Author's Note:

Hello, well, here you have it! Another repost of an old story I've written!

This was by far one of my favorites I've ever written because of how cathartic the entire writing process was.

I would recommend listening to the song You Ruin Me by The Veronicas when you read this chapter. I was partially inspired by that song too.

Anyways, there's a part 2 to this one so look out for that! That will be in Jace's POV.

Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters. Any familiar quotes that you recognise from the TMI books should, of course, be attributed to the ingenuity of Cassie. However, the plot lines and other character developments etc. in this story belongs to me, xxmadworldredemptionxx. Please do not copy, reproduce, translate, or repost these stories elsewhere without my permission.

STUBBORN LOVE

Chapter 1: Clary

I don't quite remember about how things ended between us.

One minute we were so happy and in love, we seemed so inseparable, and then the next, there was shouting and a whole onslaught of words—words that can never be taken back; words that till this day, gnaw away at me and leave my chest panging with hurt every time I think about them.

I had you one moment, and then lost you the next.

I'd thought that we were meant to be, that the second chance we gave to each other, to revive a relationship we once had but wasn't strong enough to survive the first time, would last this time.

But it didn't.

All the promises and declarations of love that we made, vows that at the time I'd believed were unbreakable, are broken now. You used to say that I wasn't just somebody to you, but "It"—the "It".

But your words were just as empty as your eyes had been when you promised me that I would mean nothing to you anymore. I will never forget that. I don't think I'll ever even forgive you for saying that. You might as well have been shoving a dagger into my chest and twisting it from how much I was hurting.

Self-love is the most important kind—you taught me that, whether you meant to or not. Everything else, and especially loving someone else, is variable. People and feelings can change. They are never constant, and I hate myself for all the times I let myself slip into naivety; for letting myself think that we were an exception.

We weren't—we aren't.

But still, I continue to love you anyway.

"Clary, please. You have to show up. You know how much Max loves you. It would break his heart if his favorite aunt wasn't there for his birthday—his first birthday," Isabelle was saying, her tone clearly indicating how exasperated but desperate she was for me to give in.

I sighed but didn't look at her. I hated how she was using Max—my sweet, innocent, little nephew as ammunition against me. I wanted to go—hell, I would have stayed up all night and help plan his entire birthday party in a heartbeat! But there was just one huge problem: the guest list. As if it weren't bad enough that Jace Herondale had RSVP'd to say that he was coming, he was bringing a plus-one with him—Aline Penhallow, otherwise known as his current girlfriend.

"Look, you don't even have to stay in the same room as him. You can hang out in Simon's man-cave and play video games all night long, and I won't even throw a bitch-fit! I just want you there—please…"

"What's the point?" I cursed myself when my voice cracked. Damn him. Damn me and my stupid, fragile little heart for still pining after him despite everything that had happened. He'd already hurt me beyond everything I failed to expect, so why couldn't I just hate him? Why couldn't I be indifferent to the subject of him, to pretend that he didn't exist? He surely had no problem to pretend that I didn't—as if I had never existed to him.

I cleared my throat. "If I'm there just for the sake of being there, but in reality I'll be hiding out in Simon's room, then what's the point of me even being there?" I asked, trying but failing to control my lips from wobbling.

"The party will go on just fine without me, Isabelle. Just like how everyone's lives will go on just fine without me," I said, softer this time. "Besides, Max shouldn't get too attached to me. He's so young and…I don't want to hurt him when it happens. I'm a ticking bomb, Iz, you know that. I don't want to have to put you through the trouble of having to explain everything to Max if I…leave."

"And I told you—We're not leaving you alone," A new voice spoke up from the doorway of the kitchen.

I turned my head, swallowing deeply when my gaze connected with Alec's. He was looking at me the way he always did—with the same amount of brotherly love and affection and loyalty. But he was also giving me the look my father used on me every time I was in for a scolding.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked him sheepishly. Alec rolled his eyes and I quickly averted my gaze from his in favor of the birthday cake catalogue laid across from me on the island. Red velvet cake. Rainbow cake. Chocolate cake. Vanilla cake. Strawberry cake. Yup, I'm definitely helping Isabelle to narrow down her options for cake.

