So, I highly suggest listening to Imagine Dragons' song, Demons. It's amazing! I can totally see it in the TMI movie that's coming to theaters in August. I'm so excited for that, by the way. I hope they don't mess it up and add random things, or leave out the important stuff. Any who, enjoy!

Disclaimer- I do not own The mortal instruments... duh.

My Demons; the Story of the Real Fallen Angel:

Chapter One- Back to the Past then Back to the Present

"Follow me please, sir." said the plump woman, leading him somewhere in the very back of the fairly small building. She had ink black hair, pulled up into a tight knot on the back of her head. Her eyes were small and a dull dark brown, but there was a small glimmer of something (maybe hope?) that made him think they weren't all that boring.

He nodded and followed her down a narrow, slightly crooked hallway. There were doors lined up on the walls on both his sides. He could see little faces watching him through the small window on the doors. A quiet chuckle passed his lips as he saw the older kids making faces at him. The woman seemed to notice the children too because a second later she was warning them to behave themselves.

"Ignore them; they've become quite obnoxious, those kids. And rude, too, if I do say so myself!" she stated with a sniff. A melancholy look came to her eyes. "But I don't blame them. They've seen so many people willing to help them and be there for them, but they don't want a caretaker; they want their parents." He didn't miss the hopeful glance she directed at him, but he chose to ignore it. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he spoke up.

"Miss, I believe you were taking me too your office." he told her with an awkward cough.

"Oh! Y-yes, of course," she blushed. "Come with me, sir. And please, do call me Ms. Lain." And then they went back to walking to her office.

When they got there, the first thing he noticed was how small it was. It wasn't small as in quaint, oh no, it was small as in completely, unbearably small! Now, he being a man of close to a little over 6'2 thought that he was going to die of claustrophobia. It was just too cramped for a man of his height and weight, and it was obviously made for shorter people. He managed to get slightly comfortable in the wooden stool she offered him.

"So, Mr. Daysworth, you're here to adopt, is that right?" she asked, reading the paperwork he had handed her.

"Yes, Ms. Lain, it is. I'm here for a girl." he told her. She looked up and then looked back down. She would ask him the occasional question now and then, but mostly read his paperwork.

After a while of awkward silence, she stood.

"Alright then, if you'll follow me. I think we have just the girl for you."

"Here you are, Mr. Daysworth." Ms. Lain said. She then turned to a small figure hidden in the shadow of the door. "Now you behave and be nice. I don't want another… incident, you hear me?" He wondered what the 'incident' was.

"Yes miss." A small voice answered. Ms. Lain then opened the door a little more, let him in, and shut it behind him.

Again, the room was extremely small, and he struggled with finding a comfortable position to stand in. After a few minutes, he settled with sitting on the floor; so much for being mature.

"I know you're here to adopt me." Mr. Daysworth jumped, startled. He looked at the little child sitting on her bed, staring at him. He stared back.

She was pretty. Her hair was a mess of unruly golden curls, her eyes were large and emerald green, and she had a button nose. She was short, but he guessed all five-year olds were. She had a petite frame and porcelain skin, with a light dusting of freckles across her nose. Her cute rosebud lips were set in a straight line, and her jaw was tight.

"Maybe," he replied. She raised an eyebrow, something he knew her mother was never able to do. He let out a quiet chuckle.

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to adopt me." She told him, crossing her small arms. "And if you really don't want to adopt me then you should leave. Ms. Lain doesn't like time-wasters." She said coldly.

"I'm not a time-waster."

"Then you are here to adopt me," she stated, proud of her small victory…a little too proud for his liking.

"You know, if you don't want me to adopt you, then I'll just leave. I don't want a bratty kid." He made a show of getting off the floor. He saw her twisting her hands together and biting her lip. He was almost off the ground…

"Wait."

"What?"

She looked at him with big eyes. "If you leave, Ms. Lain will think I did something bad again."

"Again... what do you mean by that?"

"I mean what I mean." She shrugged.

"Wait… what?"

"Sit back down, you're gonna hurt yourself." For a little girl, he noticed she had better speech than most kids her age. He obliged; his legs were killing him from his little performance. They didn't talk for a while, both just staring at each other.

He noticed how her eyes were rimmed red.

"Have you been crying?" she shook her head and wiped her eyes. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she said with venom that a child shouldn't have. He scooted on the floor towards the bed, his legs hitting the bedside table. The lamp shook and tipped over the side, and... He watched with wide eyes as the girl effortlessly caught the lamp in mid-air, still staring at him. "That happens a lot…the lamp falls all the time." she stated in a bored tone.

