Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments or these characters.


"Run!" Jonathan yells as the door he was leaning against bursts open, my fathers' massive body easily overpowering my 9 year old brothers' measly attempts at protecting his only sister.
"Jonathan! Stop this right now! This is between your sister and me, since she cannot seem to stop wreaking havoc in our lives!" He slowly made his way around all the fallen objects in his midst, his eyes trained on me.
"Leave me
alone! I never did anything!" I scream as he grabs me by my hair, ripping some of the red locks out as he yanks me up.
"Yes you did, Clarissa. You caused me to lose Jocelyn; so now you must pay."
He leans down so his face is mere centimeters from my own. I scream and his fist connects with my face and Jonathan is yelling but all I can hear is my father whispering that it's my fault, my fault that she's gone, that she's dead-'
I sit bolt upright, screaming as loud as I did the night I found out I had killed my mother.

After I realized it was a dream, I glanced at the clock. 5:47 am. I sigh and begin to wonder why my brother didn't rush in to calm me down this time. Usually when I have nightmares of 'that night', he scrambles up the stairs and practically crashes into my room and falls down next to me, waiting until I fall asleep so he can as well.
Oh well, I think. He's probably hung over from last night; or maybe he's not even home yet.

To test my theory I quickly shower and change into an emerald sweater that matches my eyes, and a brown corduroy skirt. I pull my fiery hair into a loose ponytail and decide to go barefoot and begin my search for my brother.

First I check his room, which is downstairs in the basement. The door is open and music is playing, so I slowly peak my head inside, bracing myself for god knows what.
My brother is lying on top of the covers, stark naked. He has an empty bottle of vodka by his head and drool pooling by his neck and his platinum hair is sticking up in all directions.

I groan in disgust and cover my face with my hand and slowly walk up to his bed. I grope for a pillow, find one, and toss it over his intimates. Then I turn on all the things in his room that could possibly give off light. After that I pick up one of his shirts and shove it in his mouth, and hide behind his dresser, fully knowing that if I'm the first thing he sees when he wakes from air deprivation, he will freak out.
After some time he jerks awake, his emerald green eyes surprising against his pale skin and blue vodka bottle.

He quickly sits up, looking around and sneezing. "CLARISSA WHERE ARE YOU? I KNOW YOU DID THIS! WHY ON EARTH AM I NAKED?!"
He soon finds me because I'm laughing way too hard. He shrieks when he finds me in tears behind his dresser. He has boxer shorts on and his grin is wicked like my fathers' was as he picks me up, against my protests and unceremoniously dumps me on the couch in the basement living room. He then proceeds to rudely shout obscene things in my direction as he heads to his room.
"JONATHAN!" I scream, interrupting his rant of my inadequacy.

"JONATHAN CHRISTOPHER! I didn't do anything! I had a bad dream, and I woke up without you there, so I went to search for you, fucking sorry." I mutter as I stalk out of the living room and up the stairs to the kitchen.

###

I can't breathe, I can't breathe. Oh my fucking god why can't I breathe? Oh my god why is it so bright Jesus Christ.
I try to swallow but to my surprise there's one of my damn t-shirts blocking my breath. Oh my god idiot, just pull it out. I sit up as soon as it's out of my mouth. I look around, sneezing. I know Clary did this to me. I know. I love her but she does shit to piss me off all time.
"CLARISSA WHERE ARE YOU? I KNOW YOU DID THIS!" I look down and realize my state of dress, or lack thereof.

"WHY ON EARTH AM I NAKED?"I get up and saunter to my dresser, where I throw on a pair of boxers. What the hell did I do last night? I try to recall something but my thoughts are scattered as I hear my sisters laugh, the sound of tinkling bells.

Coming right from behind my dresser...?
I peer behind my dresser and she's in tears. I set my mouth in a smirk my father would be proud of and gather her up in my arms despite her protests. I walk to the living room couch and drop her among the throw pillows. I start mumbling about how inconsiderate she is and how I can't stand it when she does this and I quickly lose my train of thought and begin rambling because in all honesty, I mean none of this. This is just how siblings are supposed to act. And only God knows I'm not a regular brother...
"JONATHAN!"
I slow my pace to my room but continue.
"JONATHAN CHRISTOPHER! I didn't do anything! I had a bad dream, and I woke up without you there, so I went to search for you, fucking sorry." Her voice is hard and razor backed as she turns on her heel and walks off to do whatever. I don't care. Brothers don't care what their sisters do. I don't think. I don't know anymore. All I know, now that I'm thinking about it, is that last night there was a girl who had hair the color of wine and was everything that Clary couldn't be. Everything she shouldn't be to me.

###

Instead of heading to the kitchen, I stalk to the room beside it; my art room. I shove open the door and sit down in the rickety rocking chair in the corner. My mom used to sit in this chair...
I push the thoughts of my mother away and grab a brush and a palette or seven and set off to work. Losing myself in art has always been my specialty. Jonathan knows to leave me alone when I'm working on a new piece. He respects that, respects me.

Well, Jonathan respects everyone so that's nothing special. Now that I'm thinking about it...it's weird that Johnny came home alone last night... Jonathan never comes home alone. Huh.

My thoughts drift from my painting of some strange symbols to my brother. I wonder where he went last night. And why he was undressed but alone. I glance at the clock and notice that two hours have passed. It's now 7:37. Shit, I need to get ready for school. As I walk out of the door I touch the face of a painting of an angel rising from a lake I made a few weeks ago. It's titled "Raziel Ascending."