Hi everyone! It's BubblyFanatic. This is a story idea I've been toying with for a while. It's a little different from the other Fanfics that I've written, so please give me your feedback.
Also, the title comes from the song "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol.
"Clarissa, I'm worried about you," Simon said through the phone.
"I'll be fine," she replied, chuckling drily. "It seems I have a knack for surviving. Keep me updated about London…and don't forget your promise to me."
There was a pause on the other end. "I know. I won't tell your parents anything."
"Good. I'll call you at… 7:45 am, London time. Simon, thanks for everything. I'll talk to you soon."
"Don't exhaust yourself," Simon warned, before hanging up.
Clarissa Fairchild rolled back her shoulders and stood up tall. Here's your chance at a new life, she thought to herself. Make it count.
A week later, she was sitting at the wheel of a canary yellow Honda Accord. Her new boss, Jordan, tapped his feet impatiently. After watching her adjust to the car for a few minutes, he glared at her, "Are you ready to go yet? I honestly have never met a cab driver as slow as you."
Clarissa swiveled and trained her green eyes on Jordan. "Do you know…" She immediately bit her tongue before she could finish her sentence. She internally reprimanded herself. She had been so close to saying "Do you know who I am?", but that would have given everything away.
No. She had to suppress her pride. "…where the turn signal is?" Clarissa finished lamely.
Jordan gave her an exasperated sigh before pointing at the obvious lever. "What did you say your name was?"
"Clarissa Fairchild," she almost said, before stopping herself again. New city, new identity. "Um. Clary. Clary… Fray."
"Alright, Clary. You better haul your butt out of the parking garage and start picking up clients, or you might lose your job before you even begin working."
Clary quick rolled up the window, giving Jordan a nasty look when he wasn't paying attention, and hit the gas pedal. The car screeched as it pulled out of the garage.
"Okay. Okay," Clary repeated to herself, attempting to calm herself down. "The steering wheel is on the wrong side of the car, and you're driving on the wrong side of the road, but that's how people drive in America."
Having driven to the center of Los Angeles, Clary began cruising along the curb.
"Hey! Taxi!" A tall business man called out, waving his arm up and down. Clary slowed down and the passenger climbed into her car. "I need to get to the airport in fifteen minutes or I'll miss my flight."
"Los Angeles International Airport?" Clary asked for confirmation. The man nodded impatiently.
Clary thought to herself, trying to recall the map of Los Angeles she had spent the past few days memorizing. "Umm… alright. We're on Whittier Boulevard, so I'll take I-5 N and… turn right onto 4th Street?"
"Are you kidding me? You turn left onto 4th street. Do you even know how to get to the airport?" The man accused rudely.
Swallowing her indignation, she tried to explain calmly, "It's my first day on the job."
"But all I'm asking is for you to take me to the airport! The airport. You know, the famous Los Angeles airport that everyone knows how to get to?"
"I'm sorry, I'll try to get you there on time." Clary immediately accelerated, thankful that LA traffic was at a minimum today.
16 minutes later, Clary arrived at the airport. The man was red-faced with frustration and anger but thrust the taxi fare into her hands before running off.
She carefully counted the money and noted sourly that the man was three dollars short. It wouldn't usually matter but… Clary wanted to bury her face in her hands. Penniless, friendless, and undoubtedly clueless, she was just a lost Londoner in LA. In an ordinary situation, Clary would have scoffed at the pathetic cash and just paid the extra three dollars for the man, but Clary hardly had any money to spare. As a matter of fact, she hardly had any money at all.
In an ordinary situation, Clary wouldn't even be doing this kind of manual labor. She would be riding around the city in the newest Cadillac sedan, driven by her own chauffeur. Clary shook free of her depressing thoughts and began to drive the cab around, searching for a new client.
Those days are past you, she reminded herself harshly. She pulled by the curb to allow an elderly lady onto the Honda.
Clary braced herself for another angry customer but the old lady simply clutched her purse and asked to go to the local university. Clary turned in the general direction of the university but wavered at the next intersection.
