Jace Herondale wasn't one for going after girls – not in clubs anyways. All the girls in clubs wanted one thing: sex. Not that he minded that they wished to do it with him; it raised his ego every time they would bat their eyelashes at him in a way they hoped was flirtatious. But his mother had taught him better than that. Well, in all actuality, his mother had taught him not even to go into clubs – not like he listened obviously.
"Damn," Sebastian Verlac muttered next to him. "Check out that sexy piece of woman."
Jace raised his eyebrows slightly before swiveling slowly in his chair to face where the other boy's eye was directed.
She wasn't hard to miss at all. In fact, in her wake, the men she walked by shoved their dates away heading towards her like a lost puppies. Her hair was a flaming red, wild and crazy, just like the glint in her eyes.
She was headed straight towards him.
"Man, I know you don't go for women in here, but that is some sex on legs," Sebastian laughed, punching his arm. "She's all yours. Unless you don't want her."
The redhead had reached the bar now, and Jace could see the dark red lipstick smeared slightly and her mascara smudged under her eye from sweat. It wasn't unattractive but slightly endearing.
She leaned forward as she sat, not looking at either of the boys but at the bartender flirtatiously.
"Two Sprites, please," she said, and her voice was a soprano level, smooth and graceful.
The bartender looked dazed before she clapped her hands in his face, shocking him. "Coming right up," he stuttered, and the girl smiled, a devilish smile that almost outdid Jace's infamous smirk.
Sebastian elbowed him, wiggling his eyebrows and Jace rolled his eyes.
She turned, her eyes slightly hooded as she studied him. "Hi," she said, surprising him with her voice change from high and sweet to a normal tone.
It took him a moment to gather his wits and say something. "Am I actually worth your time then?" Jace asked smartly, studying the untouchable girl.
She laughed, which was a flaw, given it was rough and unpracticed. "No, I just wanted to know if I could have your shirt."
Jace's jaw almost fell to the floor by how quickly she'd made an innuendo.
"Not like that," she said, her blush outdoing her concealer layered smoothly on her face. "I like Coldplay, you idiot."
Jace gazed down, forgetting that he was wearing his favorite shirt. "Not for sale."
She smiled as the bartender set down the two glasses. She turned back towards the bartender and looked down at the drinks. She raised her coppery eyebrows, staring at the man with narrowed emerald eyes. "You gave me Coke," she said. "I asked for Sprite."
The man's eyes widened, turning around once more with an embarrassed flourish.
The girl didn't say anything and Sebastian elbowed him once more annoyingly, Say something, man.
"What's your name?" Jace asked.
"Oh am I actually worth your time then?" she asked, smirking, mimicking his previous words and then licking her lips with apprehension as if she were thinking. "Trouble. The name's Trouble."
"Hmm, you're parents were very creative," Jace replied, swirling his root beer around in circles. The bar didn't have anything that was even an ounce of alcohol. "Though I think they could've done slightly better."
"So, Trouble," Sebastian asked, leaning around Jace to stare in the girl's startling eyes. "How much trouble are you in bed?"
Her eyes narrowed, and as the bartender set the glasses of Sprite down in front of her, she grabbed one. She pushed Jace backwards with such surprising force that he almost fell off the stool.
Before Jace could even react, Sebastian was drenched in sticky drink, clear liquid flowing down his new leather jacket.
Sebastian cried out in shock before slamming down his fist on the bar, slipping out of his chair smoothly.
"Lots of trouble then?" he murmured, getting to close to the girl.
Trouble narrowed her eyes, not even backing up as Sebastian ran his hands up and down her pale, glittering arms.
"How about we go test it in the backrooms?" he murmured and Jace's eyes widened in shock, realizing that the Sprite throwing did nothing but turn on the other male.
The girl leaned up against the smooth marble of the bar as Sebastian leaned down. The movement allowed more of a glimpse towards her cleavage.
The movements of her hand were almost miniscule but Jace could see her fingers stretching.
As Sebastian leaned down, the girl grasped the other Sprite, splashing it into Sebastian's face.
He stumbled backwards, the carbonated water no doubt stinging his obsidian eyes.
"I don't have sex with assholes," she snarled. "And I'm leaving." As she turned, her hair flew out in a curtain of red.
