(a/n Well, I've been avoiding uploading this for a long time now, but I've finally said fuck it. So, here's a short prologue (the chapter's to come are much longer.) The lyrics at the beginning of each section are from Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez (I don't own 'em), which originally inspired this story to begin with. Just like the lyrics, I don't own Cassandra Clare's characters. Obviously.)
No one ever listens, this wallpaper glistens
Don't let them see what goes down in the kitchen
Her brother stood in the door frame of her bedroom, his back towards her. She could hear yelling, but his body was blocking her view of the source. Though she couldn't see them, she knew her parents stood a few meters away in the kitchen, and they clearly did not care what their children heard. "You cheating son of a bitch!" their mother screeched, followed by the sound of glass breaking. Trying to see what happened, Clary stepped to the side to have a clear view. The redhead could see the 12-year-old in front of her tense, right before their father raised his hand and smacked their mother across the face.
Tears trailed down the 7-year-old's cheeks but she could not bring herself to look away. As she clutched her stuffed bunny, her father clutched her mother's arms in a very different manner. Before she could see what happened next, Jonathan abruptly slammed the door, turning towards her. Gently, he took her hand and led her to her bed, where he sat her down. "Hey, it's okay. It's all gonna be okay," he whispered as he knelt in front of her, wiping her tears. As much as Clary wanted to believe him, she could see the wetness in his eyes and hear the uncertainty in his voice.
~•~
Hey, girl, look at my mom, she's got it going on
You're blinded by her jewelry.
When you turn your back she pulls out a flask
And forgets his infidelity.
Two years later, the pair stood by the front door, half hidden by a wall. Their mother was at the country club with all her socialite 'friends'. The siblings watched as their father came in the house with a tall blonde woman trailing behind him. She was dressed in such a way that the 9-year-old Clary had never seen before, but she knew the teachers at her upscale private school would frown upon.
The sides of her mouth turned down as the woman giggled and gave her dad a sloppy kiss on the cheek. He led her up the stairs and Clary could hear her brother whisper, "Slut." She didn't know what it meant, but she could detect the hatred in his voice and had a feeling he was right.
~•~
You don't hear me when I say,
"Mom, please wake up.
Dad's with a slut, and your son is smoking cannabis."
The next year, Clary was on her own as her mother lay on the couch with a bottle of alcohol. Her dad was at work, but based on her mother's ramblings, his own wife didn't seem to think so. Meanwhile, Clary wasn't sure what Jon had been doing in his room all the time, but he sure was acting differently. Feeling lonelier than ever, the young girl ran to her room and cried under her covers.
~•~
Picture, picture, smile for the picture
Pose with your brother, won't you be a good sister?
She was thirteen and her mother had them pose for one of many family photos. By then, she knew what the word slut meant and she knew what her brother did in his room. The smell of weed hung in the air around him and she couldn't bring herself to move any closer to the boy with the ash blond hair. Her mother frowned as she arranged them, pushing her towards Jonathon and whispering in her ear, "Oh Clary, be a good sister, will you?"
Always obedient, Clary steeled herself and stepped next to him as he put his arm around her. Her eyes widened when his hand slipped lower down her back than it should have. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run away as fast as she could from those damned people and that god forsaken house that held secrets she had to keep from the rest of the world.
~•~
Hey, girl, open the walls, play with your dolls
We'll be a perfect family.
A few months later she met Mayor Lightwood's children. They became her closest friends. They knew her family was a little off, but the hadn't an inkling of what went on behind closed doors.
~•~
Everyone thinks that we're perfect
Please don't let them look through the curtains.
By the time she was fourteen, it was firmly drilled into her head that she had to be whatever the public wanted to see, or she would face repercussions. They were socialites. Her father was a businessman. He walked among New York's most prominent citizens on the daily. She would too. She had to look her best and act her best, regardless of how she felt, considering her family was being watched 24/7. Her parents would not have their daughter be featured in scandals on covers of tabloids, because, according to them, her father had "big plans on the horizon." Clary found it ironic that, despite the public always looking and always watching, no one could see the hell that existed behind the walls her seemingly perfect house in her seemingly perfect neighborhood.
~•~
When you walk away is when we really play
She was fifteen the first time her bastard of a father hit her.
~•~
No one ever listens, this wallpaper glistens
One day they'll see what goes down in the kitchen.
Age twenty two. After years and years of keeping up appearances, shit hit the fan, and everything began changing.
(Reviews and constructive criticism always appreciated. Fingers crossed for relatively frequent updates. xoxo)