Shards
Isabelle kneels in shards of broken glass, broken like her heart. Picking the largest piece up, she gently strokes the edge. It is wickedly sharp, and immediately draws a bead of blood from her finger.
Unbidden, a memory flits into her mind, of a time when she was younger and happier and so much more innocent (when her heart was still whole). It happened here, in this very same room, so many years ago (only six), and it was remarkably similar to this one. She had been trying to make something (she doesn't remember anymore. Was it brownies? Pudding? A cake?) but she had been too short to reach the mixing bowl. She'd slipped and it had hurtled past her, crashing and immediately shattering into millions of pieces (just like her heart did).
She'd stood frozen as he had come running, drawn by the noise. He'd looked at her for a long moment as her eyes welled up with tears of shock and fear before picking his way carefully to her side. "Don't move, Izzy," he'd said. "It's okay; we'll pick the pieces up." And he'd helped her throw the glass away, bandage her finger where a sliver of glass had lodged, and even promising to buy another bowl with her before their parents returned from Idris.
The recollection causes Isabelle to clench her fingers into fists, forgetting about the sharp glass in one hand. The pain brings her out of her reverie and she shakes her head to clear it (of what? Was there something that she wanted to forget?). But it's too late, she remembers, and it's not just that he's not here, it's also in part that nobody is.
Whoever said that misery loves company was damn smart, but Isabelle has no company now. Not Hodge- he was murdered. Not her parents-they're in Idris. Not Jace- he's out with Clary, his love. And definitely not- him.
He's probably out somewhere with that sparkles-and-blue-magic warlock, that Isabelle introduced him to, and it's just too bad that she didn't realize how she felt for him, her brother, until he was gone forever from her.
The cruelty of it sends her spinning. It's because of her own actions that he left, utterly oblivious, and she can't even bring herself to hate him, to even be angry at him, because how can she be mad if he doesn't even know what he's doing? How can she hate him when he's having fun, living life, loving, even though it isn't her that he loves? She flings the broken glass away (what had he said about it? To not get cut by the edges).
It's no use, whatever she does reminds her of him. The best she can do is to survive, survive and make sure he doesn't see the pain she's in. She waits for another minute, hoping against hope that somebody, anybody, (him) would come, but eventually accepts the truth. So slowly, methodically, Isabelle starts to clean the mess up, to wash her hands of the blood, because it doesn't look like there's anyone to help her pick up the shattered remains of herself this time around.
For any clarification, this is Isabelle thinking of Alec.
Okay, this is my first Mortal Instruments fanfic- that I've posted. I have a lot more on my laptop, most of them half-finished. I like to finish a story (a long-chaptered one) before posting it so I don't keep any readers waiting for a long time…
This is my first angst fic too, I don't know if it's any good, so since you took the time to read through that, could you drop me a line?
Concrit is very much appreciated. :]
~~Magickless
PS: The formatting is probably screwy now, I haven't posted in a while…Sorry.