Jace followed her out, feeling utter curiosity towards the feisty, young girl.
She exited out the back, her heels clicking on the concrete. As she almost passed by the cheap building of the all-age club, she whirled around.
Jace wasn't thinking as he jumped in front of the wall she was about to punch, catching her speeding hand.
Her eyes sparked with anger until she realized who it was then her cheeks flared a pink. "You followed me?"
"I was concerned," Jace replied easily.
"About how my clothes look on the floor?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Jace laughed. "Of course not."
She smiled then, and it didn't quite meet her eyes that were filled with something so terrible Jace couldn't even name it. "I'm Clary."
"Jace. And I'm walking you home, Miss Clary."
She smiled. "I think I would like that, Mr. Jace."
He grabbed her small hand, listening to the loud click of her heels as they began walking out of the downtown area of Brooklyn.
She began swinging their arms, whistling a familiar tune that Jace couldn't quite recall, given it was sounded by a whistle.
"We're halfway there," Clary said, taking a right.
"Livin' on a prayer," Jace replied, hoping he wouldn't sound like an idiot, before reminding himself that he couldn't make a fool out of himself.
She laughed again. "We're already holding hands," she winked, swinging her hand more forcefully.
It went silent again, and Jace couldn't help but wonder why they were headed towards the richest parts of Manhattan. He would have a long ride to get back to the crappy parts of Brooklyn.
She turned into a circle, walking directly across it, coming to one of the nicest houses in the neighborhood – which was saying something.
"Goodnight Jace," she said, and there was something so unhappy about him leaving that he cupped her cheek.
"What's wrong, Clary?" he asked, before a loud, fuming yell sounded throughout the neighborhood.
"Clarissa Morgenstern!" said a roaring man, stomping out.
Jace felt his feet step backwards and away as the man neared closer, to realize that he was unconsciously protecting the small girl that looked defenseless compared to the towering man despite how she proved she wasn't.
He picked Jace up by the collar of his jacket, shaking him furiously. "You were out with this trashy piece of shit from Brooklyn?"
Jace paled as he realized just whom this man was – the local drug seller making millions. Jace had never bought drugs himself, but he'd seen him every time he walked to school.
Clary bit her lips, rubbing her hand up and down her leather clad arm. "Yes Dad. In fact, he saved me from a guy that wanted me."
The white haired man put Jace down, whirling around to see his daughter. "Where were you?" His voice sounded actually concerned for the redhead.
She ran her hands through her hair. "Pandemonium."
The man closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Clary…you know how much I dislike that place."
"You know how much I hate you selling drugs," she replied casually, as if talking to a friend.
Jace stepped backwards, straightening out his collar again, before stuffing his hands back in his jean's pockets.
"Clary," he murmured, "I've stopped, now I only sell inside my business."
This made Jace's eyebrows rise. His mother had made him stop passing by the man two years ago; in order to protect him from buying drugs himself.
"You don't tell me what you sell!" she snapped. "How do I know you don't sell drugs in that? At least you know where I go!"
"I just don't sell drugs or any mind altering things anymore! That's all your getting!" he huffed.
"Then what? You sell women in the trafficking business? How do I know it's not that?"
The man paled and Clary's face went into a form of shock before tears began forming in her eyes.
"You don't," she whispered. "Dad, you can't."
She began walking backwards, stumbling. "No. I refuse to believe it." Tears ran down her face and her eyes were flashing so fast with emotions that Jace didn't know which one she was feeling the most.
The white haired man ran his hands through his hair in anguish. "I can't do this without your mother Clary! I was never able to make without her! She was the brain! She got all the money! I just want you to get an education better than I did," his voice died away at the end to something completely broken.
"I'd rather live on the streets than know I was the cause for women getting raped everyday," she whispered.
The ex-drug dealer reached out, as if to grab at her but she stumbled away. "I don't want to even touch you. I don't want to look at you. Go away!" she screamed, falling to the ground as she tried to scuttle backwards again.
The man shook his head, turning away towards the house, and Jace could've sworn he heard, "Valentine Morgenstern. The man with nothing." His shoulders were slumped as he walked back up the driveway and as he opened the door, Jace saw him look back once more.
