Heey guys! So, this idea has been bothering me for awhile. At first, I thought: I should make it a one shot! Why the hell not? But then this whole background came to me, and I knew I had no choice. ;) It will be OOC, by the way.

Thanks to maxwaylandgrey for being my beta for this story :3 You be AWESOME.

Let me know what you guys think!

Could you be the one to release me? (Oh release me)
Waiting for your love,
Oh to free me, so release me

Clary sat in the back of her mother's minivan, the most casual car she owned. One she didn't even have the nerve to drive. She had to send her boyfriend, Luke, to pick her daughter up at the airport. Clary doubted her mom's ability to care for her more often than not, and she would let her know more than enough times this summer. This summer would be hell, and this car ride was her ticket to it.

She watched as the mountains disappeared, watched them become silhouettes, black shadows she glanced back at. She didn't want them to disappear, because the farther away from the mountains they got, the closer they got to the beach, where her mother's house is—her new beach house. Clary wished she could get away from this car and from where it was taking her. The mountains, however dangerous, seemed like a great escape. She could just run free; free of her mother and her expectations, free of the fancy drinks and the parties and galas her mom went to every night.

"We're here," said Luke, craning his neck sideways to look at Clary, who just stared at the house—her mother's beach house—like she had just arrived to hell.

And, in her opinion, it was true. The house just needed a sign that said "WELCOME TO HELL" and it'd be perfect.

Hastily, she opened the car door and stepped outside. This was California, which meant she would see typical blondies running around with their freaking tanned, skinny bodies, waiting for an equally perfect person of the opposite sex to feel them up. Clary rolled her eyes, the car's mirror reflecting what she wore: black hoodie, black pants, and her beat-up converse. Her flaming red hair didn't exactly give her the look she was going for, but she refused to dye it. Her untamable curls flew all around her face every time a gust of warm, humid wind blew. She was too pale for this place. All in all, her appearance didn't make her fit in, not that she wanted to. But her mother would hate it. Clary smirked at the thought.

"Come on," Luke said, materializing in front of her. He didn't look like the type to go out with her mom. But, then again, Luke had known her for a long time. He remembered the times when she was nice, when she brightened up their glum days, when she baked cookies and hugged Clary tightly and said she was her baby girl. Clary missed her mom—that version of her, at least. Minus the baby girl part because, well, the thought of her mom calling her "baby girl" when she was about to turn sixteen made her cringe.

"My things are still on the back of the car," Clary said to Luke, snapping herself out of it. Remembering the old times wasn't worth anything. Her old mother vanished long ago. No one knew what happened—it was sudden. After a phone call. Since that day, she hadn't been the same again.

"Clary," Luke said, his tone suggesting that she was asking the most ridiculous question. "We have a butler."

Right, she thought sourly. Of course you do.

The beach house was huge. Not huge like their home in New York City—one that could hold more than fifty people if they wanted to stay over—but still huge. This house had three floors. It looked almost like a hotel building with its countless windows facing everywhere. The house was fairly new. After getting kicked out of her last boarding school in Montana, her mother decided it was time to bond; spend some time together and away from the city. Clary had to agree, since she was given no choice. If she didn't go spend a summer with her mom, she would be spending the rest of her life in some military school.

Luke led her inside as if he knew the place by heart. Clary frowned, wondering how many other houses her mom kept hidden away from her. After all, they hadn't exactly communicated since . . . Well, since her mother became distant, and Clary learned to deal.

Inside, the house was beautiful. So unlike a beach house it irritated Clary that her mother called it that. Or, even more, it irritated her that it didn't look like a beach house, even though it should. Little things, Clary thought, made her mother who she was before. She used to label things, make them all distinct. When she changed, it was like everything blurred and because the same. Like it didn't matter anymore. The house was decorated more like a palace, with a chandelier lamp hanging from above, its twinkling crystals welcoming Clary to her home. The floors were tiled as fancily as the ones in every other one of her houses. Everything was white and gold and red, instead of green and blue and yellow, as she imagined beach houses should look like. Clary shook her head.

"Clary!" a voice called from upstairs, a voice that sounded too happy to be sober, too high to be real. It was fake, and nasal, and it reeked of alcohol. Clary knew all of this, even the reeking part, before she got close to the woman looking down at her.

Her mother descended the stairs carefully, step by step, high heels clacking against the marble floor. She wore a skirt that was good enough for a woman her age, a lacy blouse as a top, a blazer over it, dark red hair in a bun.

That was Jocelyn Fairchild.

"Jocelyn," Clary replied, voice empty.

"I'm your mother, so you call me that." Jocelyn eyed her daughter up and down. "Stand up straighter. And do you really still have that thing on your nose?" She shook her head at her daughter.

"Mom," Clary said through gritted teeth, "it's just a nose ring." One that she had gotten the night before her mother sent her to Montana. Her mother had cursed on her a million times, saying it didn't look proper, but Clary refused to take her ring off.

