A.N.: So, I was bored. Yes, I know I need beta. I still looking for one, but I just one answered me back and later she realize she can't help me.
I writing horror fanfic for TMI, but I still looking for someone that help me fix my mistakes and I need to edit it.
So until then…

You look at yourself at the mirror. Green eyes, short red head, freckles. Short boy dressed in blue denim overalls.

You hate the way you look.

Your mother says you should be proud at whom you are, and that you are her special little child. It's your father you so hard to impress. He always frowned to you, comparing you to your older brother, perfect Jonathan with his perfect white skin and blond faces, the proud of daddy. The one that is very inelegance for seven years old boy, the one that love football and comes home every day dirty from mud. Not four years old Clarke, who insisted that his cloths stay cleans and folding, and spend most of his time on paintings and drawings. Their house is speared to two camps: one is you and mom, and one is your father and brother. Everyone sticks to the one he is most liked.

He.

You. Are. A. Boy.

You hate to be a boy.

Mom came home today with new cloths for herself. She bought new jeans, new boots, and new shirt.

And you not usually likes mom cloths, but those shirt... those sparkles, the red lips in the middle. You like this shirt, Just this once.
You try it on, and your six- years old body swallowed inside the fabric. It's too long. Like a dress. You look just like...

A girl.

You know you spouse to hate been a girl. Your brother always says how week and pathetic are girls. Your father always treats you as a girl when he is mad at you. But you are not a real girl, right? You just pretend, for now.

So you walk over the room with your new dress, and pretended you are a model in a fashion show. And you taking your painting of rainbows and put them all over, and pretend they talking with you. And you remember you are not spouses to act like that, but it hard for you to tell why.
Your mother didn't found that dress- shirt that night.

You took three more dresses before she started to notice they are missing. After the four time mom done some shopping she hides at the closet, and caught you as you try on her new one- pink with unicorn. Your heart skips a beat and you think she would be mad, but to your surprise she is quiet. She hugs you close to her chest and whisper to your ear, "poor child..." and you can't understand why she says it.

She tells you to dress up in your normal cloths and to help her to set the table. Her hands are holdings your, and she seemed sad.

When Jonathan came home from a friend house he see it two. He grubbed your shoulder and asking, "Dwarf, what you have done to mom?"

You tight up your lips. Jonathan always annoyed you, but lately he is more annoying from usual. When you see him come back home after he play ball with his friends, all sweaty and stinky, you see a millions of butterflies in the back of your head. And you don't know why he makes you feel like that, but you know you do rip between to love this feeling to hate it.

"I don't know," you grumbled, and your brother slaps your head.

Like the good boy you are- boy, you are a boy- you eat your pasta and chicken like that every good kid do, and not talking in full mouth like your brother.
You mother is silence, and look at you with her sad eyes. You barely understand it yet.

"Where are the rest of my shirts?" Mom asks.

You pretending you did not noticed and keep drawing the unicorn, with brave prince sitting on the above, blond and tall.

" Clarke, where are my other shirts?"

You keep silent. Part of you still believes that if you be quiet, she will leave it.

Your mother sits next to you, and looking at your draw. "You are really talented," she whispers.

You don't responded, just when you taking green color for the grass your mother reaped out your draw. You look at her, surprised, as she ripped your art.
It wasn't the first time mother got rid of your drawing. She always throws your rainbows away before dad arrives home. But this time it was different, like she wanted not just that dad won't see it, but to get rid of it completely.

"Listen," mother took one of your hair locks with two fingers. You begged for mom and dad that will let you grow your hair, and yelled as hard as you can so they won't cut it up. The other kids at class call you 'girl' because of your hair, but it doesn't feel right to make him shorter. "I love you just the way you are, Clarke, not matter what make you feel good. You are my so- my child, and I accepts you at every way you chose to live. But there are people outside that could not understand you, so it better to keep it as secret, ok?"

"Yes mom." You nodded. And forget immediately what she said.

Mom and you are different after that. She smiles less, and you sometimes hearing her cry from her bedroom. But she also brushes your hair that longed until your belly bottom. And sometimes you two are drawing both of you. You like be with mother, to let her dress you up in her cloths, to help her cook and play make believe.

Jonathan noticed in this, and seemed to be mad at him. One night, after you finished your shower and went out he caught you and drugs you over his room. His room is painted in blue, with posters of Jonathan favorite footballs team players. "You little thief!" he yell.