"Obviously," Alec began, his voice sounding much, much closer to me than it had only moments ago, "longer than the time you've taken to browse through this cake catalogue. And in case you haven't noticed, you're looking at it upside down."

I finally looked up at him with a resigned sigh. "He's coming to Max's party, did you know?" It took so much willpower to not burst into tears right then and there, but I managed it. Oh God. If I could barely stand the mention of him, much less talk about anything related to him, how was I even supposed to see him?

"I heard," Alec said, his tone giving nothing away.

"He's bringing her too," I said, not meaning to but accidentally blurting it out anyway. Great. Now, not only would the Lightwoods know that the root cause of my reluctance to show up was because of him, but his female counterpart as well. They must think I'm so petty.

"I know," Alec said. "He told me."

I gave him a hard look.

"You know I still talk to him, Clary. I can't stop just because the two of you ended things. You're like a sister to me, but Jace is my best friend."

"The only reason you two became friends was because of that stupid movie we were all cast in. But you've known me for longer than that—"

"You're being childish," Alec interrupted. "I can't end my friendship with him just because you hold a grudge against him. It's been eight months. Get over it, Clary."

I gaped at him in disbelief. "Me? Hold a grudge against him? You're kidding right?" Alec did nothing but folded his arms across his chest and stared at me as if I were an actual child. I shook my head and scoffed. How dare he take his side? "I tried to end things nicely but he ruined it."

"Because you refused to tell him the truth," Isabelle cut in this time. I'd almost forgotten she was still there. "If you had told him, Clary, he wouldn't have reacted the way he did. He would have stayed."

"Out of pity!" I screamed.

"No, because loves you!" Alec yelled back.

The harsh volume and tone of his voice shocked me, but the moment his words sunk in, I couldn't help but laugh—a cold, mirthless laugh. Love? "Love?" I leveled him with a cold, condescending look. "Oh Alec. Is that what he told you?"

"He didn't have to, Clary. We know he does. He just has an odd way of showing it," Isabelle said in a gentle voice.

Screw that.

"He deleted every single photo we ever took from his social media and wrote a song about how I broke his heart. And for an entire month, he kept tweeting messages about cheating and infidelity and dishonesty, each time making indirect references about me. That's love?"

"You should have told him," Alec repeated.

"So, in other words, you're putting the blame on me? Is that it?" I raised my voice as I backed away from them, feeling unbelievably cornered and suffocated. I could feel my heart rate increasing—abnormally fast, dangerously fast. Logically, I knew that I needed to calm down. Giving in to anger and aggression was detrimental. The doctor explicitly advised against it—or anything for that matter that could potentially cause my blood pressure to spike. But I couldn't stop.

"Look. It's not my fault that he's impulsive and jumps to conclusions. It's not my fault that he decided to disregard everything we've ever had because he felt hurt and rejected when we broke up. And it's definitely not my fault that he felt the need to retaliate and hurt me for leaving him—I never went out with anybody else after him…but he went back to her not even one month after we ended things!

"So yes, amen to your statement. How could I ever think otherwise? He still loves me. He's a damned hypocrite." I hastily wiped away the tears that had stupidly fell sometime in between my spiteful outburst. I still loved him, but God, did I hate him too. "I hate him. I hate her. I hate…you."

Alec's eyes widened with hurt. "You don't mean that, Clary. You're just saying that out of anger—You don't mean that."

"Maybe," I said, sounding falsely nonchalant. "But I do mean this… I wish that I would just die." Alec and Isabelle gasped, but I held my hand up to hold off their protests. I didn't want to hear any of it. I've held it in for so long—too long, in fact. As harsh as my confession was, this was the most honest I've been in months. "I'm so tired of aching all the time. I wish that I would die—so I don't have to hurt anymore."