"What happened?" he asked again. She didn't answer right away, just looked at her hands.

Silence.

"They don't like me. The other kids, I mean." He smiled as she corrected herself. "They think I'm weird and they hate me. I'm always being picked on and they say that I'll never be adopted and today this really mean boy said a bunch of mean things to me, so I… um…" she looked away in embarrassment.

"What did you do? I won't be mad." He said encouragingly.

"I got mad, and I called him a… a meanie, stinky loser." she whispered. He grinned and she giggled. It was short and musical and all-in-all adorable. And then he saw her eyes begin to water. "And then he pushed me on the floor and tried to hit me. But the other big kids stopped him, and one of the nice girls told me to go. But I didn't 'cause I pushed him on the ground and started hitting him, and then Ms. Lain came in and grabbed me, threw me in my room, and told me to stay in here."

Mr. Daysworth didn't say anything for a while. He just watched her as a tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and grabbed her teddy bear. It looked a little old, and he could see a red patch of fabric sewn on to the shoulder of the bear, white fluff coming out at the edges.

She hugged it close to her chest, squishing her face into the soft little fur. She let out a muffled sob and hiccupped. Mr. Daysworth cautiously patted her on the shoulder and he felt her tense up, the muscles tightening. Then, surprisingly, she began to relax. She looked up at him, teary-eyed and pouting. He watched her curiously. He had only had one child before, but he was taken away from him after the war he had been in, so didn't really know if he was good with kids. He shuddered as he remembered the horrible things that had happened to him and his family.

He had done a lot of bad things, and that's why his wife left him. That's why she had taken his child, his baby. He was going to change. This is what he needed, another chance to start all over; this was his chance. Mr. Daysworth slowly and gently wrapped his arms around her, and without reluctance, she snuggled into him.

She didn't know why she was feeling so comfortable with him. Maybe it was because he just seemed so… right? The other adults who had come to see her always tried too hard, almost forcing her to like them; she hated that. They were all fake smiles and forced sweet personalities. But this guy, well he was different. He was kind and sweet, even if he didn't always act it. He seemed to be confident in himself, but still cautious and guarded. Of course, being only five she wasn't thinking all these big words, she just had a feeling that he was for her and that he was different. Better.

"What's your name?" she asked him suddenly. Without hesitation, he replied,

"Tom, what's your name?"

"Charlotte."

I jump up from my bed in a cold sweat and a little breathless. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, taking deep breathes. My mind is going in a million different directions, but I have no idea why. Did I have a dream?

You see, this is the fourth time in a week that this has happened; I have a dream, I wake up as a hot mess, and then I struggle to remember what I was dreaming about. It's beginning to annoy me. I shake my head, my hair falling in my face and I quickly swipe it away, almost hitting myself in the eye. I shift myself so I can climb out of my bed easily, and then I head to my bathroom. Instinctively, my hand reaches to the little cup on the corner of the counter and I grab my toothbrush. I struggle to squeeze the toothpaste out of the tube, but I finally manage to get a small amount onto my toothbrush. I then lift the toothbrush to my teeth.

I don't know why, but I like to look at myself in the mirror when I brush my teeth. Don't ask me why because you won't get an answer or an adequate one at that. I raise my head so I can look at myself, and I scream a little. The monstrosity I call my hair is a giant puff ball on my head. It's like I have an afro, a freaking afro!

"Ugh..." I continue to brush my teeth and then try the dangerous task of brushing my hair. I start with some water and a comb, but I think it's just making it worse. So, moving on to the big guns, I grab my brush and forcefully rip the tangles and knots out of my hair.

After ripping hair off my head for ten minutes, I place the deadly brush down, put my hair in a pony-tail (rather messily), wash my face, and go back to my room. I gracefully trip over a shoe, land on my face, and then get dressed. Great, I think. This day is already turning out perfect.

"Charlotte! Get up!" A voice says, banging on my door.

"I am up!" I reply.

"Then get ready, you have school today." I roll my eyes.

"Really? I would've never guessed, it being a Friday and all." I say sarcastically. The voice grumbles something unintelligible and I listen as footsteps slowly fade away.