Jace waited until the brown door shut once more before leaning down, taking the sniffling girl into his arms.
He rocked their bodies back and forth, whispering things that he knew meant nothing to the suddenly so breakable girl.
It wasn't until dawn started breaking through the darkness that she drew back, brushing her thumbs across his sharp cheekbones that jutted like a knife.
"I don't have anywhere to go," she murmured, her voice raspy.
"You're welcome with us," he whispered. She nodded and Jace pulled her up.
Clary took out a hundred dollar bill. "I'll call a taxi."
The ride was short to the slums of Brooklyn. Jace always kept at least a reassuring hand on her.
By the time they had gotten to his house, Jace's mother was on the front porch, relief flooding her face and she stumbled towards the both of them.
"Oh my baby," she whispered. "I'd thought you'd gotten shot."
She pulled away, pushing away dirt on Jace's face. "You didn't." She was staring at Clary before looking back at Jace with a look of disappointment. Her eyes were so miserable that Jace felt his heart race with pain even though he knew he didn't do what she was thinking, but quite the opposite. "I told you to never. Jonathan. Now, you listen up, if you got this woman pregnant, you're staying with her unlike your father did –."
"We didn't do anything," Clary whispered, her voice so dry that it must've hurt to say anything.
Celine took in the appearance of the girl, looking at her broken, splotchy face, smeared with old makeup and tear lines flowing down her face. "You two come inside. I'll fix you both some oatmeal."
She hustled them both inside, closing the door behind them.
Jace was thanking God that his house was always spotless before reminding himself that Clary probably didn't care what the house looked like at the moment.
"Now both of you sit down. I'll be about ten minutes," Celine said. "Is there anything I can get you, darling?"
Clary shook her head; it was almost as miniscule as when her fingers had been reaching for her Sprite.
Jace plopped down on their worn couch and Clary curled into his lap while he stroked through her tangled hair.
He could feel Celine's smile at him, even though his back was to her.
"Thank you, Ms…." Clary said, her voice suddenly dropping off as she realized that she didn't know the woman's last name.
"Montclair," Celine replied gently, picking up Clary's barely eaten through bowl. It was quiet as she rinsed the bowl until Celine sighed. "Now, Jace has school in about two hours. Would you like to stay here? Or actually, what school do you go to?"
"St. Xavier's," Clary replied, and Jace instantly recognized the private school's name. "But I probably won't go there anymore."
Jace's mother wasn't one to ask questions. She had a tendency to leave things hanging until the other person opened up, so now she was just nodding. "Would you like me to register you?"
Clary's eyes lit up with excitement. "Is it a normal school?" Jace felt a stab of shock go through him, before realizing because of who her father was, clubs were probably the most normal place she ever went to.
Celine laughed. "Yes, completely and totally, but it is out of district."
She nodded urgently. "Then of course!"
The older woman smiled. "I have some old girl school uniforms. I'll go fetch them right now!"
As soon as she left the kitchen, Clary's shoulders drooped down, her eyes suddenly sad again.
"Clary?" Jace asked, startled by her sudden mood change.
She shook her head. "I can't burden another person, Jace. The least I can do for her after all she's done for me is act happy."
Jace felt a draft of confusion. Was this seriously the same girl he'd watched prowl through the club crowds like a lioness?
It couldn't have been. That girl was too perfect – which Jace found ultimately boring. Clary – in the last twelve hours that he'd known her – was very interesting, and had a lot of action revolving her world.
Footsteps padded through the wooden living room and Clary straightened back up and Jace could this time see the evident strain in her shoulders.
"Here you are!" Celine said brightly, thrusting the blue and khaki towards the other girl.
Clary smiled, taking the clothes. "What time do I have to be ready by?"
Celine looked down. "You have an hour and a half. You two were out very late." She looked at Jace with a glare and he knew instantly that even though it was because helped Clary, that wouldn't fully set aside her fiery wrath.
Clary felt the pounding of water coursing down her bare back, soothing her sore muscles as she ran the grapefruit shampoo throughout her thick hair.
The events of last night throbbed through her head. Bits and pieces from her father ran through her head, but that wasn't what entirely consumed her thoughts.