Pain flared in my chest, not because of my disease, but because I realized how much I had actually meant those words. I had been dying to say them, which was an irony in itself. I wanted to die.

I walked out before any of them could stop me.

We met during a cast reading in the summer of 2013.

I had only recently rose to fame, while you had been in the industry a little longer than me. The casting director had called me up a few months before you showed to award me the part of female lead—so back then, we were holding auditions to look for the male lead. You.

I remembered the day you strolled into that room, with a confidence and swagger none of the other men before you carried. You dressed like it were any other day; in a white T-shirt, dark-washed jeans and your signature leather jacket—the one you wore almost all the time.

My first impression of you was this: rugged and beautiful.

"Jace Herondale," You introduced yourself in a silken voice (a sexy British accent) as you approached our table, taking your time to shake everyone's hands. You took my hand the last, eyeing me with that charming smoulder in your eyes. If I were made of ice, I would have melted into a puddle when I realized how impossibly beautiful your eyes were. Gold. I think that was the first time I felt my heart skip a beat.

Because of you.

I didn't even know you then, but I knew that you were the male lead that we had been looking for. Something about you just clicked—

Fortunately, you managed to convince them just as well on your own. Because the moment you slipped into character, you were him…no questions asked.

The deliberation had been quick and easy; within two weeks of your audition, the casting crew announced that you had been cast the male lead, and though I didn't show it, I was over the moon happy. Giddy, really. I knew that my gut feel couldn't have been wrong.

And really, I wasn't wrong about you.

You were witty and sarcastic, but in a good way that made me laugh. And underneath your cool exterior, you were actually kind and gentle. You cared for me, and you made it your mission to show it, too. We hung out a lot—on set, in each other's trailer (mine, most of the time); we even went out for coffee and meals and accompanied each other when either of us needed to go shopping. Sometimes I would take forever in a shoe store or clothing store but you never complained. It was always full of smiles and laughter and teasing…

And I fell for you, rather quickly.

But you didn't believe in love at first.

"I think love is just an idealistic concept. You can't love others more than you love yourself because people are unpredictable—They can change," You told me. "Take my mother, for example. She once told me that she loved me and my dad, that she would never leave us…and then, one day she did. I was home early one day because my soccer practice was cancelled last minute, and walked in on her having sex with another man—in our kitchen. I was 14 at the time, but I knew that she was cheating on my father. So I told him.

"My mother didn't even look guilty. She filed for a divorce, packed her bags, and left our home. I never saw her again after that."

"Is that why you sleep around with other women?"

"Mmm," You didn't even look offended by my question, and remained painfully oblivious to how uncomfortable I was even asking you that. I would never understand how some people could give themselves away to another like that—but then again, my morals have always been grounded in tradition and propriety. "It's better that way. You get the physical gratification without having to worry about anything else. I don't need anything more than that."

I nodded, not knowing what to say, but knew I had to prove you wrong.

"I think I'm in love with you," You blurted out several weeks later over dinner. I distinctly remembered choking when you said that, and then coughing and hacking to get rid of said choking. You had looked so concerned for me, and kept asking me if I was alright. I wasn't, of course, but at the same time, I was more than alright. You basically just told me that you loved me…

So after the coughing had died down, I took your hand in mine and said to you, "Me too," because saying "I love you too" seemed so cliché and overused. You asked me if I wanted to be your girlfriend, and foolishly, I agreed.

I could—I can never say 'No' to you.

When we made our relationship public, the media and fans went crazy. We even had a ship name—'Clace'. At first, I thought it was stupid and cheesy but it slowly grew on me. Alec and Isabelle (who were also cast in the movie with us) found it amusing, and called us that every chance they got.

"It's easier to say, 'Oi, Clace!' than 'Oi, Clary and Jace!'" Isabelle had argued once.