"Clarissa, that's what ears are for." Jocelyn placed her hands carefully on her daughter's back, taking deep breaths as if it could calm her down and make her forget the fact that she regretted asking her daughter to come.

"I don't like earrings." Clary shrugged. Somehow, making her mom miserable made Clary feel more at home with the place.

"Tomorrow night, I want it off. At least for the night," Jocelyn said, glaring at the ring as if it had a soul and the glare hurt its feelings.

"What's tomorrow?"

"Social event. We are going to the Lightwood residence. You better look nice," Jocelyn threatened. With that, she stormed off, muttering something about not having a dress.

Clary saw the butler storm past her—or try to, at least. He couldn't walk as fast as her.

"I'll take it," she said, motioning to her suitcase. The butler started to object, but Clary cut him off by saying: "I insist." He let out an exasperated sigh and nodded finally. She smiled shyly and gratefully, however she mustered that, gathered her stuff, and started making her way up the stairs.

One summer, she told herself. Just one summer.

/

Jace woke up with a pounding head and a frown. Before he opened his eyes, he knew what had happened the night before, and he liked it. He liked it too much, but he was going to regret it today, and how could he forget today? Last night was a pre-party, him getting ready to show off his girlfriend, Kaelie, who lay naked under the bed sheets, to the whole world—or, at least, the people in it that counted for his parents—adoptive parents, he reminded himself. The Lightwoods were like his parents, but not his real ones, because those were dead or some shit like that. He didn't know.

He didn't even want to think. Everything hurt—moving his eyes. He decided to go back to sleep with a groan, so he lay down by Kaelie's side again and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come to him easily, but no such luck. His frown and bad mood worsened as he realized he'd have to dress up, and he fucked up his last good suit the night before. He wore it for the hell of pissing off his parents. But, now, eyeing the very expensive suit that lay on the floor, the one that cost a fortune and now had alcohol spilled all over it mixed with what seemed like vomit, it seemed like he needed a new one.

Kaelie stirred by his side. "Jace?" she mumbled.

"Kaelie," he replied evenly. He didn't even like her that much. She was just hot, good in bed, and the kind of girl his parents approved of—at least in public, anyway. She was so damn annoying and clingy. He didn't know how much it'd last—he didn't even want it to last.

"Are you mad?" She sat up straighter, then raised a hand to her forehead and moaned. "What happened last night?"

"What do you think?" he asked pointedly, rolling out of bed before she could start anything. He was not in the mood, not at all—especially not for her stupidity.

"What?" She sounded angry then. "What'd I do now?"

"Nothing, Kaelie. I'm just naturally pissed off at . . . life," he replied, before saying something he'd regret later. "You should get going. Big event tonight."

She rolled out of bed and walked up to him, clinging to him like a puppy, hands touching places that shouldn't have been touched. "I like it when you're mad. It's sexy."

"It's annoying, and it doesn't feel sexy to me, so get out." He waited for her to obey her. She took her hands off of him, kissed him, and stormed out of the room. She was still wearing only her underwear, but his family was used to it. They liked her—or at least they faked it. They didn't mind.

After Kaelie left, he put on a clean shirt, brushed his teeth, and ran a hand through his hair. With that done, he stormed down the stairs. His breakfast was ready before he arrived, everything he wanted. He swallowed the damn plate whole, complaining about how hungry he was the whole time. Isabelle watched him, amused.

"Does this always happen after sex?"

"For me? Nah," Jace said. "I'm naturally hungry."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Everything's natural, I get it. Are you ready for tonight?"

"No," he admitted. "Haven't got a new suit."

"Why do you need another one?" Isabelle asked. She gave him a once-over, and then said: "Oh, shit. Dad's gonna kill you."

"No shit, Sherlock," Jace snapped just as Alec strolled down the stairs, past him, and into the kitchen.

"Hello to you too," said Isabelle. "Why is everyone being so rude?"

"We don't like you," Jace said, finished his juice, and stood up to leave. He looked at Isabelle. "Help me shop?"

"In your dreams." She snorted.

"Shop for what?" Alec asked, leaning over curiously.

"A new suit," Isabelle said before Jace could open his mouth. "The last one has been in places I don't even want to know. He wore it last night."

"Oh," Alec said knowingly. Did everyone know about last night?

"Okay, well," Jace said, "if anyone wants to be awesome enough to help, I'll be up in my room. Until then, the event is cancelled for me."

"You can't do that!" Isabelle said, outraged.

"Watch me," Jace mouthed, and then ran up the stairs and into his room. Of course he couldn't stop it, but he loved messing with Izzy.

He cleaned up his room as best he could, leaving a few bottles thrown around. It gave him his reputation, which no one had clarified enough yet. He sighed, thinking of tonight's event. He really, really didn't want Kaelie to be his girlfriend. Really. He'd date Isabelle over her, and that was saying a lot more than he wanted to say.

A knock on his door snapped him out of a daze he hadn't noticed he was on.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"It's me," said Maryse, his adoptive mother. Jace walked over to the door lazily and opened it, trying to look bored and spoiled.