The voice and footsteps belong to my 'Father', Tom Daysworth. He adopted me when I was five and although it was tough, we are just one, small, happy family. It's Tom and I against the world and that's the way it will always be. When he adopted me, I don't really think he knew what he was getting into. I'm a horrible teen now; I'd hate to imagine what I was like back then. I don't really remember a lot of what happened when I was little, but I know that I loved him and hated him instantly. He was- and still is- that weird mixture of annoying, evil pest and caring, over-protective goofball that makes you realize what a small line there is between love and hate. Like, a really, really small line that practically mixes the two feelings together to form, what Tom likes to call, 'The Daysworth Way'. He think the name is rather catch-y. I think he's rather stupid.

I slip on my jeans and socks, put on the white blouse my friend Lilly bought me last year, and then I run downstairs. I smell eggs and bacon and I can feel my mouth watering. I self-consciously wipe my mouth in case I have drool dripping from my lips.

"Oh, is it done yet?" I ask as I walk in to the kitchen. Tom gives me a smirk.

"No, and even when it is done, you're not getting any." He teases. I smile.

"Okay, now it's ready," Tom says and he brings two plates piled high with food. He sets one down in front of my seat and I sit down and greedily dig in to the delicious meal of eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes.

"Mmmmm… you're trying to make me fat…" I try to say through the piece of sausage in my mouth.

"Sure I am… now hurry up and eat. Chris is coming to pick you up, isn't he?" I nod. "So, he will undoubtedly be late-"

"As usual."

"And that means you will only have fifteen minutes to get to school, find a parking spot, and talk to your annoying friends-"

"What friends?"

"And then you will be left with five minutes to go to your locker and into your first class-"

"And then I'll come home and tell you to buy me a car-"

"And I'm going to take away your amazing breakfast if you interrupt me again." Tom gives me a stern look and I blush.

"Oops? Sorry, I'll stop." He knows I won't. It's just part of my character to be horribly annoying. I shove some more food into my mouth, grab a water bottle from the fridge, and slip on my combat boots. "Bye."

"Bye." I sling my backpack over my shoulder and close the door with an unnecessary slam. I smirk when I hear a loud, "Charlotte!" from inside.

I'm about halfway to school when I hear Chris driving right beside me. I don't even have to look to know that it's him because his truck makes these aggravatingly loud squeaks and high pitched squeals. His truck is a rusted blue Toyota, so old that some people are scared to drive in it, in fear that it will explode or fall to pieces once it starts moving.

"Well, you could've just waited for me to come pick you up. No need to walk all the way down here, Lottie." He says as I slide into the rough passenger seat.

"Don't call me that." I say. He just laughs which makes me smile.

"Come on, you know you love that nickname."

"I hate it!"

"Why? It's so… so-"

"Degrading? Mortifying?" I offer and he grins.

"I was going to say unusual." I give him a sarcastic smile.

Chris Carmichael, my best friend since I started kindergarten. He has ink black hair that is short, but his bangs fall into his eyes a lot. A few years ago he had the crazy idea of putting horrendous green streaks in it, and ever since he's always done that. But, he looks a lot… better (hotter, but I'll never admit it) since then, so I guess that's why it looks a tad bit better now. Chris has muscles, it's no surprise, but he doesn't show it off. He's pale, but compared to me he's as tan as tan can get. He has these deep chocolate brown eyes and long lashes that the girls at school always go gaga for. He also has this insane scar on his neck, but he never says anything about it. All I know is that he got it around the end of sixth grade, along with a broken arm.

"So, what are we doing this weekend, my loveable yet highly annoying friend?" He asks.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm sleeping in." I sigh. I never have anything to do but sleep in. "And what do you mean by 'highly annoying'? If anything, you're the highly annoying friend."

"Whatever," I smile at him and we finally reach the school. Being the idiot he is, Chris swerves into a parking spot, almost hitting cars that were also trying to park. I quickly get out before one of those angry drivers comes for us, and Chris follows my lead. We walk up toward the entrance of the school.

I can't help but feel a little depressed. Everyone has their cliques and their numerous friends while I just have Chris. Lilly and I were friends, but… no! I'm not going to start with that again. Lilly was a great friend, sometimes I just… I don't know-

"… So your dad and I are engaged! And did I tell you that I'm being arrested for killing a one-eyed man? Oh, and I flew on a magical unicorn yesterday-"

"What?" My brains all fuzzy and I swear he just said that he flew on a unicorn.

His eyes widen. "I'm not really engaged to Tom!" He says hurriedly. I quirk an eyebrow, but don't say anything. Sometimes silence is better than any rude comment I can make.

"You want to go to Pandemonium this weekend?" I ask once we reach my locker.

"Sure, there's nothing better to do." He replies.