But when filming ended and after the movie was released, we faced a challenge we should have seen coming: the distance. I lived in New York, and your home was in London. The possibility of us being cast in another movie together, much less one that soon, was a 0.01 percent chance to none.

We could have stayed together and made a long-distance relationship work, but I thought it'd be better if we didn't. It wouldn't be fair for either of us. You deserved to have a girlfriend who could be there for you all the time, not one that existed over phone calls and text messages and occasional visits—and I didn't want to spend the rest of our relationship missing you and pining for you.

So we broke up, amicably, and stayed friends.

I remembered feeling hurt when I found out that you were dating another girl, an up-and-coming Indie-film actress at that, a year later. I knew it was unfair of me for reacting that way—you were moving on, and so was I (I was dating someone else too at the time)—but still, my heart longed for you. I wanted no one else but you.

I stayed clear of your social media after one too many instances of you tweeting about your 'significant other'. Declarations of love that you used to reserve for me but now used for her, hurt me. It didn't help that our catch-ups over text messages became less and less frequent until they ceased altogether. Your girlfriend didn't like it when we talked, and eventually, you became too busy for me. But I didn't blame you—

You had her.

"We broke things off," You called me one night—after almost 11 months of silence. I didn't know how to decipher the tone in your voice, if you were hurting or even feeling anything. You just sounded…lost. "I'm confused. I thought I loved her, but I'm not as torn up about it as I should be. Is there something wrong with me?" Maybe you were in shock, I didn't know. I let you ramble to me all night long, deep down, relieved that I was finally able to hear your voice again. I'd really missed you.

"So I have a couple gigs lined up with my band. Will you come down to support me? You know, for old times' sake?"

"Of course I will, Jace. You know how much I love watching you play. I'm so proud of you," I'd said to you. We talked a little bit more, and after that night, you made sure to always call. I figured after a while that it was because you were lonely, and though it was slightly hurtful that the only reason you were doing it was because you no longer had a girlfriend to occupy your time, I did it. I didn't turn you away because you needed me. I would talk to you for as long as you wanted to, but on the inside, I was so afraid. You would leave me alone after you found another girl to fill the hole in your heart—I wouldn't matter to you again.

I went down to London a couple more times to visit you. Your band was doing really well, and I could tell that they would make it big one day. I told you so.

"You know, I've a feeling you're going to make it into the big leagues one day—Madison Square Garden, The Royal Albert Hall…so you better not forget me." You chuckled loudly at that and before I even knew what was happening, your lips were on mine and we were…kissing.

I was the first one to pull away. "We shouldn't—"

"I still love you, Clary," You said as you held onto my hands, refusing to let me go. "I don't think I can ever stop loving you. Even when I was with Aline…you were always there. On my mind. In my heart. I was a selfish jerk and I'm sorry I stayed away from you for so long…but I was trying.

"I didn't think that I was being fair to Aline—that's why I stopped talking to you. I was trying to forget you so I could be a better boyfriend for her. But God, it only made me miss you even more. That's why we broke up. Because she knew I still loved you. And it hurt her."

"What are you saying, Jace?" I was so confused.

"Exactly what I've been saying. I love you." I looked up at you then, and knew that you were telling the truth. You didn't lie—and you hadn't been lying then.

"I'm asking for another chance. I know it won't be easy. We live in two different continents…but we can make it work. All I'm asking is for a second chance. Please, Clary…please."

I knew I should have thought it over at least once, twice—at least a hundred times—but I was…naïve and too blinded by my own love for you.

I will only ever love you.

A week later, I was sitting on a stool at Max's birthday party. The boy in question was currently dancing about in front of me, occasionally exclaiming, "Auntie! Auntie!" whilst gesturing to himself. He loved it when I spared him even the littlest of attention, that I couldn't bring myself to break his heart, no matter how much my own heart was breaking (it was probably already broken).

After the incident at Isabelle's apartment last week, I'd basically burrowed myself away, dead for the world, for all I cared. Well see, the thing is, I didn't care. If God granted my heart's desire and took me away that night, I would have been the happiest person alive (or the happiest person dead, but you get the picture).