Maybe it wasn't right to use Jace as a distraction from thinking about her father but he would never know what she was actually thinking.
How could someone so freaking arrogant give a flying shit about her? Then again, she hadn't seen too much arrogance in the chaos, but she'd seen it the moment she felt his gaze on hers as she was fighting through the waves of people, wanting a bit of freedom.
He seemed to be the only person respectful enough not to whisper dirty innuendos in her ears. She could see now why he was so polite her gender was obviously because of his mother.
He'd held himself with confidence as he lazily asked her if he was actually good enough for her to talk to. She'd felt shock as he'd called her out on her façade. She was set on taking him to the back room and having a ferocious make out session with him until his gorgeous, but disgusting friend interrupted.
Clary heard the timer on her phone go off, signaling the end of her fifteen-minute shower.
She rubbed the white fluffy towel all over her before slipping on the clothes.
Clary walked out into Jace's spotless bedroom. It looked like what her guest room in her home looked like. The bed was pushed up against the wall, and as far as she could see, there was nothing shoved behind or under the bed. The bookshelf was alphabetized and there was nothing on the dresser except for a lamp and a pencil holder.
Jace came in then, running a towel through his wet hair.
"Hmm," he said. "You know, there's not a uniform policy. That was just when my mom went to school. That might be all she has."
He thrusts open his closet doors, throwing open drawers until he found a suspicious pile of girl clothes.
"Why do you have girl clothes in your closet, Montclair?" she asked and his eyes hardened at the name.
"Herondale," he said quietly. "Not everyone in my father's family are assholes. My uncle sometimes comes by with his sons and they're good people."
Clary nodded. "Right. Sorry. The girl clothes?"
"My best friend Isabelle used to come by every weekend and leave clothes. She hasn't done it since she was fourteen though."
He began shuffling through the clothes before pulling out a small grey and red dress, the grey until her belly button and the red with black stripes coming in as a skirt. It came with a little grey belt, tied like a braid. He puckered his lips slightly before pulling out two little red bows.
"My mom's got some shoes if you need to borrow some," Jace said.
She raised her copper outfits. "Do you have a fetish for finding girls outfits? Because, I wouldn't even imagine you being able to pick out something this fashionable."
He laughed, flipping his hair out of his eyes. "I'm secure enough in my sexuality to say, yes, yes I do."
She giggled, grabbing the clothes and walking back into the bathroom.
Once Clary had put on her clothes, she felt like a little girl again, her mother tying little bows into her hair. She'd stopped with the red bows after some kid at her school called her a wanna-be-fire-truck.
A knock sounded on the door and Clary opened it and it revealed Celine carrying a bag of makeup and a pair of red sparkly flats before walking back out.
The makeup was a breeze of three minutes, a quick mascara job and a dab of lip-gloss.
As she walked out of the brightly lit bathroom, she got hit in the face by a flying pair of hipster glasses.
"Damn," Jace muttered. "I keep forgetting how short you are."
Clary crossed her arms, kneeling down to pick up the glasses before sliding them on.
"Cute," he smiled, handing her a bright, old, red backpack. "You're going to be a hit."
The trio of mother, son, and random child walked out of the small house and into a scratched up car.
Clary leaned her head against the windowpane of the car door, and fell into the oblivion of cold dreams.
Jace watched the small girl retreat to the bathroom, praying she would forget something and have to come back before his mother began her scolding.
No luck.
"Jonathan," she finally began, and Jace felt his veins run cold at his true name. He was so screwed. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"That she needed help," Jace replied, not letting his guilt show on his face, "and that I was going to give it to her so she wouldn't be left abandoned."
"What's so bad that she won't tell me?" Celine asked quietly.
Jace wasn't one to tell secrets, but he wasn't going to lie to his one steady figure in his life either. He couldn't. "Her father was the drug seller on that old street." Celine paled, about to interrupt, but Jace held up a hand. "Clary had convinced him to stop eventually, but then he started up an even worse business. He began selling women. She hadn't found out until last night, and…well."
"Oh that poor girl," Celine murmured.
Jace shook his head. "I'm going to go take a shower."
Clary walked through the school halls, the same air of seductiveness and independence she'd held at the club the night before once more turned on.