"Thanks, that makes me feel so special." I roll my eyes.

"Don't look now, but your sarcasm is showing." I sigh, but smile slightly. Chris smiles back. "We might need to speed things up, Charlotte." He says as I take some binders and books I need.

"Why is that?"

"Because, we're about to be late for class." I look at my watch and wince. We have a good two minutes until the bell rings and Chris and I's first class- English- is on the second floor.

"We should start running."

"Yes, yes we should." And on that note, I slam my locker shut, shove everything in my book bag, and sprint to class with Chris.

"Today, class, we will be solving riddles!" Mrs. Jones tells us excitedly. None of us say anything back. She grins and turns around to face the board and begins to write stuff down. "You may talk quietly if you'd like." Mrs. Jones is okay, I guess. She's a nice and sweet elderly woman who let's us talk in class. Her hearing isn't all that great, but if you talk a tiny bit louder than is really necessary she'll pinch you on the ear and start handing out the detention slips.

My classmates all walk over to their friends and start gossiping or talking about the last football game. I stay in my seat for a few more seconds. The slutty girls are in the corner flirting with the jocks. The nerdy kids are comparing homework and laughing about something. The regular kids- the ones that aren't popular, but not nobodies- are talking about the movies or something. And then there's Chris on the other side of the classroom. He beckons me over and I oblige. I get out of my seat and start walking over to him, avoiding the book bags and purses all over the floor. I'm trying not to make a lot of noise and I don't. I've always been able to walk and make barely a sound, even if my shoes were the annoying squeaking kind! It's one of my many talents. But, sadly, even when I don't make any noise I still manage to draw attention to myself. It's because of my stupid hair, it's too freaking gold.

"Ugh, what is she doing over here?" I hear a nasally voice whisper to her friends, probably Vanessa Scotts. She has brown hair with white blonde streaks in it that supposedly look natural, with small brown eyes. Her face is always caked in makeup that makes her look like the shade of a tangerine, and if her clothes were any tighter, her plastic boobs would pop! Her and her gang of supposed 'It' girls are obnoxious and stupid, but without them I wouldn't have as much comedic gold, now would I?

I keep walking and ignore them. The head jock, Austin Reeds looks straight at me and snarls, "What are you looking at, Shortie?" I roll my eyes.

"Nothing, just trying to get around you guys…" I say. "And Shortie? Really? Isn't that a little bit of a third grade insult?" He stands up and leans forward.

"Are you trying to get on my nerves?" He says, his nose almost touching mine. His friends are laughing at me. I grind my teeth together; I hate when I'm being laughed at.

"Are you trying to see how long you can go without brushing your teeth? Seriously dude, take a mint!" Honestly though, his breath smells terrible. It makes me feel sick; the smells a mix between rotting fish and a dumpster in a dark alley. By now, some of the students are watching and laughing. I blush; I don't really want to cause a scene. I'm really glad that Mrs. Jones is hard of hearing, or else I could be getting in some serious trouble for making a ruckus in her class.

"Go be a bitch somewhere else, Daysworth!" He growls. I laugh.

"With pleasure, Captain." I say and salute. He mumbles something that I can really care less about and I walk over to Chris. I plop myself down in the seat next to him and smile.

"You have a death wish, don't you Daysworth?" He sighs dramatically.

"What? I'm just having a little fun. Something you should try one day." I say. He sticks his tongue out at me and I laugh.

"One day you're really going to piss them off and they're going to come for you."

"Who cares?" I grumble. "Let them come for me; I can beat their tails and send them running back to their mommies." I tease. Chris just rolls his eyes and glares at me.

"You're too cocky."

"I'm just confident." I snort. Totally attractive, right?

"Yeah, too confident. To the point where I would like to duct tape your mouth shut before you get one of us maimed." He states.

"You know what they say; Silence is golden, duct tape is silver."

"Not always. They make different colored duct tape and patterned duct tape." He replies innocently. I shove his shoulder, but laugh anyway.

"Shut up."

"You first." We smile at each other and talk quietly until Mrs. Jones tells us to get back to our seats.

