When you run away from something, it never truly escapes you. Maybe it's the sheer memory of it in the back of your mind; maybe it's the whisper you hear on the wind. Or perhaps it's the first thing you think of every morning; still a fresh wound no matter how long it's been. It may have been forever, but here you are, a million miles away, and you're still thinking about it.

Some things go beyond skin deep. Some things leave scars so deep in your mind that they never fade, regardless of time. But somehow, you get through it, and when you come out, you are on top.

Things come and go; fashion, people, and most importantly time. But every second counts. What if you were a minute late to the coffee shop you always go to, and your soul mate left the minute before. What if you never saw him again?

Or what if that driver had looked up a second earlier, or left that party that much earlier? Maybe that person who died would have lived.

Unless you believe in destiny, that a magical force will find us no matter what we do. That even if those two people at the coffee shop never met that day, they would find each other some other time. Or that person who died was going to die anyways; they were going to commit suicide.

Do you believe that we are all broken, that we are all missing a puzzle piece in our life? That there is one person that will complete that?

What about you? Are you broken?

CPOV

Cold. That was the first thought that came into my head as I woke up. The bitter cold seeped into my bones, and I yawned once, hating the alarm clock for waking me up. New York wasn't exactly the warmest place in December, and sometimes I wished I was in Florida, or someplace warm.

But New York was amazing; I wasn't complaining. There was something about the city that made you feel alive, feel like you could do anything. It was as if the city itself had a heartbeat; the honking of the taxis, the talking of the people, and just the crazy chaos that was New York. My favorite thing to do was to sit in a window, and draw what I saw. People, cars, or even a building, it didn't matter.

Art was a way of expressing myself, and a disillusioned reality. What I drew was the superficial world of business and the rich, and the sharp contrast with abject poverty. It reflected my life somehow, especially the fact that my life had been a combination of highs and lows.

"Clary," my roommate, Isabelle groaned, rolling over in bed. "I hate mornings," she complained.

Even with a messy bun on her head, and in an oversized shirt and boy shorts, Isabelle looked stunning. Her beauty surpassed anything mine could ever be; I was simply scrawny with no curves, and a flat chest. There was no way I could feel even remotely pretty around Isabelle, but that was okay. She was my best friend, and she had been my support system when I could barely hold myself up.

"I'm going to Starbucks, okay Izzy? Can I get you anything while I'm there?" I asked her, while looking at myself in the mirror.

I was wearing dark wash jeans, a burgundy cardigan, a black shirt, as well as black boots. My hair was pulled back into a low bun, and I didn't really bother with makeup. Unlike Isabelle, I didn't really care about how much skin I showed, or how sexy I looked. I just wanted to be me, and let people like me for who I really was.

From past experiences, I had learned that it was better to be yourself. Trying to fit in had pulled me under, so deep that it had been so hard to dig myself out of that whole.

"Coffee," she yawned, her head falling against the pillow again. I knew that she'd be in bed practically day; each weekend was pretty much the same for us.

Walking outside, I shivered a bit. Even after a couple years in New York, I still hated winters. After a minute or so, I crossed the street, when the little white man appeared on the signal. Opening the door to Starbucks, I inhaled the scent of freshly brewed coffee, and newly made pastries.

"Clary," Alec greeted me. I had been coming to this Starbucks for as long as I'd lived in New York; it was my little safe haven from the world. It had coffee; I could survive. I had been coming to this Starbucks as long as I'd lived in New York; it was my little safe haven from the world. It had coffee; I could survive. Alec was like a brother to me, which is to say he knew me well enough to embarrass me, and was completely overprotective. Still, I could trust him with my secrets, and he trusted me with his. I'd been the first person he'd confessed to that he was gay.

"Alec," I replied, going to him and giving him a quick hug. Alec was gorgeous, and maybe even hot. His piercing blue eyes contrasted with his dark hair. I'd fallen for him, before I'd known he was gay. He was quiet and shy, and the polar opposite of his boyfriend, Magnus Bane. Magnus was flamboyant, a party animal, and not to mention sparkly. His clothes, his nails, his hair- it all glittered. But they say opposites attract, and it couldn't be more true. You could see in the way they looked at each other that it was meant to be. Like it was destined, before either one of them had even set foot on this earth.

Alec handed me a cup of steaming hot coffee, black, and I inhaled the scent. There had been a time where I had practically lived on coffee, and nothing else.

"Thanks," I said gratefully, and he smiled.

"You and your coffee, Clary. I swear to god, if coffee was a person, you'd be married by now."

I laughed at him, rolling my eyes, and he shrugged his shoulders, turning towards the table he was supposed to be cleaning.

"Hey, Alec?" I asked, my voice timid and hesitant.

"Yeah?" he replied, not even looking my way. It wasn't that he didn't care- I knew he did, it was just that he wanted stop working at Starbucks, and pursue his dreams. Alec was a genius- so genius that sometimes people didn't really understand him. Because of that, he'd kept to himself, in his shell. Once I got to know Alec, I'd wondered why people wouldn't like somebody like him- he was sarcastic, funny, and loyal. There wasn't anybody like him in my life.