I had stumbled into a hotel, knowing that the first place the Lightwoods and Simon would have looked for me would be my apartment, and I didn't want to be found. I then switched off my cellphone and slept—I was too tired to do anything else.

It was only on the morning of the fourth day that I finally deigned to switch on my phone. I had over a hundred missed calls and several dozens of text messages and voicemails—from Alec, Isabelle and Simon, of course, and some from Magnus, my brother Jonathan and lastly, my parents. Not that hearing my family and friends express how much I've driven them insane with worry for me did anything to persuade me or make me feel guilty. At the time, I'd felt nothing but numbness.

It was only after I listened to the voicemail little Max had left me, telling me in his baby voice (and with Isabelle's muffled aid in the background) how much he missed me, and to "pwease come home", did I finally cave. I showed up at the Lewis's apartment an hour later, dressed in the same clothes as before.

Max hadn't allowed me to leave his sight since, so I've taken to moving into the spare bed in his bedroom, much to his delight.

I was starting to regret my actions though—not only for allowing Max to convince me into coming out of hiding, but also to for allowing myself to be persuaded by his mother Isabelle to show up at his birthday party. I started to regret it even more when my worst nightmare showed up, his ex-girlfriend-now-turned-current-girlfriend hanging off his arm like a leech. My stomach roiled with nausea and I could feel myself getting sick really fast.

"Hey, Max!" Jace chirped as he bounded towards the boy. Max's eyes widened with wary and suspicion as they always did around strangers (which Jace, admittedly, was since they had never even met before today), and he, unfortunately dived straight for me, wrapping his chubby arms around my thighs.

"No! No! No want! Auntie!"

My heart pounded, so hard I could feel it pulsing through my sternum. God save me. I felt his eyes on me before I even looked up, and felt the familiar twist and burn in my gut. My heart. It hurts.

"Hello, Clarissa," Aline was saying, her voice sounding so prickly sweet I wanted to throw up. "I didn't expect to see you here, but it's nice to finally meet you anyway. I'm Aline." She offered me her hand for a handshake, and although I was extremely reluctant to, I looked up, managing a stiff smile and an even stiffer handshake.

"Nice to meet you too," I said in a shaky voice.

Unable to help myself, my curious green eyes darted over to him. He was glaring at me unashamedly, hurt, hatred and grudge burning in his golden eyes. He looked good, with his new haircut and a bit of scruff on his usually clean-shaven face. His muscles had even filled out quite a bit, and all in all, finally seeing him in the flesh after eight months of bitter separation made me realize one thing: I had missed him—a lot. And even worse, I still loved him—so much, I wanted to cry my eyes out just from seeing him show up with another girl.

Oh, the girl. I wanted nothing more than to rip her arms off for holding him the way I should be holding him. It didn't escape my attention either how she held onto him tighter, as if she was saying through her body language: Back off, bitch. He's mine!

"I would say that this is a pleasant reunion but it's not," Jace said, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm—and not the witty kind, too. "I see you've lost weight. What, your boyfriend hasn't been feeding you anything?"

I felt myself internally recoil with hurt, but I refused to let it show. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me hurt. He didn't deserve it.

The truth was, other than plain ol' chicken soup, I could barely keep anything down. One, because I was sick and dying. And two, because I was sick and dying and clinically depressed. Need I say more?

Oh, where were the Lightwoods or Simon or Magnus when you needed them? Why did Isabelle even invite this many people to her son's birthday party? WHY?

"And you look better than when I saw you last. Aline must be treating you well," I said, giving him a civil smile.

"Oh, definitely. Better than you ever did," he said without missing a beat. He narrowed his eyes at me, challengingly. "She even takes care of my needs—unlike some women who claim that they're saving themselves for marriage but turn out to be a two-faced, backstabbing whore—"

"In case you've forgotten, Max is still here. And I don't appreciate your language, Jonathan," I snapped, hurt and anger quickly scorching my blood.