"What have I done?" You ask, and gain hard slap.

"You stealing mom!" He blamed you, and pushes you back to the wall. You tight your towel around you- it covers you from your chest to your foot- and look up in trying not to look at his eyes. "I see it! She never around me anymore just with you, you, and you!" He pocked you with his finger with every word he said.

You bite your lower lip. From some reason, you like having him so close to you. His head, so clouds to you, and his body hit warms you up. "I didn't steal mom!"

"Don't lie to me! I know layers when I see them!"

You hear the main door slams. Jonathan gives you his final deadly look, and step away from you like you descant him. "Stop taking mom." He threat at you, and walk out to welcome dad.

Every year that past, you started to realize more what mom meant.

No boy at the class wants to be your friend. They always talking about sports, and farts, and things you don't like to talk about. They are stupid, and when you walk next to them they pretend they can't hear you.

The girls hates you two. You can't talk with them about you dresses and your special time with mom, because she never allow you to talk about it, so there is nothing more to talk about. Sometimes you think they pointed at you when you walk.

The record is came when they sees you drawing hearts at the class. One of those boys- some arrogant boy named Raphael- taking your notebook and moved it over the class, so everyone can see your privet drawing. Some of the boys are laugh and making sounds of kiss to you, and some are yelling, "Fag!"

You cry until the end of the day, and Mrs. Herondale stays with you as the rest of the children are leaving. She calling your mom to pack you up and both of them are whispering to each other stuffs you can't hear.

After mom talked with you about it, you swear you never draw things like that in class, never. How sad that the damaged is already done: now the kids are yelling at you at names like "homo!" and "fag!" They throw paper balls at you, and making clear effort to stay away from you. You feel wrong, not belong.
And you have no idea why.

Jonathan caught you by surprise one day.

You thirteen years old and your hair cut off tight after your hips. After that day in the class you didn't wanted to play with mom anymore 'make believe'. You stopped wearing this dresses and started to draw Spiderman and skulls, things that the other kids were probably like if it wasn't you who draw them.

That day was one of your worst. Raphael put something brown that you didn't wanted to know what it was on your chair, and made you sit on it. Everyone make fun of you. You wanted to cry.

As you get home, the first thing you have done was to run to your room and get out from your hide moms shirt with the lips. You grow from the day you first saw it, and as you wearer it than the shirt ended only a few more inches after your hips.

You looked at yourself at the mirror, and saw small mustache starting to grow over your lower lip. Your chest is flat and hips straight. No boobies are starting to grow. They never will.

You testing your own reflection and ask yourself- am I pretty? From that red curls two the boozes cheeks. You look little girly at the face, and that make you think you do have something pretty. Still, the childhood footsteps are starting to gone, and the sign of girly are gone with it. You hate it. You hate yourself.

Creak from the floor is waking you up from your thoughts. You look behind, and see your brother standing there, watching you. He looks shocked, anger, and confused. You know he sees the women in you. Your heart stopped pounding.

"You..." he studies you from up to down, his gaze has delayed on your neck."What the hell are you wearing?"

You can't say anything. You know nothing you can say he would like.

Jonathan walks in the room. His sixteen years old body is build well from football plays and basketball. It made your belly twisted to think about it. He grubbed your hair and pulled it hard, like he was trying to ripe it out of your head. "I asked you a question!" He raises his voice over you. "What the hell are you wearing?"

You shrink, some because of the pain and some because of his voice. Because not matter how upset Jonathan was, or anger or annoying, he never sounded so disappointed. "It's one of mom's old shirts," your voice is shaking. It just started to change. "She almost never wears it, and I like it so..."

The punch in your eye shuts you out. You feel like the ground ripped under you feet, and falls down. He stabiles you with his hands, you are so breaking and fragile in his arms, and he so strong and mighty. The two complied opposite of the Morgenstern family. "How long it last?"

You touch lightly at your eye. Swallow. "I don't know."

Jonathan coursed, and you can't look at him. You know all you see is disappointed, and madness. Jonathan never loved you. He always knows that you are the weaker, the pathetic one. He never wanted little brother.

Your brother fingers touching lightly your long hair. "This was what changed you," he said throw closed teethes. "If no one were let you grow this crap then maybe... maybe..."

You find yourself starring at his abs. He wear white shirt, that done nothing to hid his mussels, and with that shirt... ho god.