Jace walked dutifully beside her, showing her a small tour of the school.
The eyes of the student body were clearly on her until a girl darted forward, smacking her gum loudly.
"Jace!" she squealed and Clary smirked as Jace let off an exaggerated sigh.
"Violet!" he mocked.
The girl curled her lip, her frustration showing more evidently than the pimple right above the bridge of her nose.
"Who's this?" she sneered, and Clary was shocked by how cliché this situation was.
She'd never believed in the popular high school girl that believed she was so much better than everyone else, but she was clearly wrong.
"I'm Trouble," Clary said, saying her name loud enough for the entire hallway to here, and the students leaned forward to hear the conversation better. "And you're my next victim."
The girl's fist flew out hitting Clary's glasses and shattering the glass built inside the frame.
Clary stammered back in shock before her self defense kicked in and she whirled her leg in a full round house kick, sending the other larger girl back into the population that had gathered.
Clary stalked forward, grabbing Violet by the neckline of her shirt and whispering, "Don't you dare ever touch me like that again." She released her, shoving her back into the crowd and stomped around them towards her locker.
Once they'd reached the A Wing, Jace whirled around angrily. "Really Clary? Really?"
"What?" she asked, crossing her arms defensively. "She punched me first."
"It doesn't matter!" he seethed, his voice echoing down the empty hall. The bell had long since rung.
Clary took a step backwards, remembering the fall of her father and how it was like this for a year after her mother died. He'd abuse her until an inch of her life, and that was when she'd decided to learn self-defense.
A lump of fear formed in her throat, and her senses heightened. "Don't yell at me," she said, and her voice shook.
Jace took it as anger instead of fear and stomped towards her in a wave of fury. "Don't yell at you? Well, guess what Clary? This is me yelling at you!"
"Stop it!" Clary shouted. "Stop it!"
For every step that Jace took, she took another step back. "Stop what? Doing what you deserve?" He laughed bitterly.
She fought the flashbacks. Her therapist her father had sent her to told her it might be a side effect of the abuse.
You deserve it Clarissa. You deserve every mark this whip makes across your back.
"No I don't!" she cried. "I don't deserve this. Don't you understand?"
She'd finally backed into a set of lockers and Jace met her, pinning her against the wall.
"Stop it," she whispered.
He growled, "You need to be lectured once in your life, rich girl."
His hand rose up and Clary knew it was only to brace him further up the wall, but she still flinched backwards, hitting her head on a handle of a locker.
She felt something warm on her lips, and instantly knew it was he, Jace kissing her.
She didn't move, feeling the flashbacks flit through her mind.
Jace pulled away, obviously unsatisfied. "What's wrong?" he finally murmured. "Why are you so crazy?"
She opened her eyes, looking into his golden ones. She didn't reply, only clasping her lips onto his roughly, yanking his head down.
He picked her up, making her fly further into the wall of lockers. Her head was now above his.
"Jace!" a girl voice said and Jace stumbled backwards, dropping her onto the floor. "Oh my God. My eyes!"
Jace grinned. "Hey Izzy."
The girl walked over, her eyebrows furrowed. "Who's this? And why is she wearing my clothes?"
Oh, Clary told herself, this is the best friend.
Jace shrugged. "She stayed over last night. Mom's taking care of her now."
Izzy raised her eyebrows now. "She's really tiny. Those are my twelve-year-old clothes."
Clary felt her red cheeks blush further. "Or you're just unnaturally large."
The other girl smiled. "I think I'll like you, Fireball. My name's Isabelle."
"Clary," she replied.
Isabelle laughed. "You're the girl that kicked dear Purple's ass? Good Lord, she must be an awful fighter."
"Don't egg her on," Jace muttered. "I almost just killed her."
"The Kiss of Death only exists in Harry Potter, Jace," Isabelle replied sharply.
Jace's ears turned pink. "C'mon, we need to get to class."
"That's not what you were saying before I interrupted," she sang.
Jace rolled his eyes now, grabbing Clary's wrist and tugging her towards the M Wing. "Come little midget. We have class to get to."
The day passed uneventfully, with a few people sending glares or cowering away from the petite redhead.
Funny they'd be scared of a girl no more than a hundred-four pounds.