I looked away from him and down at Max, who was still clinging onto me for dear life. My poor boy. "Max, honey, why don't you go find your Mommy and Daddy?"

"No! Auntie no go!" He shook his head, adamantly and furiously. I bent down and kissed his forehead.

"I'm not going anywhere," I told him in a gentle voice. "I'll come find you straight after—I promise."

Max gave me a look as if to say, "You better mean it", before turning on his tail and setting off to look for his parents. Speaking of which, where were they?

"Jace, I'm going to go look for a drink. Do you want some?" Aline asked in a manner which could only be described as coquettish. I stood corrected—Where was the bloody toilet when I needed it?

"Sure. I'll have whatever you're having," Jace swiftly replied, making a big show of planting a kiss on Aline's lips.

I found myself looking away again, especially when Aline deliberately deepened the kiss, gripping his hair the way I used to, and shoving her tongue down his throat with an inappropriate-sounding moan. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath, feeling the pain return to my chest, only this time, it felt a thousand times worse. My chest felt unbelievably tight, as if someone (Jace or Aline) had dumped a whole truckload of bricks on top of me.

Jace's throat-clearing brought me back to reality and I released a choked gasp, subtly raising a hand and smoothing the fabric down over my chest. Aline was nowhere to be seen, but Jace was still there, smirking coldly at me, in fact.

"Do displays of love sicken you?" he sneered.

"No, but you do," I mustered in an equally cold voice. "This is Max's birthday party, Jace. Did you come here just to mock me, knowing that I'd be here? If you are, you should be ashamed of yourself."

"You're one to talk."

"Do you see me smooching off another man?"

"No. But then again, you've never been one for open displays," he said in a low, calculated voice. I narrowed my eyes at him, noticing the malicious glint in his eye. I was prepared to hear a nasty remark from him, but even then, I could never stop myself from feeling hurt by his words. Why did I love him again?

"You're more of the do-it-behind-everyone's-back-and-hope-you-never-get-caught type. Sneaky whore."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and willed the tears to not fall—not in front of him, at least. "Because you know me so well." My voice shook, and despite how much I tried to hold them in, they fell, coating my cheeks with wetness.

"I'm done, Jace," I said tiredly without looking away from his gaze. His golden eyes had softened, as if he couldn't bear seeing me cry, but there was still lingering confusion and anger and hurt in them.

"You can insult me and hurt me all you want. I'm done fighting a war I never even wanted to be a part of. I just—" My chest heaved and rocked with emotion. "I don't understand you. Did you mean it when you said that you loved me? Because if you really did, you wouldn't be doing this to me."

He reeled back from me as if I had slapped him. "I wasn't the one who started this. You did."

"Damn it, Jace—I never cheated on you! Why can't you just believe that?" I clutched at my chest, staring at him through reddened eyes. I was starting to wheeze at this point, and I knew I had to get away quickly. Jace reached a hand out for me when I swayed on my feet, but I swatted him away.

"Leave me alone, Jace."

Despite the promise I made to Max, I still walked out of that apartment.

I knew that I had done Jace wrong, but what right did he have to hurt me in retaliation? Maybe Isabelle and Alec and everyone else who knew about my health condition were right—I should have been forthcoming and told him the truth, then let him decide for himself what he wanted to do with our relationship.

But I was, and still am, stubborn.

I'd envisioned two different scenarios in my head if I told him. One, he would fight with me, insist that we try everything in our power to find a cure for me so that we could live out our happily-ever-after—only for the latter part of that possibility proving to be impossible and I would end up leaving him with a permanent broken heart.

Two, he would stay with me out of pity, and in turn, never finding complete joy and satisfaction in our relationship. After a while, he would realize what a huge mistake he had made and find other means to satisfy himself whilst staying with me (in other words, he would eventually cheat on me, hurt me, then leave me). I didn't want that. So I took matters into my own hands and decided for us.