"Good morning," Jace said.

"Jace." Maryse said his name like an annoyed sigh. "Clean up the room. There'll be people coming. Jocelyn Fairchild with her soon-to-be husband and her daughter—they're coming, too. They're old family friends. I want you to be nice, well dressed, and polite."

"Fine," he replied. "I told you I would be."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "There is something else. May I?"

He didn't get it until she was inside his room, shutting the door behind her. She sniffed, scrunched up her nose in disgust, and made a few disagreeing comments before getting to the point, and Jace was relieved to hear it.

"I don't want your girlfriend here tonight."

"Why not?"

"She's too . . . slutty." She didn't sound comfortable using the word. "She's not appropriate for a gala."

Jace didn't mind the idea of his girlfriend staying home, but he had a doubt, so he asked, "Wasn't the whole point of this to show her off?"

Maryse sighed, reconsidered her words, and nodded. "You're right. Bring her. But she better be wearing something nice," she warned, and with those words, she was out the door.

Can't wait, Jace thought sourly. Without another thought about Kaelie, he finished cleaning up. He called one of his many butlers, one called Charles, and ordered him to get him a coat. After giving him the measurements, he hung up and waited. He watched TV. And then he called Kaelie, when he got really bored.

"Hey, babe," she purred.

"Maryse said you need to wear something nice. Something decent," he added, wondering what the word nice meant to her when it came to clothing.

"Like what?" she asked, and Jace could practically see her furrowed brow, trying to figure out what decent clothing was. He shook his head.

"I'll be there in twenty," he said, hung up, and got dressed. Newly ready, he called Charles again and ordered for his suit to be taken to Kaelie's house. He gave the address, hung up the phone, got into his car, and drove to his girlfriend's house.

The California weather wasn't one Jace appreciated. Being from New York, he was used to cold weather. But his parents had insisted on going to their beach house for the summer, and he had no choice but to fly over there with them. Two days after his arrival, he hooked up with Kaelie. He didn't know why, and he didn't remember much. He remembered a club, a bunch of drinks, her blonde hair and her annoying voice. And the sex.

That he remembered.

He shook his head. He couldn't believe how amazing she'd been. California girls lived up to their reputation. Before Jace could even taste another girl, not even feel her up, Kaelie kept showing up, over and over, and he knew she thought they were together. His parents liked her at first—her parents were rich people, as rich as his parents—but they changed their minds later on. Jace didn't blame them.

He was in front of her house—her apartment, that is. Her parents lived in San Francisco, and she came to LA looking for more action.

"They said LA people partied more," she'd explained to him once with a shrug.

Whoever said that didn't lie.

Her apartment was fairly small. She bought it with her own money, apparently—money that had come from her dad, because she sure as hell didn't work. He knocked on her door. One annoyingly long minute later, she was there, twirling her hair with her fingers and wearing only her underwear.

"Damn it, Kaelie," he said, pushing past her. She turned him on, but he didn't let it show. "We need to find you a dress, not have sex in the middle of your living room." He heard the door close.

Kaelie stood in front of him in a flash. She held out her arms and placed them in his chest roughly, grabbing his shirt with her fists. She pushed him into the sofa. He grunted softly, but not because of the pain. Only a little bit because of the pain. Mostly because she was taking his pants off while rubbing herself all over him, and he liked it, but he also knew that he meant business that day. She, however, just wanted the sex.

He sighed. He didn't protest as she took his clothes off. He definitely didn't protest when she grabbed both of his hands and placed them on her bare boobs, then continued to trail them down until he had to do the work himself. Then, when he was feeling more like the old him, he pushed her down to the floor. She moaned the minute he was inside her.

The sex ended quickly. It lasted about ten minutes, maximum. Jace was glad. He wasn't angry anymore, but he had to act like it.

"Happy?" he said, sounding as annoyed as he could muster. He was tired. Damn it.

"Yes," Kaelie said, her voice giggly. She started touching him everywhere, making him shut his eyes. He swatted her hand off after he had enough, put on his clothes, and told her to do the same, voice hard.

"Let's see," Kaelie said, running a hand through her clothing. Most of her shirt exposed everything except her boobs. Her dresses . . . Jace didn't want to think about those.

This was disastrous.

He found a semi-decent dress, one that looked like something Isabelle might wear. It was long, long enough to cover everything. It was a dark purple, a shade he actually appreciated. It had a V-neck, which was the only problem, but not really. He wanted her to look sophisticated, not like a fucking nun.

"I wore this to my Dad's wedding," she said, her voice soft—but still annoying. Jace faked a look of sympathy and awe or whatever face it was that guys in those cheesy movies made. She bought it, smiling at him, nodding eagerly when he asked her to try it on.

She looked decent, her blonde hair contrasting nicely with the color of the dress. He smiled, pleased with his choice. And he knew he was going to love slipping the dress out of her.

He walked over to her. "Don't wear anything underneath," he whispered in her ear, and then he headed out the door, but not before winking.

He deserved a fucking Oscar.