Jace's mom came and picked them up once more, dressed in a Wal-Mart's cashier outfit, her nametag flashing: Hello! My name is Celine!
"How was work?" Jace asked, piling into the backseat of the car, allowing Clary to ride shotgun.
"Fine, fine," Celine murmured. "I just forget sometimes that not all people respect a woman."
Jace scowled. "What happened, Mom?"
Celine smiled, and Clary saw then that every wrinkle on her beautiful face was a smile wrinkle, unlike most people in her situation would have. Others would have distress, but Celine seemed as if she looked at the bright side of things.
"Nothing, love. Nothing."
Jace frowned, leaning back into his seat once more, not saying anything else.
"Clary," Celine started, worrying at her lip. "It's fine if you don't want to, but will you be going back to your father?"
Clary flinched, a sense of dread falling into her stomach. This was Celine's kind way of kicking her out. "I-I don't know."
"Sweetheart," Celine said, "you're absolutely fine. I just wanted to know."
Jace made a noise in the back, before saying, "Turn up the music."
Clary looked down at the radio, grinning at what she saw, and remembering their conversation.
"We're half way there."
"Living on a prayer."
"We're already holding hands."
Oh, we're halfway there
Oh, livin' on a prayer
Take my hand
We'll make it I swear
Oh, livin' prayer
The music blared all the way back to the slums in which the Montclairs lived, breezing through the neighborhood, Bon Jovi blaring.
Jace sang along with it, his voice nice and smooth, differing greatly from Bon Jovi's rough voice, making the song sound romantic in a way.
As they pulled into the driveway, it changed to Nirvana's Smells like Teen Spirit, and they all piled out of the car.
"I'm going around back to take some groceries to the outside fridge," Celine called, already walking away.
Jace strummed the tune he'd made up on his guitar, writing down lyrics as he went, wanting the song to be perfect.
How did we end up talking?
In the first place?
You're telling me how you like my-
The door opened, making his pen jump.
He turned around to see his mother, her face unreadable, which was scary for his mother.
"We need to talk about Clary," she said, closing the door, leaning against it.
"You can't send her away," Jace said quietly. "That's cruel."
Celine laughed, and Jace felt a wave of wonder at her reaction. "That's not what I'm talking about. You obviously like her."
Jace's eyes widened, and he dropped the pen and set the guitar gently on his stand. "I'm not talking about this with you. Nor do I need the fourteenth sex talk. She doesn't even like me back."
Celine snorted, sitting down on his bed. "Give me one reason why she wouldn't."
"She's the type that would go for the bad boys."
His mother shook her head. "You're clueless, boy. Girls don't want a bad boy. They want someone to play around with, sure, but in the end, they're looking for a nice and respectful boy. You're that boy, Jace."
She got up with that, closing the door quietly behind her.
Jace shook his head; turning back around and setting his pen back to the paper with a flourish.
"Clary?" Celine asked, and the girl looked up from the drawing of a boy playing soccer. "Do you want to go pick up some things from your father's?"
Clary bit her lip, before deciding that she couldn't keep on borrowing things from Isabelle, even if she had worn it years before. "Yeah. Sure."
The ride to the house was long, given it was across town.
Celine didn't say much, and Clary just picked at her cuticles.
When they'd finally got there, Clary knew that Celine was holding back a gasp of shock as they entered. Her father was organized; nothing would be out of place.
Her door to her bedroom was closed and purely white, but Clary knew that the inside would be covered with posters from movies and her favorite bands and artwork. Her father avoided her room due to the chaos it was always in.
She opened the door, and saw her room the way she left it, except clean and some things packed in boxes. The posters remained on the walls, but the bed was stripped bare and there was nothing left on the floor.
Opening her drawers, she saw a note lying there.
Dear Clarissa, my dearest daughter,
I'm sorry. I'm so terribly sorry. I know you're going to do the same thing Jocelyn did – run – and I don't blame you for that, my child. Of course, you probably don't remember anything Jocelyn really did. You were so young to remember the way things began being packed in boxes in our bedroom and the way there was barely any silverware left. Then she died, of course you remember that.
