for Jace. He was 6'2 and lean with toned muscles along with golden hair and eyes to match. He was very used to being called gorgeous.
Since his father's death two years earlier, Jace had run his father's business, which was really more like an empire, Morganstern Industries. They had ties to everything from the mob to the White House and it was now Jace's job to oversee its massive growth in his father's stead. He always knew this was where he would end up from an early age. When he wasn't at the premier prep school he went to, he was being tutored at the estate. Valentine was a rigid man, and you had to be in his business, but Valentine took it too far. He would always beat Jace and his mother Celine. If Jace didn't make captain of the football team or his mother embarrassed his father at a party, luckily though, these mistakes didn't happen often. They were always careful to watch their actions. Izzy's voice freed him from his internal monologue.
"Come on back to bed, hotstuff." She said, her voice still hindered by sleep. Jace returned to bed, Izzy's lustful blue eyes watched him closely. He laid on the other side of the bed, though they were almost close enough to touch, it seemed as if there was an endless gap between them. Jace had never liked other people in his bed. He enjoyed the sex, but that was about the only thing about relationships that appealed to him, to him, getting too close to any one person meant complications, he got enough of those at work. He heard Izzy sigh in what seemed like frustration. "Time to look for a new place of arm candy", he thought to himself. It always happened this way. The girls came running towards his looks and wealth, they would have a little fun and it would be over. This relationship was no different, and no relationship ever would be. That is what Jace believed.