Restitution
My world was dropped, turned and ripped apart at the simpler age of 13. It was a beautiful summer day, and I remember the moment; I was stuck frozen at the end of an alley, watching. It was long ago- 13 years ago to be exact- and I've learned the terrible deed of disguising your past. The funny thing about disguising the past is you truly can't hide from it- I've been staring at the end of the same alley for years.
Her mom called me from the New York Institute. She asked me to come see her. But within seeing her comes all of my other unspeakable mistakes of the past. I flashed back to her with her stele, the small furrow of concentration evident between her brows, I still remember her saying, "to love is to destroy," disgust evident in her voice. Clary, my deadly siren.
I sat somewhere along one of the near bridges, I had long since moved to the London Institute, hoping to forget her, trying to submerge myself in my training. I thought about something her mother said before she hung up, "Jace, make things right." I looked out past the water beneath the ancient bridge, remembering our time once spent splashing and playing in the water as children. I thought about her, her mother, her father, New York. I thought about my life before the incident that changed everything.
When we were children, Clary and I used to practice fighting with the play swords. They were made out of reflective heavy metal, and were to prepare us for the real ones that we weren't trained enough for. We used to laugh and fight all day outside, discovering with each other, learning with each other, loving each other. By the angel I loved her.
Being the curious children that we were, we found friends and interest in just about anything- including a neighborhood stray that had wandered into our yard. We played all day with the pup, laughing and play fighting until the three of us- puppy included- were smelling and sore. When it was time to come inside, Clary and I collected our things and made our way up towards the institute. I remember hearing a whimper from our furry friend, Clary and I turned around to wave goodbye yet again, yet discovered a demon clutching the tiny pup. We were fatigued, and oh so young. I asked her to run inside, to alert the adults, but of course, she didn't. Clary went into full attack mode, swinging her pathetic play sword. I soon joined the battle but between the two of us, we were no match for the great beast. The demon struck out, leaving a claw mark down Clary's face. Soon several adult Shadow Hunters came to our rescue, I carried Clary inside- she was always so tiny- where she was healed in the infirmary.
Even with all of the herbs, medicine, and salve Clary still had a scar across her lips. She had a perfectly shaped face, like a porcelain doll: her skinny, button nose and bright doe eyes- like jade glass marbles. I could picture her tiny ears and graceful cheekbones, and the scar, just to the left of her Cupid's bow. A terrible reminder on her beautiful face of a time when I slipped, growing tired and careless of my sworn promise to always protect her.