Hey guys!
Any 'Life is a Game' readers reading this, thank you for you continued support, loving it. Any new readers, you can go ahead and read this without reading Life is a Game, but I would suggest reading it.
There are a few things I want to mention. There's been a change in POV, I'm writing this story in third person because I had a feeling if I did first person in Isabelle's POV, she would end up sounding more like Clary from the first fanfic. Also, as most of you guys probs know, this follows Isabelle/Jonathan (A lil bit of Simon/Isabelle) and Clary/Jace, I mention whose scene it is at the beginning of their part. I wasn't sure about doing that, but hey, I'm going to.
And I had a lot of trouble figuring out the name for this. I came up with a lot, but I decided to go with Lives Can't Be rewritten. I think it suits it, but still, tell me what you think. And this story won't be as serious as Life is a Game, it'll still hold a bit of seriousness, but not major.
Other than that, excuse any possible mistakes, and enjoy.
CHAPTER ONE
Alicante
Isabelle and Jonathan
What she expected to gain from this, she didn't know. For him to feel remorse? Shame? Perhaps for him to take pity on her?
No, Isabelle Lightwood told herself, silencing the theories that travelled through her mind.
She didn't want his pity. And she sure as hell did not want his apologies, no matter how many he would give.
If he would ever think of asking for forgiveness.
Once again, Isabelle told her mind to shut it. Even if he did manage to conjure up whatever light was left inside him to ask for it, she wouldn't forgive. He had taken a life. A life of someone who she loved. And that someone was none other than her little brother. Taking him from the world, from her, she would never forgive such a malicious act. Never.
Although, with these thoughts and commitments, these constant visits had yet come to a cease. Another question which she didn't ponder alone, but him also. But, as much as he found it difficult to believe, he had succumbed to the thought of enjoying the visits.
Not because of the pain and hatred he remained to witness in Isabelle's eyes. Not for the continuation of her pressuring of 'why?'. The reason was still blind to him, refusing to show itself.
He was, in fact, Jonathan Morgenstern.
And ever since Isabelle's first appearance in his cell a few weeks ago, he had begun seeing her more frequently.
But whether this was thought to be good or bad, none of them knew.
"You're looking lovely today, Isabelle," Jonathan spoke from his usual spot on the stone bench, which acted as a bed in his cell.
His statement however, was not what one might think it would mean. Lovely would be referred to 'beautiful', and 'pretty'. But Isabelle looked anything but lovely. Especially once she noticed a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Today, she appeared dangerously deadly. And not meant as in smoking hot, sexy deadly. It was a sorely I-will-not-hesitate-to-rip-your-throat-and-organs-out look. Perhaps slightly exaggerated, but the point was clear: Isabelle Lightwood was not to be messed with.
But, of course, she was in a cell, alone, with Jonathan Morgenstern. And he was the only person that would think of taunting her when she was, as he put it, pissed.
Isabelle didn't reply to his remark. Instead, she moved her gaze upwards just a fragment. From her seat on the stone ground, her eyes met his, her anger and annoyance slicing through him.
He hardly felt it.
Smirking to himself as her eyes travelled downwards to their previous position, Jonathan couldn't help it but almost laugh at her reaction. She hadn't even spoke two words since she arrived. The guard had let her in, and the first act she did was sit on the ground, her back pressed against the wall, gazing downwards.
Instantly, Jonathan had expected her silence to rapidly change into an outburst of anger, which he had no experience with. Yet. And whether that was thought to be fortunate or not was unclear. But today, she had said nothing.
She was lost within her thoughts.
And the idea that they would become understandable upon coming here, was stupid to believe. If anything, these made her mind more jumbled.
Suddenly, to Jonathan's surprise, Isabelle sprung to her feet and begun pacing around the room. Hoping he didn't do anything to annoy her this time -well, what hadn't he done?- he allowed himself to drift away, his back now pressed against the ice cold stone.
"Is this going to be become a habit of yours, or not?" his slightly deep voice pondered, his gaze never leaving her striding figure.
Once again, she gave no response. There was no faltering in her movement. So, for now, Jonathan stayed silent.
Although he believed he felt some empathy towards her, even allowing himself to show it at the warehouse no more than a month ago, there was no possible means to understanding Isabelle Lightwood.
But watching her behaving like this, much unlike herself, Jonathan did feel something. He felt a sudden rush of worry capturing his mind. This time, however, it was different. He had felt worry a number of times before, despite the confidence and arrogance he had no control over, that came with other guy. Or so he wanted to believe.
He always had a small part of worry inside him. When Valentine sent him to see his sister, when his sister showed hatred towards him, when those shadowhunters came face-to-face with him and his father in the warehouse.
He'd worried when Clary was left inside with only Valentine. Although that was different to the other incidents. Yet it was the same to what he was experiencing at the present moment.
The difference: he wasn't worried about himself.
Of course, he wasn't certain Isabelle wouldn't unexpectedly start screaming at him. But how she was acting made him worry.
"Isabelle?" he dared to speak, watching her still moving body. Any hopes -if hope was possible to him- of a response was crushed into the stone floor.
Feeling a slight annoyance, he pressed, "what's wrong?"
A typical question. One that happened to gain an answer.
