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Waking up- I Know You By Skylar Grey

Photos- Kiss me By Sixpence None The Richer

"The past is like a handful of dust. It filters through your fingers, disappearing little by little."

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The room was so white. And she didn't know why.

Didn't know why everyone was staring at her with a sparkle in their eyes. Was there something wrong with her? There was the woman with red hair… what was her name? She wasn't old, but she definitely wasn't young. No, not like she was. Was she young? How old was she? Should she know her own age?

She lifted her hands, her small fingers running down her palm in an absorption of sensory. Her eyes flickered over to the black box that was positioned to hang in the corner of the room, though no sounds came from it. An audible noise was coming from the ceiling, cold air seeping out of it and making its way to her skin... that was an astonishingly pale color. Running down her chest were flaming curls, and she captured one between her fingers, marveling at it before lifting her gaze back to the crowd of apparent mourners.

There was a man holding the red-headed woman's hand, not romantically of course. Well, she supposed it could be interpreted that way, but she didn't know the them to begin with. He had glasses on, adding the the effect that he was an older man. But not too old, just like the woman. His hair was a brown mess, sticking out at odd ends, but something about him just spoke to her. Standing next to him was… she could feel his name at the tip of her tongue. S-s-... nothing. She couldn't think of his name. He was a good head taller than the majority of the room, and that seemed to fit the name that was at the tip of her tongue.

Wait, was was her name anyway? Did she have a name? Surely she must…? Everyone has a name, and yet she couldn't begin to think of what everyone called her. Did she have a boring name? Or a name that was hard to pronounce. Was it a pretty name? Was she pretty?

Like her?

With her black hair cascading down her body like an ink waterfall and a face so symmetrical you would have thought she was crafted with a ruler. Almost like the boy next to her, they looked so similar. But not too similar.

Now why was he crying? Her heart did a little leap when she laid her languid eyes on him. Him, seemingly perfect with his golden hair and eyes of the same color; unlike any other. Wait, did other people have eyes like that? His eyes, perhaps the most secretive thing about him and yet she could read them like a book… that she couldn't remember. Why couldn't she remember?

He had arms that seemed to beckon her body, but had she ever lain in them before? She felt so lost, so vulnerable. Her mind as fragile as the skin of an infant. She felt as if the world was being poured into her skull, and yet she knew nothing of this world. This mysterious world of crying people.

Why were they crying?

"Clary?" The older woman asked with a throat that sounded like she'd been sobbing. Because she has, she just won't tell you, a voice in her mind spoke. The voice was so sudden that it scared her, and she had to look around to see if someone else had said the words, yet they had a claim that was to her. She knew it.

"Clary?" The man next to her said with a scratchy voice that for some reason brought comfort. You know that voice, the voice sighed, and she felt guilty for not understanding the saddened tone of the female that was in her mind. Everyone was staring at her, as if awaiting a response. Your name, that's your name, the voice laughed. Why was this woman in her head?

"Is that my name?" She asked in an almost whisper. The voice she spoke matched the one in her head… odd. Everyone gasped as if she'd brought fire in front of their faces.

"Y-yes." The boy whose name she swore she knew said.

"Oh." She simply responded. Clary, the voice said, trying to get her used to the name. "Are you sure?" She asked, the title sounded so strange, uncommon, as if she hadn't heard anyone called such a name. But did she?

The woman stood up, quickly walking out of the room with her head buried in her hands, the older man following her with a quicker pace to reach her. He called her something, something she was sure she'd heard before. Jocelyn? The younger-looking adults all stared at her as if she were crazy. Was she? She didn't know.

"Who was that woman?" She questioned with a hurt tone. They were all scared to answer, as if the news would only bring her harm.

"Your mother." The pretty girl answered, though it was the golden-haired boy she wanted to talk to her the most. He's scared, the voice concluded, and she had no choice but to nod along with it.

"My - my mother?" Surely she would have felt some sort of bond to her, and yet there was nothing that made her want to chase after the woman that was supposedly of relation to her. You always did have a strained relationship with her, the voice sighed sadly.

"Yeah," the man who was taller than the entire group answered.

"And who are all of you?" She asked. They all looked at each other, each of them too nervous to say a thing to her. When no one had spoken, she cleared her throat. "Where am I?" She asked with a tone more clearer, sharper.

"The hospital." The more snobbish-looking boy answered, and the pretty girl who must've been his sister rubbed his back. Asshole, just like always, the voice laughed. For some reason, she laughed along with it, startling about half the room.

The room, which was not much bigger than… hers? Yes! the voice encouraged. But that was as far as her comparisons reached.

"Why am I in the hospital?" Her voice cracked, as if she hadn't had something to drink in the longest of times. With eyes quickly scanning the room, they landed on a glass of water with condensation pouring into droplets on the crystal material. She cautiously stretched her hand out to grasp it, amazed out how weak she was.