Jonathan played with your hair for what have seemed like hours. When you hearing the main door opens up, both of you jumped. Faster than you can get he punched you again, this time at jaw. "I'm going down stairs to talk with him," he said threat, "and you better think on a believable story for your face. When you came down, I want to see my brother." He bold this word, and you hearing all he said behind it.

After he left you wearing black jeans and old t- shirt Jonathan used to have. You wait in your room few more seconds, until you finally brave enough to get out.
Dad and Jonathan are talking at low voices, and you can't find yourself calm. Mom is at the kitchen, making chips, and you want to come and hide in her warm hug but fear too much.

Dad sees you, and says, "Clarke! Nice of you to join us," even that it so obvious he thinks it's not nice at all. By the expression on his face you don't think Jonathan told him what he saw, but you never can be too careful. He caught a curl from your hair, and unlike your brother his touch is gentle as feather, almost like he doesn't want to touch it. "When do you cut off that hair?"

You don't respond.

Your father is back to interest at his older son: how was footballs, how those things at class, how his girlfriend- Seelie- feel, how Sebastian. His brother talked with him about all those questions, and not tries to change the subject.

Valentine Morgenstern sits at his place at the head of the table. He wears gray suit and red tie that matches his wife hair. She gives him chicken and raise, kiss him on his cheek, than sit at the other side of the room. The children are at the middle. Valentine is busy at eating, and doesn't notice the quit around the table.

At night, you feel the sheets pulling from you. You turn your head around, and surprised to see your brother standing there, wearing only treeing pants. "Jonathan?" you ask, half sleeps. "What are you...?"

He puts his hand over your mouth. You twisted, but you noting to escape. Your bed stands against the wall. You see him climb over, and covered up in your blanket, but can't say anything. And as he starting to kiss your neck violently, you feel like you drowning.

It's not feels good like in the movies.

It hurt.

That is big.

It almost makes you bleed.

And when your brother finally finish and release his juice inside, he came out fast from your bed like he is on fire. He gives you sharp slap before wearing back his pants and saying, "not a word."

You hear the door closing, but can't let your tears fall.

Tomorrow morning, none of you is the first to make eye contact. It's Sunday, and since your family never was relies, all you do is be at home all day normally. There are so many questions you want to ask him- why? How culled he? What about Seelie? - But how can you when your father is at home, and can find out?

It's about seven pm when he enters your room, with no permission. You wearing your normal cloths but as he looks at you from down to up, you know all he sees you at mom old shirt. He holds tight your wrist and gives you strong kick between your legs. "Feel it?" He says.

You nod. Your eyes fill with tears.

"It means you are a boy. Don't ever forget it."

But at that night he comes back to your room again. Makes you feel dirty and used, then an abomination, a freak.

It happened again for few more weeks before your father decided you need new hair cut.

You forgot to tie your hair up, and dad came back home and saw how long it was. He took one curl from your red hair and says, "Just like your mother, ha boy?"

You look away, not sure what you can say in retune. Every commend you want say can be summand in one sentence- "I love it."

He ignored you at the rest of the diner, talking with your brother about his biologic test, and you took it as a good sign. After dissert you and mother taking off the dishes and he said, "Clarke? Can I talk with you at my bedroom?"

The thought of been alone with dad at the bedroom make your body stiffed. You look at your mom and Jonathan for salvation. Both of them looked away and turn everyone to his business.

Dad stands you in front of the mirror. He taking big seizers and force you to watch as he taking one of your curls. "It won't come out sight," he said, and cut off the first lock from your hair. "But you are going to see like a boy again after that."

You look at the mirror. You are thirteen years old boy and your birthday coming up soon. Your hair falls around, lock by lock, curl by curl. You want to raise your hand and protect your head from dad, but your arms are close to your body and you fear too much to move.

Dad whistles at the end. "Who is it the boy at the mirror?"
Who is it, really? You don't want to believe it is you. He freckled all over his face, and green eyes with long eyelashes. Something is girly at the face, but the short hair is gone. You look just like your mother, at the male version.

You hate this boy you see, and want to tear up his skin from you. He is too much manly, and not at the way you want to look at all.

"Thank you dad," you force yourself to say in your voice that just started to change.
Mom says nothing about it. That night, Jonathan gives you his baseball hat.

Everyone at your class date with girls: Raphael date with Kealie, Aline date with Alec, Simon date with Isabelle.

You want to attractive to one of the girls in your class. You sixteen, Jonathan had at your age a girlfriend. They are still together, learning at the local collage. Dads perfect boy.

