Mmmmkay, lovelies. Due to school break, basketball break, and a boyfriend completely absorbed in his new toys (race sled and PS4) I've had a lot of time to think. I know...me...thinking...shocker! Anyways...New story! And btw you're at 19 reviews for Perfect Life Perfect Spike...C'MON PEOPLE! :) Back to the matter at hand, this was an idea I had bouncing around in my head so I decided to give it a shot. No idea where it's headed, and it starts out kind of fast, but not really. The first part is kind of a flashback...you'll see. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and maybe I'll have the second chapter up tonight! :)

Chapter Song:

Wasting All These Tears by Cassadee Pope

"Love you, Clare-bear," he'd told her that day, dropping a chaste kiss on the tip of her freckled nose. His dark eyes, though, they told another story. They were dark, hooded, anxious, and most of all, deceitful. She forced a sweet smile onto her face as she told him goodbye, watching him push through the glass door of her art store, the bell dinging at his exit. As it shut behind him, she pushed her face up against the glass, watching the back of his tailored suit disappear into a taxicab. She waved. He didn't see her.

Throwing on her coat and mittens, she stepped out into the New York winter, securely locking her little store behind her before hailing her own taxi. "The corner of Eighth and Broadway, please," she said clearly, though her insides were shaking. This was the address he had programmed into his phone, along with a cell phone number that he called nearly every day. Her eyes were rimmed in tears she knew wouldn't fall, her mouth quivering with sobs that she'd never let escape. She'd known for months, and she'd be damned if Sebastian Verlac would see her cry over him. Buckling her seatbelt, she rested her head against the seat and let her body sway with the motion of the driver weaving in and out of the New York traffic.

It was a quick drive, no more than ten minutes, surprisingly. "Thank you," she said tersely as she quickly paid the driver. He scoffed at her tip and sped off just as she stepped out. She barely noticed. Her eyes were trained on her husband, who was currently being buzzed into a dingy apartment complex. She set her jaw, red dots spotting her vision as she stomped down the street, not bothering to apologize to the people she accidentally bumped into. That bastard! He'd spent the past three months away from home on "business trips," "working overtime," or "hanging with his work buddies." No wonder she'd been paying their rent from her painting sales. Her good-for-nothing husband wasn't a business man. He wasn't renowned for his ideas and work ethic. He was better known for his mattress skills.

"Sebastian," she growled into the call box, pushing the button that he'd pressed moments earlier, "I know you are up there." She released the button but heard only silence. "It's over, Sebastian Verlac. Or better yet….It never was." She turned on her heel, hearing someone flying down the steps behind her.

"Clare-bear!" Seb cried out, encircling her waist with his once strong, steady arms. Now they seemed constricting, harsh. Clary shook her head and tugged herself free, turning to face him. Her face was set, no sadness or anger showed in her features. Her face was devoid of anything that could suggest the mood she was in.

"Who was it?" she asked in an even tone, staring steadily into his eyes, though his refused to make contact. His mouth twitched before pressing into a thin line. "Who was it?!" She repeated a little louder, drawing the attention of a few bystanders.

"A-Aline Penhallow." Clary made a sound of surprise, her face contorting in disgust.

"Isn't she your cousin?" Sebastian merely shrugged, the façade of remorse falling from his face as Clary shook her head at him. "You stay away from me, Sebastian Verlac. I guess I never really knew you. And now I never want to." With that, she walked quickly away, her head held high as she stuffed her wedding ring deep into her coat pocket and disappeared into the nearest pub. At the bar, she dropped her head into her hands and drowned her disappointment in a tall mug of Budweiser.

That was six months ago. Six months since Sebastian showed up at the doorstep of the apartment they shared, balloons in one hand and flowers in the other. Six months since Sebastian admitted he was cheating since the day they said their vows. Six months since he said she was worthless, that all she was to him was dollar signs. Six months…and she couldn't get the haunting image of the emotionless pits where his eyes should have been, the sound of his voice telling her that she would never be anything and that no one could ever love her. Six months since she'd painted a picture. Six months since she'd actually lived.

Clary rolled out of bed and poured herself a glass of scotch, sinking into the worn chairs she'd fixed and stained with the help of Sebastian, overlooking the sidewalk where they'd shared their first kiss at the restaurant where they had their first date. If she turned her head left, she could see down the hallway and into her bedroom, catching a glimpse of the corner of the bed where she'd given herself to him, and he'd greedily taken her, as he had with several other women every day. The liquor burned in her throat, and ger mouth tasted foul, her vision blurry as she poured her drink down the sink. A mirror would reveal her blood-shot eyes with heavy purple bags beneath them. It would show the unkempt red hair that Sebastian had once called beautiful, that her customers had often admired. It would show the reflection of a girl, lost, confused, lonely. She'd stopped looking in her mirrors month ago, found it was easier not knowing what she looked like.

"Clary, open up, or I swear I will smash this door!" She sighed, recognizing her neighbor's voice instantly. Isabelle probably would break in, but no punishment would be administered to her since her wealthy parents owned the place. The Institute, they called it. It was originally meant to house students pursuing masters degrees, but neither Clary nor Isabelle were still in school. They took business wherever they could find it.