"I'll get that for you," the tall boy smiled. She happily took it from his hands, placing the straw between her lips and sucking until she was satisfied that she could speak without sandpaper rubbing the lining of her throat.

"Thank you." She said after sucking the entire glass half empty. Half full, the voice chimed in. She rolled her eyes at the scold and instead focused them on the golden ones that had been observing the room instead of her. There was something about him that was different than the rest of the strangers. With him, it was as if she would do anything for, that went beyond common courtesy. Her skin craved him, if that were such a thing. Her body needed him in a way that made her cheeks flush. Of course you need him! the voice shouted with worry.

"So, who are you? Who are you to me?" She asked again. A smile blossomed across the pretty girl's face but didn't reach her dark eyes.

"I am Isabelle, your best friend." She smiled, and the tall boy scoffed at her. She turned her attention toward him, wondering why he acted insulted.

"Uhm, no offense Izzy, but I'm her best friend." He laughed and she thinned her eyelids, mouthing a curse word at him. "Simon Lewis, your partner in crime." The boy extended his arm, and she felt odd shaking it. A hug works too… the voice groaned with an invisible eye roll.

"Alec Lightwood," the snobbish boy said, confirming her beliefs of him being related to the pretty girl. He didn't extend his hand but offered a sheepish grin her way.

"So you're all my friends then?" She said with a growing smile.

"Yes," they all said, except for him.

"No." He said so sharp that he could cut the fabric of the white blanket with his harsh tone. Her heart beat faltered, wounded by his aggravation. So dramatic, the voice tsked. The three 'friends' all turned their attention towards him, all of them frowning. The pretty girl, Izzy, the voice reminded, seemed worried for him.

"Who are you then? Are you my brother?" The word sounded wrong on her tongue, and she immediately regretted it once he stiffened.

"No, I am not your brother." He growled. She winced at his quick temper.

"Then who are you?" She said, surprised at her own anger that thinly covered her voice. She didn't know why she was so easily bothered by his attitude when she was in fact worried for him.

"I'm Jace, just Jace." He snapped, standing up to join her supposed mother.

"Why is he angry? Did I do something wrong?" She said with a tight throat.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong, he's just frustrated is all." Isabelle said with a sympathetic smile. Her eyes remained on the door, even while everyone stared at her. She slid her gaze back to them, still confused at how quick everyone's mood seemed to change. Were they going to be frustrated with her too?

"What happened to me? Why am I here?" She asked.

"There was an accident," Simon answered with a face contorted in pity and anger. He's trying to be strong, the voice reassured.

"What kind of accident?" She wondered.

"A car accident." They all answered. The room door clicked open, and what she had thought was the cruel boy was someone else entirely. He had hair as white as snow, and skin just as pale, and yet it went together. Her fingers twitched, for some reason wanted to replicate his appearance on anything that she could hang up.

"Who are you?" She said for what had to be the billionth time. Another boy followed in pursuit of him, him having features that didn't match his perfect ones but tied together just as handsomely.

"I'm Jonathan, your brother." He said with a forced smile. His arms twitched out, as if to hug her, but he didn't for some reason. Though she was sure it would feel uncomfortable if he did.

"Sebastian, your knight in shining armor." The other boy chuckled. Jonathan turned to him with a frown, his fist clenching briefly.

"Huh?" She questioned with wide eyes.

"Nothing, he's just trying to be funny. Emphasis on trying." Jonathan growled, and Sebastian shrugged. She somehow found him to be comforting with his slapdash humor and careless manner.

"So it's true? You can't remember anything?" Sebastian asked her with wonderment twinkling in his eyes. Isabelle smacked the back of his head with her hand and he turned to give her the same glare she was giving him.

"Uh, yeah. Nothing." She answered with embarrassment highlighting her cheeks.

"Woah." He said with a shake of his head. Jonathan looked at her, taking her hand and massaging her knuckles. The gesture felt familiar between them, and she wondered if he'd been a good brother to her. His green eyes were heavy on his head, causing the skin under them to be purple with exhaustion.

"How long have I been in here?" She asked no one in particular.

"This is the first time you've woken up without screaming." Sebastian said with a sigh. Isabelle smacked him on the back of the head, again. And again, she had that frown.

"Don't listen to him." She shook her head.

"You were in a coma," Simon answered, and upon seeing her confused face, he clarified. "Asleep for a long time. For five years after your accident." She was shocked to hear the words leave his mouth. Five years? No…

"Yeah, we all thought you were going to die." Sebastian said without his careless humor, but with general sadness.

"Why did it take so long for me to wake up?" No one seemed to have an answer at the moment.