I would be the one to leave him, and he didn't need to know the reason why, just that we were moving too fast and I wasn't ready for the commitment.

Oh God, if only he hadn't been proposing when I broke things off with him.

I could still remember how devastated he had looked when I told him that I just couldn't do it anymore. He'd tried to fight for me, he even begged and cried for me to give him a chance, but I did nothing but walk away, tears of agony and cowardice blurring my vision as I left him. He'd called me, came up to my hotel room and knocked on my door all night, but I had turned him away.

The next day, I had hopped onto a plane back to New York, leaving him in London with a broken heart. Even then, he'd tried to call and text me every chance he got, but I never answered. I didn't want his pleas to sway my decision.

But as it turned out, I didn't need to do anything to convince him to stop trying.

Still reeling from the pain of my break-up with Jace, I had been blind to not notice that the paparazzis had been trailing me every chance they got. In hindsight, I should have anticipated it. I was a well-known actress of two famous actors for parents and a famous rock star for a brother; the signs should have been clear!

It had been through a chance encounter that I met with Sebastian Verlac, a former co-star of mine and an ex-boyfriend whom I had stayed on friendly terms with after our break-up. In the spur of the moment, we'd decided to catch up over lunch and parted ways with a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek.

But the media had spun a completely different story of said encounter. While I was running an errand after an appointment at the hospital, I came across a gossip magazine—several of them, in fact—with me and Sebastian on the front page and the headlines: "CLARISSA MORGENSTERN CHEATING ON JACE HERONDALE WITH FORMER FLAME?"

Wide-eyed, I had snatched up a copy of the magazine and tore through the article, fuming when I read, "An insider source revealed that that the two former lovers reconciled over coffee and were seen making googly eyes at each other throughout the entire two-hour affair. Another speculated that the two had decided to give their relationship a second try, which begs the question…where does Jace Herondale fit in this equation?"

I had contemplated suing the magazine for publishing such a sensationalized, and more importantly than that, fake story, but before I even had the chance to, Jace Herondale had shown up at my doorstep, to end things off with me on a bitter note. I tried not to remember that night so much, but some words still stuck to me, binding themselves to me like a second skin. Words like: "Lying, cheating bitch", "A waste of time", "Worst mistake I ever made", and "I hate you".

I had only made it a few blocks away from Isabelle's apartment when the tightening in my chest suddenly became unbearable. I gasped and stumbled to a stop, barely able to keep my balance as my head grew lighter—so light, I could be floating in the air. My heart raced uncontrollably and my body shook, black spots beginning to cloud my vision. My nose was running, and it occurred to me, belatedly, it was probably bleeding—again.

From a distance, I heard a familiar voice yell out my name. He sounded desperate and worried, it almost made me smile. My knees finally buckled, but before I could collapse head-first into the pavement, strong arms caught me and gently lowered me to the ground, cradling me. His touch was soft and familiar, and his smell comforting—the unique scent of lemon and sunshine.

"Clary, baby, stay with me please," he was saying as his callused thumb gently rubbed away at the blood trickling from my nose. "Clary—I'm so sorry—Please forgive me. I didn't know. I didn't know."

I didn't even register the words as I spoke them. "Jace, why are you crying?"

He buried his face into my hair and released a choked sob. It sounded so pained that it brought me back to the night I left him, the first time I ever saw him cry. "Because I'm such an asshole. I hurt you—I did this to you," he said. "Please don't leave me, Clary. I love you so much. I'll only ever love you. Stay with me."

"I love you," I whispered as I unconsciously guided his lips to mine for a soft, close-mouthed kiss. It was brief and chaste, but filled with every emotion I was running out of time to express: love, regret, forgiveness. My eyes were closed but I saw him clearly behind my eyelids. My handsome Jace with his golden hair and golden eyes.

I'll never regret loving you. My heart has and will always be yours, were the final thoughts I had as I drifted off into complete darkness.