Hi boios, Ok so I started this story back in 2016 and published it but we all know that was a disaster year so naturaly this fic turned into a disaster. So this is my sorry attempt to correct my mistakes for the 8 people that seemed to like this story.
English isn't my first language so apologies for bad spelling and grammar. (plus I don't have a beta *cry*)
This story has mature themes including rape, death, self harm and light substance abuse. Don't do drugs kids.
Lemons in later chapters ;)
Dislaimer: I don't own the mortal instrument or any of its characters. I'm just bored.
Jocelyn's diagnosis came as a shock to everyone but her. She had a feeling that something wasn't right, yet she didn't expect it to be something so serious. She hadn't been feeling right for moths.
Her balance had changed, her energy levels decreased, her memory wasn't as sharp as it used to be. She'd been having problems with her vision, her hearing and sometimes she would struggle to speak.
So, she went to see a doctor. After a few tests with the doctor including heel to toe experiments to check coordination they sent her to get a CT scan. The black smudge stood out from the grey that was her brain.
After that she was introduced to so many people, neurosurgeons, medical oncologists, radiation oncologists, nurses, a dietitian and a social worker that all did their best to help. Clary however, knew that it was all for nothing. Her mother was going to die.
"You're going to die!" Clary had wept into her mothers arms.
"We all die, but this I'm getting help for." Jocelyn insisted although she had tears of her own streaming down her face. She knew it as well as her daughter. She didn't have much time left.
"But it won't save you!" Clary continued. She wasn't crying because she was sad. She was crying because she was angry. Angry that her mother was the one to fall victim to such a horrible curse. That there was no way to help her.
"No it won't." Jocelyn said, suddenly calm. "It won't sweetheart. But it will buy me time. Time to spend with you." Clary nodded, using the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe away her tears. "What if I told you that I was getting surgery…" Clary looked up, hopefull, for the first time in a long time..
"Are they going to take it out? Will you be fixed?"
"No… They can't take it all out without damaging some of my brain but they're going to take out as much as they can." Jocelyn sighed. "It means that I'll have more time and not only that I'll feel better too."
"That's brilliant then…" Clary saw her mother's face. "Why do I feel like there's a 'but' coming…"
Jocelyn looked up at the light, it was something she did to keep the tears at bay. "But it means that I won't be seeing you for a long time.
"What?!" Why not?!" Clary's voice raised an octave.
"Because…" Jocelyn sighed. "I'll be in the hospital for a while to recover."
"But I can visit you in the hospital." She protested.
"I don't want you to see me like that…" Jocelyn said. "You'll stay with your father."
"Why can't I stay with Luke?!" Clary protested.
"Luke…" Jocelyn sighed. "He has a lot on his plate."
"For how long?" Clary said not wanting arguing with her mother. She knew how hard she tried to stay strong for her.
"A craniotomy recovery could last up to four weeks…"
"FOUR WEEKS?!" Clary exclaimed. "You can't expect me to spend four weeks with him."
"He's your father. Besides, Jonathan will be there aswel." Clary rolled her eyes.
"Jonathan is always there." She mumbled.
She mulled it over in her head. She hadn't seen her brother in months and sure he was an ass but it 'would' be nice to see him. Once upon a time they loved each other. He would push her on the swings. They would conspire against their parents together, he even beat up a few boys that bullied her in school. But that was a long time ago.
First it was the affair. Then the divorce. Then the battle for custody. Jocelyn got Clary and Valentine got Jonathan. Valentine had always liked Jonathan the best although she knew that Jon would've preferred to stay with their Mom.
Finally, Clary nodded.
"Ok fine." She sighed. "I will… I will stay with Dad. As long as you try your hardest to get better."
"Oh honey." Jocelyn said with a weak smile. I always do."
Fat drops of rain rolled down the car window, distorting the images beyond. Clary had often thought about this, how something as simple as water can separate you from the rest of the world, from a small stream to the widest of oceans. Clary enjoyed separating herself from others and she had found many ways to do so.
Currently she did one of her favorite things to do when she wanted to disconnect (which was almost always), listen to music. She had a playlist on her iPod that always lived in the back pocket of whatever pair of jeans she was wearing.
The playlist had over 500 songs on, she knew the lyrics to everyone off by heart. The songs varied. Some heavy metal, some rock, some songs from the 60's and some from the small unkown bands from quiet corners of the world. Clary didn't care much about the genre as long as it did its job, help her disconnect.
Sometimes Clary didn't need anything to help her disconnect. She had often found herself sitting cross-legged and staring at a blank wall. She would stare at the wall and pick out the details, maybe there was some paint peeling, or water damage at the edges but no matter what, she would 'wake up' an hour or two later, her stomach would growl at her for food and her throat would beg for water.