"Brain trauma, and I can see that clearly. We never understood how bad it was until… until now." Jonathan grimaced. She tried to feel sad for him, but the feeling wasn't there, and instead she was cold toward him. She could feel nothing for someone she couldn't recognize. In his eyes were a million memories that did not reflect in her own, and for that, she was sorry for.

"Do I have a home?" She asked.

"Yes, we never let them take it away." Simon promised. She nodded, not sure why, but she did. This sympathy, whatever it was, came naturally to her, even if it was not genuine.

"When can I see it?"

"As soon as you're cleared to leave the hospital." Jonathan said, still rubbing her fingers that were as cold as her emotions. She wanted to push everyone away, it was all too much for her to take in. Their saddened faces she could do nothing about. It was as if they were expecting something from her that she would not, could not give.

"And that is?" She said with a both brows, angered that she could not raise just one.

"Probably this week, your health is fine, so that's a plus. They might keep you here for observation." Isabelle shrugged. She didn't like the uncertainty, and frowned at it. "So, did you dream while you were in a coma?" She asked after a long pause.

She tried to think of the blank space that was her familiarity, and could not remember a splash of color, faces, or sound.

"No."

"You must be so happy that you're awake. People have been praying for you, ya know?" A nurse smiled. The words she said were foreign and yet familiar at the same time. She knew each word, but if asked to define them, she'd be stuck.

"Have they?" She said with incompetent interest. The nurse smiled at her, adjusting the blankets at her side and fluffing her pillow.

"Oh yeah, especially that blond-haired fellow." She shook her head with amusement. She wanted to know why this was funny to her. "He would talk to you every night, and then he stopped talking to you. He'd stop coming here, actually. Thought he'd moved on. But he showed up with everyone else when your eyelids started to flutter or your fingers would twitch. It was like each time he'd want to give up, you'd just give 'em a reason to hold on. Kinda got him angry when he'd wait for some sign that you'd come back to him. Even asked us if we thought you were gonna make it." She almost couldn't believe what the nurse was saying.

"Who was he to me?" She asked nervously. The nurse bit her lip, undecided on whether to answer her or not. Then her pager sounded and she was off, leaving her in the darkened room with no one to talk to but herself.

Literally.

It'll get easier, just wait, the voice reassured. She hadn't even learned her name properly and yet she was supposed to remember theirs? She shook her head, scared to even think of recovery. She was sure that everyone had lives to go back to, as they nurse had said. Jace, the blond man, had tried to get over whatever they were, and each time she'd hurt him when she'd show some sign of brain activity.

They'll wait for you, the voice promised. Something drew her attention to the books that were stacked on the floors of the hospital room. Their titles ranged from The Odyssey to… she squinted her eyes, trying to search for a title on the large book that had a glossy cover. Looking around, she pushed the white covers off her legs that were no darker and reached placed them on the cold tile floor.

Slowly, the voice warned. She listened to it, holding onto the plastic railing of the bed as she grabbed for it. The large book was heavy, and nearly slipped out of her weak grip as it was slick with lamination. Sure that she wasn't going to drop it, she inched her way back to the hospital bed, throwing the covers back over her thin legs, frowning for some reason at them. As if she already had an opinion of her body that others knew more about than her.

She had to use effort to open the book, and when she did, there was no title on the first page, only pictures. The first one was blurry, outlined by white, vintage. On it was of a pair of children, one with red hair like her own and one with silver hair like… her brother's. Was this them as children?

They were both eating popsicles, and her lips were rimmed red, stained by the cheap dessert. The kid Jonathan did not wear a shirt, and his flat stomach was spotted with the blue that was the bottom color for the popsicle. She wore a bathing suit, a one piece, and was obviously wet, seeing as her ponytail was heavy and dark. Jonathan was the same, wearing swim trunks that were heavy with water. Even as children, she was amused at how her brother was a good size taller than her. There was a smile on both of their faces, even as Jonathan licked the popsicle. Clary held hers up to her face, and appeared to be singing.

She paused, actually acknowledging that that was her name.

Glancing at the next picture, she saw that it was one a holiday, probably of the same year, and more people were involved. Clary could see herself, though instead of a swimsuit, she was wearing a purple dress that reached mid-thigh with a green scarf wrapped around her neck. A purple head band, although a few shades lighter, was in her hair that straightened instead of its natural curls springing free. Pink tights were stuck to her legs, and she had purple shoes that had heels that were barely there.

There was a boy with hair that was more golden than blonde, and he was wearing a white shirt with a blue collar, sporting some sort of orange tie. Blue jeans were on his legs that had given him a height advantage, and brown shoes that looked much too heavy on his child feet. He had his arm wrapped around her shoulder, Clary looking embarrassed with her cheeks flushed red as the camera snapped the picture.