Sensing her insecurity, the lady kindly directed her. "Take a right here and then the next left."
"Thanks," Clary mumbled, unused to needing help.
"Is this your first day as a cab driver in LA?"
Seeing Clary's nod, the lady's features softened with sympathy. "The people in LA can be harsh sometimes, but don't take it too personally. I'm sure you'll be a great driver when you get used to the city."
The rest of the day passed by, and Clary worked hard to keep her temper in check. Some clients were reasonable and reassuring, like the old lady, but others were just as cantankerous—some even more so—than the business man she had driven to the airport. By the end of the day, Clary's fingers were blistered from clutching the steering wheel and her toes were aching from stepping on the brakes, but she wanted to accept one more customer.
The harder you work, the more money you will have, and the easier your new life will be, she reminded herself.
"Hi, where would you like to go?" Clary asked politely, as a man and a woman flagged her down.
Her question went unanswered. "I want to sit shotgun," the woman announced, opening the passenger door.
The man shook his head and clucked his tongue in faux-sympathy. "I don't think you understand. I always ride shotgun." He pried her fingers off the door handle and sat in.
The woman gave him a poisonous glance before firmly grasping his shirt collar and dragging him out of the car. She sat in, smoothed out her dress, and smiled sweetly at him. "Jace, face it, you're sitting in the back today."
The man grumbled but sat in. "Only because I don't want to make a scene in front of the pretty lady," he said, with a glance at Clary.
Clary fought a blush and repeated, "Where would you like to go?"
"Venice Boulevard," she responded, before turning her attention to her perfectly manicured nails.
But Clary didn't start the car. She was gaping at the woman. Her customer was a beautiful, raven-haired woman, with sharp, eagle-like eyes. Her slender arms and manicured hand reminded Clary of her life in London.
"Excuse me," the woman snapped, noticing Clary's eyes on her. "Can you start the car? I want to get home."
"Isabelle," the man in the backseat admonished, "this is the kind of behavior that gets you dumped out of taxis."
Clary looked in the rearview mirror and turned her attention to the man, who was even more striking than the woman. He had long golden hair that was neatly slicked back. His eyes, a piercing shade of gold, suddenly darted to meet Clary's gaze. He chuckled arrogantly.
"C'mon, Missus Cab Driver. Stop gawking at me and watch the road. Although I must say, your Australian accent is quite endearing."
Clary flushed and revved the engine. "I wasn't looking at you. Also, it's a British accent," she retorted.
The man—"Jace", the woman had called him—simply laughed. "Sweet. I love British babes."
The woman turned at snapped at him. "Stop flirting and help me think of an excuse. Mom is going to be furious when we return three hours late."
"Isabelle, why can't we just tell her the real reason? Or do you think that she won't react well if I tell her that you went on a date with Meliorn?" Jace questioned, clearly provoking her.
Isabelle's lip curled with disdain. "Jace Lightwood, one more word out of you and I'll throw my stilettos at you."
Jace pretended to consider her threat before shrugging. "You wouldn't dare scratch my beautiful face."
"You pompous jerk!" Isabelle shrieked, reaching down to take off her high heels.
"Enough!" Clary interrupted harshly. She glanced at the two people wearily. "We're here."
Isabelle peered out the car window and nodded appreciatively. "How much?"
"$62.57," Clary responded monotonously. Isabelle pulled out the cash and left the car. Jace leaned towards Clary from the backseat. "Here's an extra $5. You earned it since you had to put up with my sister's petulance."
Clary didn't even have time to respond before Jace wiggled his eyebrows and said, "Although, if I do say so myself, you should pay me for graciously allowing you in my company."
"If you think for a second that you're the hottest man on Earth, I'm about to shatter your heart with the truth: You're not."
"Don't hate me 'cause you ain't me," Jace smirked before getting out of the car.
Clary rolled her eyes and headed back to her apartment. As soon as she collapsed onto the couch in her barren apartment—it was a tiny two room apartment with only a sofa and a bed so far—she called Simon.
