A/N: I don't own anything. Seriously.


The river was a murky brown, the kind of colour that conjured images of decay, pollution and rubbish. Of dirt and filth. Of graffiti and trash.

Things no one wanted.

He liked to just sit on the gravelly bank, watching it carry the filth of Manhattan down to the ocean.

The running water, rippling downstream. Pure.

He snorted contemptuously. Pure. This river was anything but pure.

And yet it still made him feel sick, still made him nauseous just to run his sneakered foot along the surface, the tiniest bit of water soaking into the canvas.

Purity.

It was lightening now, and he knew that the sun was just behind the bridge. The dirt of the city would be shuffled underfoot of the many early commuters, and a new day would have commenced.

Day, night, it did not matter to him. They blurred together, and only the presence of the sun alerted him to the differences.

He flinched automatically as the first rays of sun appeared over the top of the bridge, waiting for the burn, the pain.

Light bright oh sun wait no help burn hurts it hurts burns like fire flesh help

But it never came.

And the sun continued over the bridge, rising majestically into the sky on some preordained course, and he believed it to be set by –

Try can think oh throat choking closes up cannot say help oh my choke

He spat on the dirt, raising his eyes to the morning sky just as the sun washed over him like a wave, bathing him in golden light.

He fell to the ground, lying on his back in the dirt, allowing the sun's rays to embrace him, warm and comforting.

Not like back then.

Love red freckles love wait sun oh burn my head oh my head pain burning save me

Nothing like then.

Burning oh help don't scream no burn pain like needles wait no pain feel fine

And then he stood up, staring over the river again.

Just once more.

He ran, faster than he should have been able to. He ran, cutting through the sub-culture, past the parks.

He ran home.

Home.


'Simon?'

Simon stopped in the very act of climbing back though his bedroom window when he heard his mother's questioning voice behind him.

His head jerked back to her voice, and he groaned internally as she rounded the side of the house, a washing basket full of wet clothes under her arm.

'Uh, morning?' he said guiltily, climbing back through the window and jumping the last few feet to the garden-bed, squashing some weeds in the process.

How had he not heard her?

His mother scrutinised him. 'Simon, why were you climbing through your window?'

Sun oh warmth so nice not like then afraid no more fear no more pain no burning

'I, um, went for a run this morning and thought you were all still asleep. I didn't want to wake you up by using the front door. You know how it creaks.'

Simon looked at his feet. It was not a lie, exactly.

His mother shrugged. 'Don't worry about it next time. Your sister and I sleep like the dead.' Simon shuffled his feet uncomfortably. 'I don't want you hurting yourself trying to climb through the window.'

'Okay, sure,' he said to the ground. His mother busied herself with the washing, placing the basket on the cement under the washing line and beginning to peg the wet clothes up.

He turned to walk away, to go inside. Though the sun couldn't do anything to him now, he was still used to locking himself in his bedroom, the blinds closed, the windows blacked out.

Burn pain help stabs like a needle flesh melting smell sickly sweet flesh burns pain

He stopped as his mother's warm voice sounded from behind him,

'Simon, honey, can you go and fetch some groceries? There's a list on the counter and you can take a fifty out of my wallet. Use the change for a snack, or something.'

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. 'Sure, mum,' he muttered.

He kept on walking.


The fluorescent lights were intensely bright, and they burned into his irises before his eyes completely adjusted.

If he listened closely, Simon could hear each and every heartbeat of each and every person in the store.

But he did not listen closely. It reminded him of what he was.

What he never wanted to be.

Even so, the sounds echoed through his ears; the ringing of the tills, coins clinking, crinkling plastic bags. Trolley wheels on linoleum, a little dodgy. And voices.

Voices everywhere.

Deep and croaky, like they smoked, or high-pitched children, squealing for the impulse buys on offer. Smooth female voices, warbling male baritone, and dry, sarcastic teenagers, nasally old men and ladies.

Simon ran his fingers over the labels on the cans, grabbing one of the varieties that his mother had listed and placing it in the basket hanging off his arm.

Tomatoes. That was what he had just put in. Tomatoes were one thing that he would have to pretend to eat tonight.

How could he keep it from them for much longer?

And lettuce. Another thing.

Simon browsed the fresh fruit and vegetables section slowly, reaching out every now and then to place different foods in the basket.

Onions. Potatoes. Carrots. Parsnips.

Garlic.

His mother had a wicked sense of humour and she did not even realise it.

But it went into the basket with everything else.

He turned the corner, studying the list with his eyes. Pasta.

Simon's eyes browsed over the selection quickly, scanning for the spaghetti. There it was, in the middle shelf as always.

As always.

Smell no don't want but like to taste slimy oh sick feel sick no move sick want blood

He missed food.

He missed all the different flavours on his tongue, all the different textures.

His food only had one taste now. A delicious, amazing taste, but a single taste nonetheless.

And now his mouth tasted bitter, just from thinking about the food. He could not eat it now.

He sighed, putting the pasta in the basket.

Straightening up from his crouch, Simon made his way down the aisle to the oriental food. Sushi rice was next on the list.