Next to them was, what she knew instantly, the tall boy Simon, who was even taller than them as children. He had a long green shirt on and jeans that she couldn't tell if they were maroon or brown. His shoes though, were black. And next to him was a girl that was much too pretty for the ugly orange turtle neck and knee socks she wore with a dark red skirt and shoes. There was some toddler in the middle of them, wearing some sort of dog outfit, though the backpack disrupted the outfit. He must've been a toddler to their age of what appeared to be eight or nine. A woman who seemed to be his mother was holding him in her arms, and their was something going in his nose that was like the thing providing her with oxygen now. He looked sickly to Clary, but she tried not to let it bother her as she looked at other pictures.

Clary, Jace, Simon, Max, Isabelle- the picture read.

The next picture held a moment of what had to be her everyday childhood. She was laying on what was presumed as her bed, drawing some sort of cup, her legs bent upwards. There was that golden-haired boy, sitting on the wooden floor and staring up at her. The photo was outlined with black, the edges of what appeared to be a door visible. As if someone had spied on them.

The other photos were of weddings and birthdays, her appearing older in each one and the little boy looking sicker as time passed. Clary noticed something though, roughly around her teenage years was when the little boy ceased to appear, and she hated to assume why.

Her eyes landed on one of her in a cap and gown, throwing the cap in the air and Jace standing next to her, hand around her waist as he too threw his cap. He looked so much happier in this photo than he did now. Clary was hugging her mother in the next picture, holding up some sort of certificate.

A few photos later and she was holding cardboard boxes that were sealed with tape. A car was next to her, already packed with boxes like the one she was carrying. She was wearing athletic shorts and her sleeves were bare from what had to be a tank top. On her feet were what she assumed were sneakers, ink from a pen visible on them. A smile was on her face, showing just how happy a person Clary was. She must've been moving out to… college? She went to college?

The was a slight difference in the next pictures, as whenever she was around Jace, he had his hands on her. Were they friends? Best friends?

But this wasn't the answer, because in one, he had his lips planted on hers. Her face was visible with her hair being pulled back in a ponytail that allowed some curls to frame her face. She had her lips curled in a smile, probably surprised as Jace kissed her. His hands were at the small of her back, pulling her against him in her blue cotton tank top. His hair was shorter, and crushed to his head was a hat that read of some school. As he held her, it was obvious that he was a strong man, his muscles popping out with little persuasion. She was short compared to him, even shorter as her knees were bent in her swooning over him.

As the pictures went on, it was obvious that they were from Jace's point of view, as she was smiling at the camera in one, her green eyes looking stunning against her pale skin and red hair. She had a cup pressed to her lips, and there was a band playing behind her, a certain tall boy playing along with them.

There was another of them, laying on the grass, Jace's hand raised as if to hold the camera above them. Her red curls were contrasting against the grass. His hair was longer in this one, and there was scruff on his chin. This picture was a little dirtied, the edges folded and brown as if it had seen better days.

She liked that one.

Almost as much as the one of them holding hands as they walked together, to some unknown destination. He was smiling down at her with complete adoration, her oblivious as she stared up at either building or sky. Whoever was taking the picture was maneuvering a higher quality camera, signaling that this was getting closer to a recent time in the album.

The next photo showed her blowing out candles of the number nineteen, her hair being held back by tanned arms that were becoming familiar to her in each photo.

The next, last photo, was one of Jace kissing her knuckles as he kneeled on one knee. His hair was of the same length in the last photo, so this must've been around of the same time. There was a ring on her finger, shining brightly, and her eyes were just as shiny with tears, thought a smile proved she was beyond happy. There was some barn behind them, a lake glittering close by, and an tree providing some shade over their heads. It was perfect, they were perfect.

And then they stopped.

She thought of why, and then swallowed thickly, thinking of her car accident. And now you know, the voice groaned. Clary was angered by the photos, angry that she'd never remember any of those moments in her life. Angry that she'd never feel that sort of powerful love that was represented in the photos, or at least not the same love. It was all ripped away from her, and all she could think to do was sleep. But sleeping is what took her away from the man she apparently loved.

Clary put the album at the foot of the bed, wondering if seeing the photos really helped her or not. She looked up at the ceiling, scared to think that she'd have to learn to find a way of living after she couldn't remember such a thing. She'd have to piece together that happy girl when she just barely learned her name. How were you supposed to be something that you had no recollection of? She was a ghost in the lives of others. They could remember the ghost of her, this pleasant image, and she couldn't.

And thinking to herself, she wished that she'd just been killed in the car accident.

AN: So what'd you think of the first chapter in my new story? This story might be a bit longer than my last few, sorry about that. The quote up top is from the trailer for the music video of Katy Perry's The One That Got Away

Any thoughts on it? Leave a comment in the reviews!