A/N: My other story, Broken Wings, is on-going! This is just a short Clace story. Hope you like it, I will update tomorrow!
The party was already in full swing by the time Clary's taxi pulled up. She'd come straight from work, so she'd barely had time to make herself fresh and fabulous for Izzy's eighteenth birthday party - just a slash of red lipstick and a quick change into a little green dress, to make her eyes pop out.
Clary was lucky she'd had the time and energy to do that much, actually. Usually she didn't mind work being busy, but she'd had another eighteenth the night before and was already kind of tired. Still, Izzy was her best friend, so this party was important. Clary would just have to suck it up, especially as she was giving a speech later.
She paid the driver and slipped out of the taxi, shifting her heavy make-up bag on her shoulder.
Clary and Izzy had met two years earlier, when they were both starting year eleven at Alicante High. Their mutual love of coffee and reality TV bonded them immediately. Izzy was the most excitable person Clary had ever met, always filled with enthusiasm for new things, people and ideas. It was hard not to get swept away in Izzy's world once you'd had a taste.
Izzy's father was the French Ambassador to Australia, and Clary always thought the consulate Izzy called home was like something from Gone With The Wind: all balconies and climbing roses, with huge elm trees lining the driveway. Tonight the trees were ablaze with lanterns guiding the way inside the party.
As Clary walked up the front steps, she wondered what there'd be to eat inside. She was starving - she'd worked through lunch and her break, trying to stay ahead of the customers who came in for endless advice, consults and makeovers. After work, she'd only had enough time to primp, so her pre-party dinner was just a handful of the mints she used before she did a client's make-up.
A waiter met at her at the door with a silver tray of French champagne. " Bonsoir, mademoiselle," he said, handing her a flute.
"Merci," Clary said, accepting it gratefully. She took a greedy sip.
"Clary! You're here!" Izzy shrieked, appearing from nowhere. She flung her arms around Izzy and the two girls hugged like they hadn't seen each other in months, though Izzy had come into the shop just that afternoon to have her make-up done for the party.
'You look amazing" said Clary, admiring Izzy's silver sequinned dress.
Izzy waved away the compliment, but she was gorgeous and knew it. She always worked everything she had to make all the boys adore her.
Clary took another long sip of her drink and then managed to set the glass down before Izzy dragged her through the house. The party was already in full swing, and Clary was a little dismayed to find the back garden filled with twinkling lights and sparkling conversation and everyone dressed impeccably. The party was perfect for Izzy,of course, but Clary's little green dress now felt a bit boring. She wished she'd changed I to something sexier.
"Go get another drink, and then come dance," said Izzy, gesturing to the dance floor in the centre of the garden. Then she twirled off to join their friends and her family dancing to French pop music under the lanterns.
Clary plastered on a fake smile and grabbed another champagne, drinking it thirstily. A sumptuous buffet was laid out nearby, so she wandered over and ate a few olives from an antipasto platter. She was reaching over for som tiny biscuits when her friends came running over, yelling their greetings. Biscuits and conversation wee not a great combination, so she abandoned them for a few more olives.
Clary wasn't much of a drinker, so she was surprised to discover that her glass was already empty. But then a waiter filled it up again, and she moved about the garden in the warm night air, chatting happily to everyone her earlier tiredness forgotten. Waiters threaded through the crowd with trays of hors d'oeuvres, and Clary managed to eat a few of some delicious pastry and salmon affair. The champagne flowed as though a magical alcoholic genie were in charge of the drinks. The wine was delicious, crisp and tart, perfectly matched with the French nibbles.
As she gripped her fourth -or was it fifth? - glass, Clary realised she was drunk.
Seriously drunk.
She'd been at the party less than an hour and she was already off her face. God, what an idiot, she thought as she stumbled up the stone steps to the terrace, where Izzy was talking to some guy and giggling.
"Clary, are you okay?" Izzy asked as Clary bumped past her, trying to get to the bathroom. If only the world would stop spinning, she thought, then she could stand up straight...
The pair stepped out of the way and Clary fled inside, skidding on the parquetry floor as she opened the door to the bathroom. She fell to her knees in front of the toilet and heaved up every little thing she had eaten that evening.
Izzy rushed in behind her and rubbed her back. " Oh, Clary, did you eat today?" She admonished.
Clary shook her head as she threw up again. "I'm so sorry, Iz," she moaned into the echoey toilet bowl.
" You know you have to eat, you cannot handle it." Izzy said sadly.
"I know, I'm sorry," Clary said, as much to the scarred toilet as to Izzy. " Oh god, what am I going to do about your speech?"
Clary started retching into the bowl again, and Izzy laughed good-naturedly. She stroked Clary's hair. " Don't worry, don't worry. You can give me your speech another time."
Finally, Clary sat up straight and looked pathetically at Izzy, who had thankfully closed the door.
"I'm so, so sorry," Clary said, tears filling her eyes. " I'm the worst best friend ever. I should go home."
" You can't go home like this," Izzy said, tucking Clary's hair firmly behind her hair ears. " Stay here until you sober up and then I will have you driven home." Then she left the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her.
Clary felt nausea rising again and turned back to the toilet. She puked.