It's like you hadn't tried. You look at those girls, and try to think about their breast and asses. It just that no matter how hard you try, it still hard to look at them and think they are attractive. You like the way they looks, their soft skin and bright smile, the colors the use to their lips.

Why you look at them and don't want to kiss them?! Why all you can think about when you see their shirts is not "god you such a teas," but "where have you bought it? I wonder how it will look on me!"?!

Lately, find yourself spends time thinking about your gender. You noticed the way Alec eyes are blue, thought that with the right hair cut Simon can be so h-ho-h-ho-t. What the hell is wrong with you?!

You are a boy. And now, you are even men. You need to be interacted about million other things then how shinny Magnus hair looks like, or how much you jealous at Camil! Dad would be mad. Jonathan will be furies. Mom disappointed.

Take off your cloths. You don't have breast, not matter how much you plays with you nipples and wished it grow. Earlier you saw something that made it worse- red, thin, hair. Started grow in your chest.

You ripped it with furies and ignored the pain. Then covered by your arms and cried.

Now you take your member in your wrist. Man. That is what you are. Man. And not matter how hard you try to make it gone, it still hanging between your legs; reminds you your gender. You pull it strong and try to imagine Kealies bare breast, Aline wearing bikini, even Seelie- every girl.
Yet, the only thing you can see when you finally come is Alec blue eyes.

Dad comes back from work when you didn't hear. You too busy by play with mom dresses. Wearing her blue one, with flowers, that matches to Alec eyes. Your hair is as long as your shoulders now, and your mother keeps tell you to take a haircut. It doesn't bother you. You let yourself pretend you were born as a woman, and you can wear dresses as much as you want. You can't hear dad heavy footsteps, until they enter the room.

Both you look at each other, surprised. You see the exact moment your father understand what you wearer, and saw the surprised changed to anger. He yells "What the hell!?"

You want to get out from the room, but your feet stuck at the ground.
Your father shakes. His skin matches your hair. He screams bottle- call as he going over you and drugs you with your hair to the bathroom. He slammed your head against the mirror, and the glass cut your skin. He yelled again "What the hell?!"

You want to say anything, anything! You want to yell "yes! This is my dad! I love dresses! I love to be like a girl!"

All you can do is cry.

Dad slammed your head again and again against the mirror.

When mom comes home, she fined a note that says you at the hospital.

Dad prepared you all the way there. When the doctors are asking, you said that you slide by accident when you walk to the shower.

Dad waits outside. He changed your clothes to jeans and shirt, and still wearing his expansive suit. You want to spit on him, but you have no sticks.

When your mother fined your room, she cried. You woke up and found her sit next to you, her wrist holding your hand.

You ask softly "Mom?"

She stops her tears from fall and almost throws herself over your body. You drown at a shower of kisses and hugs.

Later you ask her, "where's dad?"

Her smile is gone. "Let's never talk about him."

Your new home is smaller, and you and mom sharing a room. None of this is matter to any of you.

Mom keeps mumbled she were needed to do it a long time ago, but you see the sadness in her eyes and wondered if she is right.

She started to call you Clary, and that is a blessed change as well. You two went shopping together and all your old clothes throw away. It's true that the bands shirts are still there, and sometimes you rather pants over skirts, but there is no doubt you wearing cloths dad were never allow you to wear. The braid on your back let the world see how long your hair is, and it makes you so happy. At the new school they treat you like a girl, and some of the boys have asked you out. You refused.

Almost every monument you look behind your shoulder, fear to see shadow at the wall. Close, small, rooms just make it worse; you still can feel from the body that will get inside your bed.

You are not a girl. And not mattered how hard you try, you can't delete Clarke.

Estrogen. You get inside your body every day, and yet you don't feel like it is fully works.

Mom has a new boyfriend. Luke. You are not sure what you think about him, but at list he made mom stop crying at the shower. When you two are met mom is stress at start, but all he do is smile and ask you, "so, you like the doors?"

You two share taste at music, at books and movies, and with every minute that past mom start to smile wider.

You looking at his eyes discuss from who you are, this look at this eyes that busy at money only, but all you see it warms. You find yourself share stories at your past, about your hobbies, and when you say accidently, "when I used to be Clarke" and your mom stop smiling, all Luke is done is to encouraging you to continue.

You can't stop thinking something is wrong, and wait to the minute his face twisted when he talk with you or laugh at you with mock. You know no one is ever that respect full or nice, and that he thinks you are abomination just like every other person you used to know.
That night you cry.

