Better A/N:
This is just a sad one-shot
I feel sad.
0~•~•~•~•~0
She just sat there, in their large apartment. She was seated on the chair that stood directly in front of the huge window of their penthouse.
It gave a perfect view of the city, as Clary had drawn it countless times.
But even though the lights continued to twinkle like they did every night, they still seemed as dark as they did for the last two weeks.
Her body sat completely still except for the rising and falling of her chest as she took deep breaths, and her eyes.
Her eyes followed the lights of cars, or tried to.
Her vision was blurry, due to her not wearing glasses, and because she was crying.
She wasn't bawling, or sobbing, or anything like that. The tears just slowly trickled down her cheeks, falling onto her propped up knees clad in jeans, so that the tears that dropped were absorbed and created dark spots on the light fabric.
Her heart was beating fast, she felt it pound all over her body. It was pounding so hard that it made her dizzy, her vision unclear and her mind spinning.
Thoughts were racing through her head, like they were every day since two exact weeks ago.
But each day she thought a different thing, this time, it were the thoughts that were the truth as she thought it was.
"Your fault." Was one of them.
"It was because you're ugly, fat, short, flat-chested, and with your stupid ugly freckles to top it off!" Was one of the harsher ones.
But she still thought it was true.
Why else would it have happened?
She felt that ache in her chest, she could feel where her heart had shattered into pieces and its crumbled bits had scattered all throughout her veins, a hollow spot where the whole of it was supposed to be.
Those same scattered bits of her heart spread through her blood were slowly leaking out of her skin.
They streamed down her arms, warming her arms on the outside, but she was still shivering.
The bits hit her jeans as well, creating even darker spots, clearing up her mind a little each time it hit her jeans, until the world just blurred away again.
She was numb. Numb to her feelings, numb to the fact that the door could open any minute. Numb to the fact that anyone could be watching her from the neighbouring buildings through the windows.
Numb to the fact that there were too many bits hitting her jeans.
She was shaking, making the bits drop more frequently, making the colourful lines that she was drawing across her skin rough.
Making her hand loosen, so the object fell from her hands.
She had held it like a brush, or a pencil, like the instruments that could make the most beautiful moments freeze on paper.
But instead this time the instrument was used to make her feel something, to numb the pain by causing even more.
It didn't create beautiful things, it created depressing things, things that she would bear on her skin and her mind forever. Those images glued to her mind. Her forever hidden secret.
And it was all because of him.
He hadn't noticed that she had acted a bit off for the last two weeks. He hadn't noticed the day before that the only word she spoke that entire day was "Bye".
He didn't notice the horrifying sketches on her arms, nor her weight loss or her loss of appetite. Nor her sleepless nights or the fact that she was sitting on the couch, crying.
Instead when he found her crying he just headed straight for the bedroom.
Her friends or her family hadn't noticed either, they were all distracted by him. He took the attention away. Apparently he was Clary's saviour.
Because apparently she looked 'So much better than when she didn't have a boyfriend. You know, she was always sulking around.' Like she wasn't right now.
And, frankly, she didn't care about what they said or thought. He took all of that away. She was now constantly numb, hiding her depression behind her obviously fake smiles.
But no one noticed.
Because he was always the centre of attention. But lately they hadn't gone out so much anymore.
Well, he didn't really allow her to.
While he went out every single day from nine in the morning to nine in the evening. He was out of the house for twelve hours each and every single day, doing God knows what.
And God wasn't the only one that knew.
She heard the tinkling of keys hitting the lock, before she heard the snap of the door being opened, before the same snap sounded as it was closed.
She checked the clock.
Two in the morning.
He was home later than he usually was, obviously.
She turned her head around, not bothering the wipe the shining tear tracks off her cheeks.
He probably wouldn't notice her, anyway.
He walked out of the hallway, into the living-room. His eyes flew over the room, skipping over her, not noticing her.
His hair was messy, his tie loose around his neck, his clothes crumpled.
He sighed, running his hand through his hair. He looked at the tequila bottle on the table which was only half full. Clary's tongue and her throat ached for the feeling of the tequila coating them after she had gotten used to it.
He just shrugged, unscrewed the cap, and took a big gulp of the strong drink, before setting it back down on the glass coffee table.
Just then, his phone started buzzing frantically, the screen lighting up with a name that Clary knew.
"Yes?" He asked in a low voice, as if he thought Clary was sleeping in their bedroom.
"Yeah, I know. She's probably asleep. Don't worry." He mumbled.
She softly heard the person voice say something back.
"Yeah, I'll see you Monday." And with that he hung up, placing the phone securely in his pocket.
After that he went into the kitchen.
Clary knew he would soon find out that she wasn't in the bedroom, but if she ran for the bedroom, she would have to slip past the wide opening of the kitchen, so she went for option B, pretending she fell asleep in the chair.
She grabbed the bloodied knife from the floor, stuffing it behind the pillow.