"It's open," she warbled, wincing at the sound of her voice. She knew her breath smelled of alcohol and that her floors were more than disgusting, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. She was wearing one of Sebastian's old t-shirts. It hung past her knees and was about eight sizes too big. But it smelled like him, and that's all that mattered. She heard the door creak but didn't turn to see Izzy's disgusted face as she passed through the threshold. She also didn't care to see the disappointment in her friend's eyes.

She heard stilettos clicking against the wood, and suddenly her chin was being jerked around, Isabelle's scrutinizing black eyes merely inches from hers. They were dark, like Sebastian's (she really needed to stop comparing everything to him), but where his were hard, hers had a sort of softness to them…sometimes. Now, for example, was not one of those times. "Alright, Clarissa Adele Fairchild. I am hosting an intervention." Isabelle, though tall and slender, was surprisingly strong. She dragged Clary from her chair and pulled her into the bathroom, pushing her down in the bathtub and cranking up the hot water.

"Hey!" Clary squealed, attempting to stand up, though Izzy's hands kept her firmly in place. "I'm still wearing my clothes!"

"Good," Isabelle retorted quickly, turning on the showerhead and soaking Clary completely. "They could really use a good washing." She squeezed soap in her hands and began massaging it into Clary's greasy hair, causing a blush to rise in her cheeks.

"Good Lord, Isabelle. I am not a child! I am twenty-four years old for Pete's sake! I can take a shower by myself!"

"Really, Clary? Because you could have fooled me." She stared her friend down for a minute before dropping her gaze to the floor. She couldn't actually remember the last time she'd showered. "My point exactly," she replied to Clary's silence, continuing to scrub her friend's head clean. "You're lucky I'm not one of those friends that stays for the good and ditches for the bad. Like honestly, Clary. You stink." Clary felt tears sting her eyes as reality hit her like a tsunami. She was a mess. Behind on rent, on the boarder of alcoholism, completely ignoring personal hygiene—her life was in ruins. "Seriously, Clary? Why are you even still wearing his shirt." She glanced down at the gray shirt that now clung to her limp frame. It was one of his football shirts from high school. They'd been a typical high school love story. He was the quarterback. She was a cheerleader. They were prom king and queen, both continued on to and graduated from NYU. The t-shirt had his name on the back, and it made her feel like she was still his. Without warning, Isabelle stripped it off her, exposing Clary's skin to the cold bathroom air.

"Stop!" she screamed, covering her body with her hands.

"Oh, puh-lease, Clary. Don't get all shy on me now. Remember that time we went skinny dipping in Hudson. You definitely weren't shy then!"

"Shut up!" Clary yelled, her cheeks flaming bright red, forcing a laugh out of Isabelle.

"You were flaunting everything you had to St. Xavier's entire student body!"

"I said, 'Shut up!' I can finish this shower on my own."

"Please do." Izzy said with backing out of the bathroom with a glint of humor in her eye. From the hallway she added, "Although I'm certain I could find a few boys willing to join you." Clary reached over and slammed the door in Izzy's face, cutting off the rest of whatever she intended to say. She stood up and finished rinsing out the strawberry shampoo, putting conditioner into her curls. She used her green loofa to lather herself in Bath and Body Works body wash, before rinsing off one more time in the now freezing water and wrapping herself in a towel. She picked up her toothbrush and began scrubbing at her dirty teeth, washing away the rancid breath she'd had for days. Her eyes still avoided the mirror poised above the faucet.

"I'm done, Izzy!" she hollered, not bothering to open the door. In typical Isabelle fashion, she burst through the door in an excited chatter and shoved Clary onto the toilet, immediately working a brush through Clary's curls.

"Doesn't that feel better, Clary?" She couldn't help but agree with Iz. It was better. She smelled better. Her eyes were clearer. Her mind was brighter. She nodded slowly as she felt her hair being weaved into an intricate braid. She looked across the floor at the wadded up shirt lying in a puddle of filth on the floor. Her stomach still felt like a lead weight. He heart still thumped hollowly in her chest, but she knew that she somehow had to get up and move on. She'd done it before, but that's something she never talked about, even thought about. She pushed away those memories with a shudder and focused on keeping her tears of failure at bay. Lifting her hand to her mouth, she bit down on the fingernails that were already chewed to the nub.

She felt skilled fingers working over her scalp and heard her friend's steady breaths of concentration. "Hey, Iz?"

"Mmmm?" she replied around a mouthful of bobby pins.

"Thank you for the intervention." Clary knew that she wasn't healed and that she wasn't even close to being better, but it was still nice to know that somebody cared, that somebody didn't stop at her answering machine, that somebody wasn't going to give up on her. She felt Isabelle's breath tickle her hair as she laughed. Clary didn't need to see Isabelle's wicked smile to know it was there.

"Oh, it's not over yet."

Hmmm...what is in Izzy's devious mind? Drop me a review to tell me what you think! :)