She didn't do this when she was younger. She was once a happy girl. Once she was thirteen it all changed when her best friend Simon died. He had a great love in music so she turned towards it after his death.
She saw it happen. She had warned him to be careful on the road. She had screamed his name when he got hit. She had called the ambulance and followed their instructions. She had held him as he died, wiping his tears from his face and telling him that it would all be alright.
She always wore long sleeved jackets to hide the thin white scars on her wrists that where the outcome of that day. She would to cry herself to sleep most nights and question why.
Three years later she sat in the taxi taking her to her home for the next four weeks. Jocelyn sat beside her, twiddling her thumbs nervously beside her.
Clary did her best to ignore her mother, engulfing herself wirh the words of Ed Sheeran. She focused on every word. Every beat. Every instrument. She barely noticed Jocelyn paying the taxi driver and telling her to get out of the car.
After being scolded by her mother for not payin attention, she thanked the taxi driver and grabbed her bags from the trunk.
In front of her was a large semi-detached house with large windows and a well-kept garden. A tall thin man with sharp features stood in front of her. A boy a few years older than her with a mop of silvery/white hair on his head. Jon.
She pulled out her headphones and stuffed them into her pocket, not bothering to paus the music. She turned to Jocelyn.
"Anything changes and you let me know." Clary began. "Anything at all. And if you want to see me then drop a text and I'll be right there." Jocelyn nodded, holding back tears. After a moment Jocelyn pulled Clary in for a hug.
"You be a good girl, ok? Don't get into too much mischief. And don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I love you so much Clarissa." Jocelyn said, a few tears spilling over her cheeks.
"I love you too Mom. Get better." Clary said. "please."
"I will." Jocelyn said. "I promise."
Clary never made another promise.
"Everything is… white." Clary looked around her temporary bedroom. She dumped her suitcase in the corner and fell face first on the bed. Her bright green suitcase stood out on the white carpet.
"You're very observant." Jon replied sarcastically. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, silver hair falling over one of his eyes.
The room was large, much larger than the one in the apartment she shared with her mother but far planer. On the left of the room was a queen-sized bed with white sheets, one side lay flush against the wall. On the left of the room was a white desk with a computer on it (One of the few not white objects in the room) and a small lamp. Just to the side of it there was a big bookcase that had no books.
On the far end of the room was a large window with a window seat. It was quite plain but Clary thought that she would enjoy drawing there. She walked over to the window, rolling her eyes at Jon's comment. She moved the white curtains to the side to reveal the view.
It was a view of the back garden. It was as beautiful as the front of the house. The bushes we're trimmed to perfection and brightly colored flowers adorned areas of the garden.
"Do you think Mom will make it?" Jon blurted out. "I mean, do you think that she'll get better?" He had worry clear on his face. Clary took longer than she should've before responding.
"Yeah, this operation will help her." She responded. She didn't need to tell Jon of her hopelessness. That she knew Jocelyn was going to die.
That evening Clary lay on the bed, staring at the white ceiling. She never did trust the colour white. She knew it was supposed to represent purity and full of goodness, a fresh start. To her it was full of lies, empty promises and deceit. She opened up her suitcase and pulled out a framed photo. It was of her, Jon and Jocelyn. She didn't know exactly how old she was when it was taken but the short curls and chubby red cheeks indicated that she wasn't more than five.
They we're sitting on a blanket at the beach, the sun shining over them. Clary's face was unattractively covered in a mixture of icecream and sand but she beamed at the camera thing that she was the centre of attention. Jon sat beside her, his face in a scowl, he didn't like having his photo taken. Behind them both was their mother. She looked as beautiful as ever. So proud of her children even if they were such a mess.
Valentine had taken the photo, back when they were a family. She had been there an entire evening and he had barely said a few words to her (something about being at home and not making a mess) before he hid away to his study.
It was mid-summer, so Clary didn't need to go to the local school. This was good she though, she'd have plenty of time to sketch and work on her artwork.
After an hour she decided that she missed school. She missed the routine that it bought with it. Routine gave her life meaning, something to do. Ever since what happened with Simon she needed something to work towards and now with what's happening to her Mom…
She shook her head and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. She grabbed her iPod and placed the headphones in her ears and pressed play to whatever song was on. It took no time for the deep bass and aggressive beats to distract her mind until she was thinking about nothing.
So, what do you think? Good? Bad? Confusing? Please leave a review, it's what motivates me to write more because believe it or not it is quite time consuming. Constructive criticism is welcome just don't be an ass.
-An angry Welshie