So this is just a snapshot from the chapter I'm working on. . My sister who also writes MI stories got me into it. It's been about four years since my first and last attempt at a fanfic story, so I hope my writing has improved. Anyways, I don't want to ramble on and on, but let me know if you want me to continue this story. If not, I have another assassin-esque story on hand. I'm feeling this one more at the moment, however. Please Review :). Oh, and I'm on the prowl for a beta writer to help with edits and awkward sentences and the etc. Okay, well enjoy!
"It's not that I don't trust you, Jace." She said, looking away from him. "It's just that if I tell you, I have to start forgiving myself. And I'm not ready to do that yet."
He stepped forward, holding out a hand to her. She could tell that he was encouraged by getting a response out of her. She wanted to crush his hope—tell him to give his love to someone else. She didn't want to drag him down this hole with her.
"Whatever you did couldn't have been that bad, Clary."
She smiled bitterly. "It's refreshing how naive you are," she said. It was time to cut the connection between them. "It's also rather annoying."
She sneered as she bypassed him, grabbing the bottle of scotch off the ground as she headed towards the double doors at the auditorium's exit.
"You can smirk all you want, Ree, but your walls—they're breaking down. In one night, you've told me more than you have in two years—"
"I'm drunk," she said, turning to him with a bland smile. "And a little high. Were I sober, you wouldn't have gotten anything out of me."
"Nice try." He smirked. "But the bottle in your hand's more than two-thirds full and I'd be willing to wager that your tolerance has hit the roof after two years of drinking this shit."
"It's 30 year-old scotch, asshole. I spent half my paycheck on this 'shit.'"
"Paycheck?" he asked bewildered. "What do you need a job for, Clary?"
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. How could she have let this slip to him. Her heart started pounding irregularly, and all the blood rushed to her head.
"Is Luke not helping you out anymore?" He asked.
"It's been a long two years, Jace," she whispered as her stomach twisted and tumbled. Please don't ask me where I work. He could always tell when she lied. Please don't ask me where I work. Please-
"Where do you work?"
Damn.
This is what I get for skipping church to get high, I guess. Here goes nothing. "I'm a stripper," she said.
He quirked a brow. "I see you've gotten better at lying."
She hadn't actually.