So, to show my last hint of love towards you, I packed some clothes in boxes for you, so you wouldn't have to do it. Your mother's things she gave you are wrapped in your favorite shirts and some posters are in another box. You're bed sheets are with your jeans. With your wallet, there is a credit card with four million dollars on it. Use it for the boy's family. He was always so kind to me, despite my job.
Clarissa, I love you my dear. Do fantastic things for yourself. I've moved away to start anew. You won't ever have to see me again.
And if, you want something to burn with my face on it (you women always seem to do that in your anger) there is a photograph in your wallet of you and I. I will have the same one in my wallet, just to remind me of your beauty and your kindness and your forgiveness.
I'm sorry.
I'm so terribly sorry.
I love you, my baby girl. I'll always love you.
Yours forever,
Daddy
Sobs ripped out of Clary's throat, staining the paper with her tears, more to add on to the ones her father on, father mixing with daughter. She clutched the paper to her chest with terrible screams. She sank to the floor, shaking with sadness and Clary vaguely heard the front door close as a sign of Celine leaving.
"Daddy," she whimpered. "Dad."
Her fingers fumbled with her phone, dialing the familiar number.
The beep rang through, the repeated beep, and then the monotone voice, "This number no longer exists."
"No!" she cried, redialing once, twice, and three times more. Always the same result, but she couldn't give in.
She finally collapsed on the floor, shaking with terrible sobs.
She crawled over to the box labeled Jeans with her father's sloppy handwriting on it. She opened the wallet, and there sat the happy picture of Clary and him, smiling under the brilliant light of the Eiffel Tower.
"Daddy," she whispered. "You can't be gone."
She closed the wallet once more, placing it back in the box, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Done!" Jace exclaimed with a happy smile, just as a knock sounded on the front door.
He hurried happily to the door before frowning at the man before him. "Valentine."
"Jace," he replied. "Is my daughter here?"
"No, and even if she was, she wouldn't want to talk to you."
The man's face shattered into a thousand pieces and silent tears of sorrow streaked down his face. "I just wanted the best for her. That was all I ever wanted."
"And you didn't think about anyone else. That's what kills her."
"Just, give her this," and he laid a locket in his hand. "And tell her I love her. I'll always love her."
As he began to walk away – his shoulders slumped with self-hatred and regret – Jace called out, "Wait!"
He turned around, and Jace could see the hope burning in his black eyes.
"You can wait until she comes back," Jace said. "And then she'll decide what to do with you."
Clary was still sniffling as they pulled up into the cracked driveway, and Celine was rubbing reassuring circles on her hand.
She didn't notice the other car as she walked in, only heard the sounds of chatting.
The clink of glass cups was clear and shrill as she walked and she saw someone she'd by now accepted she'd never see again.
"Dad?" she asked, her voice disbelieving.
Valentine barely had time to set the wine glass down before she barreled into him, wrapping her small arms around his broad chest.
"Daddy," she whispered. "You're back?"
His fingers made way through her curly hair lovingly. "Yeah, yeah, I'm back."
The sight was almost too personal for Jace to watch, seeing the way Valentine ran his fingers through her fiery hair, murmuring words.
She pulled back, and Jace saw her fist clench into a fist and knew if it were anyone else, her hand would've flew. She remained calm on her face, but her frail hand gathered up and released repeatedly.
"I'm still so pissed at you," Clary said, sliding off his lap, "and I probably won't ever forgive you, but I'll always love you."
"Clary," her father said quietly, "this sounds an awful lot like goodbye."
Clary closed her emerald eyes. "That's because it is."
Valentine staggered back and Jace was halfway shocked. A man like so put together would actually show something human? But then, Jace assumed, he'd been showing expression the entire time. He just didn't show it well.
Valentine stood there for thirteen seconds before the locket Jace had returned to him crashed to the floor, ringing through the air as it connected.
His boots clicked across the wooden floor before the door opened and shut with dramatics.
Clary let out a gust of breath before turning back around and smiling slightly. "Well then," she said. "At least I said goodbye this time."
And as she turned on her heel, Jace gawked, feeling his jaw practically fall to the floor with locket right next to it.
He couldn't help but like her even more.
"Jace!" Clary whined, and Jace smirked. "Why do my eyes have to be covered?"