The rest of class goes without a hitch, but that's probably because I'm not listening to anything. Instead, I'm doodling in my notebook trying to ignore the odd sensation on the back of my head.I glance behind me and watch with amusement as Austin tries to burn wholes through my skull. He sneers at me and something sharp and glistening pokes out from his lower lip. It's black and has a point that's as sharp as knife and rather deadly looking. I stare at it for what seems like an eternity. Austin seems to see my staring and he closes his mouth, tightly clenching his jaw. His eyes, usually a light, muddy brown, are now a dark, cloudy black that sends an electrifying shock of fear through me. I shiver and quickly turn back around. I concentrate on the rest of whatever Mrs. Jones is talking about and ignore the questioning look Chris sends me from across the room. I don't know exactly what I just saw, but I do know that I'm a little scared. And a little… angry? Am I angry at myself or at Austin? I don't know… but what I do know is that I have this strange feeling like I should go up to him and do something, but I don't know what.

I shake my head. It was probably nothing, just a trick of the light or something. But it still scares me. Images of him coming to my house at night and taking the spike out of his mouth, cutting me with it fills my mind. I imagine him tearing me to shreds with claws instead of fingers, and screeching like a banshee as he kills me. I see him grab Tom and Chris and-

RRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! I jump in my seat as the bell goes off. My breathing is heavy and my heart is beating like crazy.

"It's just your imagination … Calm down, Daysworth…" I breathe. I bend down to grab my book bag, and watch out of the corner of my eye as Austin walks past my desk. He doesn't even spare me a glance.

For the rest of the day I actually concentrated on my classes. I just don't want the images to pop back in my head. Chris won't stop pestering me about what happened in English this morning, but I will not answer him. He's already worried about me, no need for him to worry even more. Yes, Chris knows about my dreams. He knows that I'm losing sleep and that I wake up scared out of my wits or completely desperate to finish the dream. Chris knows that it's driving me insane and I know he wants to help me, but there is really nothing he can do.

At lunch Chris finally stops asking about this morning. Instead he switches the topic to something that I don't feel comfortable talking to him about.

"So, have you heard from Lilly yet?" He asks almost hesitantly. I stiffen, and I don't look at him.

"No." I say, short and simple. I don't feel like talking about it. "Gosh, todays lunch looks awful." I try to switch the subject.

"Oh…" Chris says. "Charlotte," He sighs. He gives me a pointed look. "Have you heard anything from her or not. Tell the truth."

"I said no-"I start, but he interrupts me.

"Then why won't you look at me?" He asks angrily. He seems to be getting annoyed. Well, so am I. I lift my head and glare at him.

"Do you not trust me? I honestly haven't heard anything from her, Chris." I sigh, and my eyes sting- the warning that tears are coming. "Do you honestly think that she would try to contact me before her own parents?" I ask. Chris shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I look back down at the table and push my tray of food away from me. I've lost my appetite.

"Charlotte, I didn't mean to offend you-"Chris begins softly.

"Whatever, Chris," I murmur, but loud enough for him to hear. "I'm going to Study Hall. I'll see you later." And I walk out of the Cafeteria.

I don't let Chris drive me home like usual, but instead I walk home. I am still rather unsettled about Austin and really angry with Chris. My feet kick lone rocks on the road as I trudge up the dreadfully large hill. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out.

Where r u? ~ Chris

I put the phone back in my pocket. I don't want to talk to him. But my conscience gets the better of me and I text back;

Almost home ~ Blondie

I slide the phone back into my pocket and walk the rest of the way home, ignoring the vibrating of my phone. When I reach the house I see a bright red buggy in Tom's driveway, so I immediately turn back around.

"Stupid Kathleen…" I grumble. I walk past the many houses of my neighbors until finally I come to the edge of the road. Beyond here is rubble and dust, debris from when construction workers were here. They were going to create another neighborhood next to ours and then suddenly they stopped and never came back. I walk through the dust and down the small hill until my neighborhood is out sight.

I throw my bag off my shoulder and topple onto the giant rock that sits just underneath a large, broken tree. I don't what type of tree it is, but it's muddy and splintering, almost toppling over to one side. I relax on the rock and close my eyes. I lean back, cross my arms underneath my head, and before I know it exhaustion is wheedling me to fall asleep. It's coaxing me to just fall into nothingness, a dream where there is nothing but peace. And I, being emotionally and physically drained from my unbearable day of school, listen. And I feel myself submerging into unconsciousness…

So this took me quite a while to write... like three days. It might not be the best, but it's just the first chapter and almost like a prologue at that. I wrote this about a month ago... yes, indeed I did. I have no idea when the next chapter will be up, and I'll only put one up If I feel like it if no one reviews. And if someone review then I'll post another chapter. So, yeah...

I have no idea how you adopt someone or what New York really looks like. Oops?

Enjoy the rest of your day, and please review! Tell me what you think! Love you guys!

~ Legend in the Making