"Nothing," she retorted, her voice sounding exhausted and scratching.
Resisting the urge to groan and release his anger, Jonathan simply said, "don't try to fool me."
Then he got the reaction he wanted. Her pacing stopped, her heels turning sharply so she faced him. "What do you care?" she snapped.
He shrugged, "Who says I do?"
Jonathan watched as her eyes narrowed, her jaw lightly clenching. "You asked me," she stated, leaning forwards.
Despite the gap between them wasn't small, Jonathan still leaned towards her. "And are you going to answer?"
Isabelle breathed in deeply, obviously holding and controlling her anger. "Forget it," she said softly, moving back towards to the door to his cell, "I don't have a reason to be here."
She was about to call to the guard, who always happened to know when she was leaving, when a his voice spoke behind her. His breath close enough to brush her neck.
"Don't you," he said, taunting her, "Is the memory of a small boy not enough?"
As soon as the words were spoken, Isabelle felt ice take her body. Her anger wasn't of fire, it was of ice, a frozen blizzard. She spun around. Jonathan was no longer sitting, yet he stood less than a step behind her. He'd moved without a slightest sound. And although she saw a flicker of regret in his eyes, she couldn't help but be blinded by her anger and their darkness.
At first, she wanted to scream at him, to yell every single emotion out of her body, to make him feel the hurt that was now flooding her veins. But she couldn't, the memory of her younger brother made it almost impossible to act.
"Don't mention him," she managed to get out. Her voice was full of poison and a burning cold with what she said next. "You are a monster, there's something sick and twisted inside of you. You don't deserve life, but you took his. And that's something that can never change."
And then she was gone. The guard knowing once again when she wanted leave, the stone door returning to it's place.
Feeling the usual cocoon of loneliness and cold retake the cell, Jonathan moved slowly to collapse on the cold floor, staring at the dull, old stone surrounding him.
"And yet you keep coming back," he said although Isabelle could no longer hear his voice.
He spends days in this room, days alone without anything to take his mind off it. He could only wonder about things. He could wonder why.
New York
Clary and Jace
Saying she was exhausted was an understatement. All the healing runes in the world could not forced away the fatigue that plagued Clary. Being a shadowhunter, she was used to. Searching for and hunting demons, she was used to. Using her body to beyond the point of destruction, she wasn't use to that.
"You're annoyed, aren't you?" Jace asked beside her.
They were walking through the corridors of the Institute, heading towards their rooms. Clary assumed from the silence and the darkness, and the amount of time they'd spent demon hunting, it was past early morning.
"Just a little," she replied, concentrating on moving forward. They finally turned down her hall, her eyes landing on her room door.
"It wasn't that bad," she heard him say when they reached her door.
She stopped then, turning to look up at him. "Jace," she said, "You made me run half of Manhattan, just for one Imp demon."
"That Imp was asking for it," Jace defended.
Clary frowned softly. She found that difficult to believe. But then again, it was Jace, he could make anything reasonable if he only a reason for it. Though pondering on his words, that was unbelievable this time. "How?"
"You didn't see that smug look on his face," he shrugged.
Instantly her shoulders slumped. Her legs were dead because her boyfriend couldn't deal with one, one, Imp demon getting away simply because it provoked him. Sure, when Clary finally caught up to Jace, the demon was beyond decapitated. But if it was a swarm of Imps, that would've been more understandable. And she might have felt better, not tired and half dead. Not to mention annoyed.
Seeing the expression on Clary's face, Jace immediately regretted saying something like that.
"To make up for it, I'll come with you to your mother's tomorrow," he suggested, raising an eyebrow In question. And once he saw Clary's face light up, he knew he was forgiven.
"Seriously?" she asked. Clary did love her mother, and Luke, but feeling like this, and probably feeling worse in the morning, she didn't feel like handling family at the moment, or tomorrow.
"Sure."
A smile crept onto her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning forward on placing a kiss on his cheek, much to his disappointment.
"And that is why I love you."
Jace pulled away, a frown forming on his face, "I thought it was because I just ran half of Manhattan without being out of breath."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Clary scoffed and moved away from him, turning towards her door. But before she could even reach for the doorknob, Jace's hand latched onto her arm, spinning her back around, his other arm slipping her waist and pulling her body closer to his.
Without even a question forming in her mind, Jace crashed his lips against hers, his hand tangled in her hair. Clary couldn't do anything but melt into him as his mouth moved against hers. Suddenly, all the fatigue she had felt vanished, vaporising into the air.
This kisses didn't last as long as she wanted, Jace parting their lips by pulling back. Clary's eyes still closed, stunned from what just happened. When they finally opened, Jace were merely an inch away from her, his breath managing to tickle her nose.
"Still tired?" he asked softly. When she looked into his eyes, she knew what he was indicating.
Not going to be that easy, Clary thought as a cheeky smile formed on her face.
"Yep," she answered, moving away and into her room, closing the door before Jace even realised. She couldn't help but grin to herself as she leant against her door, hearing Jace curse under his breath followed by a slight chuckle, before his footsteps moved further down the hall.
Despite the longing feeling her body held, she knew it was for the best. She would actually be able to sleep tonight.
Remember, review/fav/follow. I love feedback!
XD