"Did I wake you up?" She asked, concerned. Her phone read 12:15 am, which meant it was 7:15 am in London.
"No," came Simon's relieved answer. "How are you holding up?"
"To be honest? Not great," Clary admitted. "I used most of my money on the rent for my apartment. As for my new job… let's just say that I don't know Los Angeles as well as I should."
She heard Simon's sharp intake of breath. "I wish you brought more money to the United States. I can transfer some money to you, through one of the international banks. I just got my paycheck today."
"No," she responded firmly. "I'll manage. Anyways, my father will be suspicious. I'm sure he's monitoring you 24/7 now that I'm gone."
The line was silent. "Simon?"
"Yeah um," he began hesitantly.
"What is it?"
"The police came by today. They… they asked about Michael."
Suddenly, Clary felt faint. "What…What did my parents say?" She asked breathlessly.
"They pretended not to know anything. Clarissa, this is such a mess."
"Simon, you could leave London and come live in Los Angeles with me. You know that when the police find evidence, they'll go after my parents, and you."
There was another pause. "I'll be fine. I don't have enough money to leave, anyways. Just promise me that you'll stay safe."
"I will."
They exchanged good-byes and Clary promptly fell asleep on the couch, haunted by nightmares about the London police.
She was starting to learn her way around the city. It had taken a few days of driving and lots of screaming from irate customers, but Clary was succeeding. She had gotten every customer home safely and on-time.
Furthermore, it was her birthday today. August 21. Ever since last year, her birthday didn't exactly hold good memories… but Clary shook her head to clear away the thought. Simon was taking care of the situation. For now, Clary could enjoy herself in America. She had just enough extra money to treat herself to some cupcakes—or maybe even a drink at the bar.
The clock in the car read 11:15 pm. The bakery was probably closed by now, so Clary resigned herself to a nice martini.
She drove to the bar, but before she could even park the taxi, a tipsy man had staggered out of the bar. He was wearing an oversized black hoodie that obscured his face. Teetering, he stepped straight into the line of traffic.
"Watch out!" Clary shrieked. Her hand slammed down on the transmission and she pulled up the parking brake, before scrambling out of her car.
Several cars honked as they swerved to miss the man. Clary tackled him and dragged him to the sidewalk.
"Get your boyfriend under control!" A man yelled out of his car window as he sped out of earshot.
Despite knowing it was just an offhand remark, Clary's ears turned pink. What would my father say? she thought, ashamedly, before she shook herself out of her daze. Remember. You're in America. Far away from London and your terrible father.
"Home," the drunk man moaned.
"Yes, okay, I'll drive you home. But you need to get into the car first."
"Whaa?" the man mumbled. Clary sighed and grabbed his arms, slowly pulling him into the car.
"Next time," she grunted, "lay off the Pringles. How can one man be so heavy?"
"Muscle weights more than fat," he slurred. Clary rolled her eyes. Even drunk, this guy was defending himself.
Ten minutes later, when he was finally seated in the car, Clary grinned with accomplishment.
"It's…so…hot," the man muttered, before pulling at his sweatshirt.
Clary grimaced but helped him undo the top two buttons and pulled off his hood. And she gasped.
The man had golden hair. She thought back to the man and woman she had driven yesterday—Jace and Isabelle—and immediately recognized the man. Although drenched with sweat and the smell of alcohol, the man was still undeniably attractive.
"Okay, Jace. Let's get you home."
Clary sank into the driver's seat and started to head towards Venice Boulevard, but she muttered a string of curses when the fuel tank blinked a warning. She was almost out of gas, but she didn't have enough money on her to fill the tank. Clary reached into her pockets and pulled out the $10 she had saved for a drink, before sighing. With the exorbitant gas prices, the two gallons she could buy wouldn't even make a difference.
She pursed her lips before turning her head to look at the unconscious man in her car. "I hope you don't mind, but we're going to my apartment."
Jace, fast asleep, only groaned in response.
Thanks so much for reading the first chapter! I'd love it if you could PM me or review the story to let me know if I should continue.
~BubblyFanatic