"Because," Jace said with dramatics, "it wouldn't be a surprise if I didn't."
Clary sighed and Jace felt his heart squeeze with how simple but beautiful action was. It had been six months since he'd realized he was in love with her, and eight that he'd known her.
"Here we are!" Jace exclaimed, lifting his hands from her small face.
She gasped with excitement at the sight. "You found one! Oh my God, you found one!"
"Yeah, I found one," Jace said, and remembered the day she'd told him what her dream was for nature.
She sat watching the Nature Channel on her iPad, her legs kicked up in the air, socks covering her feet.
Jace watched her from the doorframe, the fascination on her face as she watched the screen. He'd never understood why she enjoyed the Nature Channel, given it wasn't all that entertaining. He supposed it was just an artist's eye.
"Jace, come here!" she said excitedly, realizing he was there.
He shuffled over, peering at the iPad, preparing to fake out an act of excitement.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she sighed, her emerald eyes gazing at the glass screen with a look of adoration. "I've always wished to see one besides the cliché Niagara Falls."
It was a waterfall, though not large. There was a deer drinking water out of it, and the cameraman seemed focused on that.
But Clary wasn't. He knew she watching how the water cascaded gracefully down the cliff, landing in a large puddle at the end. It was only about twenty-five feet, but she was right. It was indeed beautiful.
"I bet you wished to be kissed by one like a cliché movie though," Jace chuckled. "By a man more beautiful than the waterfall itself."
She rolled over, not holding the iPad any longer. "What girl doesn't? No matter what they say, there's always going to be the romantic side."
"You'll find him someday, Trouble. I know you will."
She hugged him, and Jace resisted the temptation to kiss the top of her forehead in an intimate way.
"Thank you!" Her voice was delighted as she pulled away, dipping her feet in the water.
Jace pushed away the feeling of nervousness as he reached for the guitar propped up on the tree.
"Are you going to play a song?" Clary asked curiously, scooting closer.
Jace fingered the strings a bit; making sure it was tuned, before playing a bit of the chorus. The song he wrote hadn't been sung yet, and he knew today should be the day. He would make her romantic dreams complete after that.
"Yeah," he replied nervously. "It's for you actually."
Clary clapped excitedly, a grin spread across her face. "Ooh, yes do!"
Jace cleared his throat and began to play the beginning notes:
You walked in
Everyone was asking for your name
You just smiled and told them "Trouble"
My head spins
I'm pressed against the wall
Just watching your every move
You're way too cool
And you're coming this way
Coming this way
How did we end up talking in the first place?
You said you liked my Cobain shirt
Now we're walking back to your place
You're telling me how you love that song
About living on a prayer
I'm pretty sure that we're halfway there
And when I wake up next to you I wonder how
How did we end up here?
(How did we end up,
How did we end up here?)
Next day out
Everybody thought you were so insane
'Cause you were so far out of my league
My friends say I should lock you down
Before you figure me out and you run away
But you don't and you won't as you kiss me
And you tell me that you're here to stay
How did we end up talking in the first place?
You said you liked my Cobain shirt
Now we're walking back to your place
You're telling me how you love that song
About living on a prayer
I'm pretty sure that we're halfway there
And when I wake up next to you I wonder how
How did we end up here?
Call me lucky 'cause in the end
I'm a six and she's a ten
She's so fit, I'm insecure
But she keeps coming back for more
How did we end up talking in the first place?
You said you liked my Cobain shirt
Now we're walking back to your place
You're telling me how you love that song
About living on a prayer
I'm pretty sure that we're halfway there
And when I wake up next to you I wonder how
How did we end up here?
How did we end up,
How did we end up here?
How did we end up,
How did we end up here?
Jace peeked open his eyes at the flitting of Clary's fingertips on his cheeks. He felt as if his cheeks were burning – in which they were – and he would be completely humiliated if she hated it.
"That was beautiful," she smiled. She leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips over the form of his guitar.
She pulled away, it was only a peck.
"I love you," he blurted and she giggled, taking his guitar off.
"I think you got me alone here to make out, huh?" she asked.
"Very possibly. You aren't the only one who's trouble, Trouble," Jace smirked, leaning forward.
Before their lips connected, she let out a muffled, "I love you too."