Rebecca, his sister, was currently going through a phase where she thought she could cook. Simon and his mother – well, technically only his mother – were subjected to nightly monstrosities served on ceramic plates.

Simon guessed it was sushi next.

He smiled wryly, just a half-smile at best. Rebecca was not the worst cook he had ever had the misfortune to meet.

His smile fell.

It was great misfortune that he had met her.

Lights pink green blue oh dizzy pretty oh so close sexy drink oh sick shrinking twitch

That was the beginning.

Loud bang squeak no just footstep loud hurt cheese help hide dark loud save help me

Simon sighed again. He had not seen her for weeks now.

He missed her, oh g –

He choked, his throat burning. Had he tried to say that out loud?

He knew that he could not; he was damned, now.

Forever.

He ran his fingers through his hair, over the barely-visible Mark that was carved into his forehead. If one did not know that it was there, it was practically invisible.

Forever was a long time.

He dumped the rice in the basket, squashing the vegetables, and turned the corner into the health and beauty aisle, as it was called.

His usual shampoo was on the second shelf from the top, on the right. It was a plain, black-coloured bottle, no designer brand or anything.

He reached for it, but a strong, callused hand beat him to it.

'Sorry,' he muttered automatically at the same time that the other person did.

He withdrew his hand and looked down at his feet while the other person grabbed a bottle of the shampoo.

'Simon?'

Simon's head shot up to look at the person who had spoken.

Alec Lightwood was standing beside him, his hand around a black bottle, surprised.

'Oh, hey.' Simon nodded to him, pulling down his own bottle of shampoo and putting it in his basket.

Alec did not nod back. 'What are you doing here?' he asked, still shocked.

Simon rolled his eyes. 'I am shopping, obviously. For groceries. Like you.'

Alec recovered himself. 'Oh, right. Yeah, I am. Shopping, I mean. Izzy gave us a list.'

'I gathered,' Simon said dryly, eyeing the trolley behind Alec.

'What? Oh, yeah. Trolley.' He grabbed the handle of said object, depositing the shampoo inside the cart.

'Why are you acting weird?' The blunt question surprised Alec.

Simon looked at him dead-pan, waiting.

Alec looked around him shiftily. 'I'm, uh, hiding from Jace.'

Simon rolled his eyes again. 'Totally understandable. May I inquire as to why you are hiding from aforementioned blonde?'

Alec leant closer, and Simon could clearly hear the beating of his heart without trying. He could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, smell the delicious promise of –

He turned his face away.

The sharp points of his incisors had slid from their sheaths, piercing his lower lip.

Blood spread over his tongue, but it tasted wrong, it made him feel sick.

He made him feel sick.

What he was…it was sickening.

'Simon? Are you okay?'

That was Alec, actually asking if he was alright. How things had changed.

'I'm fine,' he muttered. He searched for a subject change, still looking away from Alec. 'What were you going to say?'

'Oh. Uh, Jace is…yeah. He's over there. See for yourself.'

Simon turned his head up the aisle, behind Alec, and his eyes focused in on a tall, blonde figure near the middle of the aisle. His hand darted back and forth, pulling out packages so he could examine them and then replace them on the shelves.

'Wait – is that an eyelash curler he's looking at?'

'Shhh!' Alec shushed him frantically. He turned Simon away, their backs to Jace, who was holding a piece of paper that Simon assumed to be Izzy's list. His arm was around Simon's shoulder, and he could feel the warmth in the weight.

Warm oh yes so warm thirsty oh the taste sweet coppery warm need want need blood

Alec removed his arm, and Simon was thankful. His fangs were still out.

He breathed deeply through his mouth, closing his eyes.

It had been two days.

And he did not particularly think that being staked in a supermarket was a good idea.

Particularly not with the Mark.

How would they deal with him, if he snapped?

Alec's voice distracted him again. 'We don't know him,' he was muttering. 'We don't know him…'

'Uh, Alec,' Simon hedged, trying not to think about… 'I've got to go now.'

'Oh, right.' Alec nodded to him.

'Good luck with pretty boy over there. Just remind him that if he leaves it on to heat too long, it'll burn his fingers. Courtesy of my sister.'

'Will do. See you, vampire.'

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 'See you around, Alec.'

He turned to go.

'Wait,' Alec called after him.

'Yeah?'

Alec struggled to say it. 'Er…come over tonight.'

'Huh?' He knew full-well that Simon could not enter the Institute.

Simon had that bitter taste in his mouth again. He turned so Alec could clearly see him rolling his eyes.

'Just come. I'll meet you out front at…six?'

'Yeah, sure. See you.'

Simon walked down the aisle, basket in hand, desperate not to run flat-out.

He was a real idiot. Two whole days was too long.

As he paid at the cash register and returned a smile that the flirty girl serving him had flaunted, before booking it out of the store.

As the automatic doors shut behind him, Simon could faintly hear,

'The list says "tampons". Alec, what the hell is a tampon?'


A/N: I know it's boring, but this is just an idea I wanted to experiment with. I have a vague idea of where it is going, but at the moment it's slugging along.

I'm also sounding quite desperate - Read and Review, please? Virtual Magnus glitter eyeshadow up for grabs...just don't ask how I got it. It's embarrassing.