When you eighteen you done with the surgeries.

Your mom was there with you. Luke two. He said that after the surgery you two go eat ice- cream, and made you laugh about his unknowing about medical.
Mom is the one that nerves. "From where do we get the money?" She keeps ask, even that you paid on this from your own money and Luke volunteered to pay half. "Don't do anything you regret about!"

But you must do it, from reason you could never tell her. Even that you haven't saw your father and brother for over two long years, you still think you hear them walking behind you when you cross the room. Clarke is there, watching at you. He is there so when dad and Jonathan will come they culled easily drug him out, reminded you who you are.

You can't. Not now, not ever.

The only way you know to make sure it will never happened is if you would kill Clarke, and let the reminder you see every time you take off your pants go away.

The doctor are all nice, their talk with you gently, and ask if you want to hear music before they make you sleep. You choose not.

When you wake up, that ugly thing is gone for good. You keep look and can't believe it, and the feelings make you daisy.

Still, at night, you keep thinking it still hang there, waiting for the next time you are naked to show at his full long. It terrified you, and you can't let go from it.

It is Friday, and you drawing at your sketchbook old lady wearing a hat when shadow fall on you behind. You slammed your notebook to your chest and ready to jump and run away.

What you see makes your heart stop. Golden lion, that's what he was, golden hair and golden skin. His smile reviles one brake teeth, and you think it is the one thing that is not perfect in him. You never stranded next to man handsome as him like that before. You always walk one step back when they start to talk with you, fear from what they are planning to do. "Can I sit?"

You nodded, unsure. Is this some kind of joke?

But the handsome man sits in front of you. He smile wider and pointed over your sketchbook. "That's good sketch."

You hissed. "Thanks."

"I love it. Wonder if one day you could draw me like that?"

You not say anything, and let him talk about himself. The most he added the better. His name is Jace, he love mu- shu and hates docks. His favorite color is black, and favorite book is "between two cities."

When he stops talking he looks at you, expecting, but all you do is go back to your sketch.

His hand caught your wrist before you move the pan. You stiffed, and he said, "I never met a girl that can be more interesting than me. Please, at list tell me your name."

Girl. He called you a girl. "Clary," you said immediately.

At the next half hour you two talked about names, his cat, and TV. You find out that Jace don't want kids, and when you say you don't want either he grubs your phone and wrote his number. "Call me," he said, and then he leaves.

When he is gone, you can't get rid of this stress full feeling. Was it something that you did? Have you told him somehow who you used to be and that disgust him?

At the next day you come back to the coffee- shop, hoping to see him again. He is not there, but someone else does.

He sit at table for two, and you two shared eye contacted at the second you in. He hadn't changed at the years that have gone his skin still pale and his hair blond- white. But his eyes are hunted, dull, and he played bored with sugar pack.

He stands up quickly. "Clarke," he says.

You took one step back, watching him flinched. "Clary," you said quiet.

He study you from up to down, see how much your hair is logger, how your breast filled and your cloths changed to black skirt and doll shows. You wondered how he can identify you after all those years- maybe after all you still stayed man.

You think he is coming to punch you and rise up your arms, but he just pointed at the chair in front of him. "Sit."

He careful with every movement you do. You know you shouldn't fear- you at a public's place- and still you shaken.

He licks his lower lip. "Dad is dead."

That's make big stone gone from your chest. Part of you feels sad, but it so small you barely feel him.

"He killed himself, after you two gone. The layer saw you two are not at his will and didn't try to make contact with you. Seelie got the part you spouses to have. We get married next week. Will you be there?"

You can't look him at the eyes.

"Sorry, stupid idea. Well, if you change your mind, I will be happy to see you there."

Before you can produce it he lowers his lips over the table and kisses yours. He whisper softly, "you are beautiful," and stand.

After he is gone, you still feel him. You understand what he says and for the very first time, you feel safe.

"Hello?"

You don't know what to say. You look at yourself at the mirror. Green eyes, long red head, freckles. Short women dressed in blue shirt.

"It's Clary," you say finally.

"Clary! I so glad you call. Want to meet?"

"Sure! Want to go to a movie at seven at the cinema next to java johns?"

"There is nothing I would want more."

You two hung up, and you look at yourself at the mirror. It is the first time you let the world see your smile without bitterness.

OK. So it's came out weird. But I like it.