"Can I get one of those coffee cakes?" I whispered, looking at the floor.

Alec whipped his head around his face so fast, his hair flew around a second slower than the rest of his body. "Did you just say what I just thought you said?"

I blushed and nodded, staring at the hardwood floor as if there was something new there I hadn't seen before.

Alec grabbed a coffee cake, a napkin, and handed it to me, waving away the money. "Don't worry about it, Clary. It's on the house. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," I swallowed, taking the cake and looking at it straight in the eye. This was just another thing I was going to conquer. Don't think about the calories, or the fat, Clary, I told myself. Doesn't matter, you promised yourself you wouldn't. You can do it, I encouraged myself. Leaning forward, I took a bite, and it tasted really good. But there was a voice nagging me in the back of my head, telling me to think about how much sugar was in this.

Alec came over, and gave me a hug. "You show that anorexia, Clary. You're almost recovered, right?"

"Yeah," I nodded, wanting desperately not to talk about it. "I'm almost done with the outpatient program, and then I'm going to do a bit of counseling. Then I'm done!"

Alec looked like he wanted to say something, but then a blonde boy stumbled in, clearly drunk. Even as a drunk idiot, he was breathtakingly beautiful; even Isabelle paled in comparison. In one word, he was golden. Literally. He had golden eyes, golden hair, and even a golden tan. His clothes were, however black.

"I'm here to take my shift, Alec. Go home and have some fun!" he slurred. He turned towards me, nodded once, and winked. "Nice girlfriend you have there."

"Jace," Alec said softly, "You're drunk, go home. I'll take your shift." He took the boy's- I assumed his name was Jace- shoulder, and pointed him towards the door.

Jace left, and I looked questioningly at Alec. "That's Jace," he sighed, looking worried.

"It's like, seven in the morning. What, did he have vodka with his cereal or something?"

"I think he did," Alec said solemnly. "He's an alcoholic, and there's nothing he can do about it. Apparently, his dad was one too, and got him hooked."

"Hey Alec? I gotta go, see you later," I told him, rushing a bit, grabbing Izzy's coffee. He nodded at me, and turned back to work.

Crossing the road, I walked to our apartment, greeting a half-awake Izzy with a cup of coffee.

"You are my savior, Clary," she said dramatically, taking a long sip of coffee. "Oh my god, I think I am in love," she moaned, dancing a bit with the coffee.

"Um, Izzy? How tired are you exactly?"

"None, now that I've had my coffee," she replied, her voice perky, and obviously under the influence of caffeine. The two of us were coffee addicts. It didn't matter what blend, what brew, or if it was hot or cold. Coffee was our first love, something we couldn't live without.

"Hey, Izzy? Guess what? I had cake today," I exclaimed excitedly. Her face beamed as a huge grin appeared on her face.

"Oh my god, Clare Bear! I am so freaking proud of you right now," she yelled, not really caring who heard her. Pulling me into a hug while bouncing up and down, she began to go a bit mental. I figured that coffee and good news combined was not the best option for Izzy.

"Enough of this, we're going to celebrate," she told me. It was a statement, not a question.

"How?"

"Clary, I think you know," she replied, a mischievous smile dancing on her face, lighting up her features. It couldn't be- no. I refused to even think about setting foot in a mall. The last time I did, terrible consequences such as owning a miniskirt had made my life miserable.

"Not the mall," I whimpered, looking at her with puppy eyes. "Isn't this my celebration anyways?"

"Yes, it's a celebration that you've almost completely beat this anorexia, so you know you are perfect the way you are. And what better way to show that then to wear sexy clothes?"

"I think my clothes are fine," I protested, looking down at my outfit. They were comfortable, well-worn, and I didn't mind them at all. Izzy had another opinion, however, as she tsked, shaking her head.

"Clary, if you want to be seen with me, you have to look at least decent," Isabelle replied authoritatively. "Now, hurry up and put that miniskirt on. No, I don't care about the weather," she added as I began to argue with her. "It's warm inside the mall, anyways. Plus, when I come back, I'll give you a makeover."

Even though I hated the makeovers Izzy gave me, I still let her use me as a life sized Barbie doll from time to time. I knew she was just being Izzy, which is to say completely and overwhelming obsessed about looks. Sometimes, you just have to do nice things for your best friend.

"Fine," I gave in finally. It really was no use arguing with Izzy; she always won. There was an air of confidence around her, no matter what she did- even if she was wrong, that I did not even have remotely.

She squealed, running to her closet, muttering something about Hollister. I hated all the Abercrombie stores, because they were dark, and played really loud music. However, Izzy had every intention of taking me there.

Oh god. What had I gotten myself into?

There you go :O This is different from Familiar Stranger- and I KNOW I'm going to update that pretty soon, if you read that, it's in progress.

Lemme know what you think? I actually worked really really hard on this- can you tell? It's longer than most FS strangers

LEAVE A REVIEW? Pretty please? (insert Clary's puppy eyes here)

Oh, and of course I don't own TMI. Sadly, none of it, though I'm planning on changing that.

Review? Two people will get a sneak peek- just bc I figured out how to use docX.