Just as she sat down again, she heard the barely there thumps of his bare feet against their hardwood floor.
She heard the footsteps become softer until the noise disappeared into the direction of the bedroom.
After that there was silence, except for the running of water. He was taking a shower.
He hadn't even checked to see if she was in the bed, just assuming that she had nothing else to do but just sleep.
She used to wait for him when he was late.
But she regretted it immediately the very first time she did.
0~•~•~•~•~0
It was past eleven, the dreadful movement of the long black stripe would soon declare it midnight. She had called his work, asking if he had to work late. They said that he He was always just looking for a good excuse to get mad at her in his drunken haze. So, she sat hidden in the chair which was planted in front of a very large window, a book in her lap. She had put it down when she heard the click of the lock being turned, then the snap of the door opening. Clary saw him stumble into the living room. Drunk. His eyes scanned the room, and just before his eyes landed on her form in the chair, she swiftly closed her eyes so that it seemed as if she were asleep. She heard his footsteps near the chair, until she felt his heavy smelly breath on her neck as he crouched down. She expected his strong arms to wrap around her body so that she would be carried to her room. But instead his left hand tightly wound into her red locks, as he began shaking her head roughly, growling her name in annoyance Clary scrunched her eyebrows together, putting up an act and opening her eyes just a crack, before asking in a husky voice; "What?" He seemed angered when she said that. Before she could think of an answer, her chin was roughly grasped between his fingers, before he released her chin. And slapped her straight across the face. Her head snapped to the other side because of the force he had hit her with, her head spinning. She felt a burning sensation on her cheek, stinging her skin. She turned her head sharply, glaring at him. "What the fuck—" But she couldn't finish, because he was hauling her up by her shoulder, throwing her to the ground. Her head hit the floor with a thump. "Get up, and grab me a beer." He sneered viciously. Clary sat up, her head spinning, but her eyes blazing with anger. "What the shit makes you think you can—" But she was once again cut off by a sharp kick to her side. "When I tell you to do something, you He slowly rose from his crouch, taking three steps back so he had a good look at her. "Get up." He growled. Clary got up as fast as she could, her head pounding in protest. "Strip." He said devilishly, smirking viciously. That night did not end in a happy and blissful make-up sex session. It ended in pain, with her yelling and begging for him to stop while he slapped her every now and then if she annoyed him. She had cried herself to sleep, his arms wrapped around her tightly, but they no longer bid her safety and warmth, or protection. They were like chains.
0~•~•~•~•~0
After that one time she had waited for him three more times, the last two he didn't even notice her.
Her life was slowly getting worse than it already was.
Secretly she wished that he would go back to his drunk and abusive state, because that was the only time that he would actually acknowledge or touch her.
They used to be so in love.
Their every touch would make each of them shiver, their hearts would beat frantically.
She didn't even know if it would happen now.
He had changed.
They barely even touched each other now, unless he needed to satisfy his needs.
But she wanted to touch him, she was in love with him.
She didn't know why, seeing he had changed so much—he was different from the man he used to be.
But when she first fell in love with him, she fell in love with all of him, her not knowing what kind of darkness found itself deep within his soul.
Her life used to be led by love and trust, but now that had been replaced by fear and anxiety.
He was the darkness she found herself in, the darkness through which she could not feel nor see, everything was unexpected.
She hated this. She hated living with him—with a monster. But she was blinded by the trust she had in the person he used to be. She hoped that that person would come back.
She knew she was blind, she knew she was making things up now. That loving person would never come back. He had vanished the moment everything went wrong.
When his father died, he gave up on trying to be kind, trying to prove he wasn't his father.
His father had been a cruel man, just as cruel as he was now.
All his life he had tried not to be like him, only to let all of his hard work drop and become two times the monster his father had been.
Clary knew, she knew it was time to leave. Leave her life behind—leave this life behind.
Leave him behind.
Her chest ached at the thought. Leaving her husband. Leaving the monster, yet it was also the kind man he had once been.
The decision was up to her. Would she leave?
That one question was driving her insane. What if right after she left he would change?
What if he was actually planning to become a better man again? He would dump the other woman, he would stop drinking, stop being so cold. And then she would be gone.
She knew that she was just making up excuses right now.
She needed to leave. While he slept, she would pack her bags, and she would leave. She would write a note, and put it where he would find it. She would leave her engagement ring as well.
Or maybe she could sell it? Earn some money here and there… No. That was wrong.
Not that she was short on money—in fact, she had a lot.
She just wanted to hurt him as much as she could, yet at the same time she didn't want him to suffer like that.
She pondered over her options for too long—way too long.
She hadn't noticed that the shower was turned off, and she saw his silhouette turn to leave the bedroom.
She quickly snapped her eyes shut, hoping he hadn't come for her.
But as usual, luck wasn't on her side.
''Clary?''
She resisted the urge to flinch at his voice.
His voice was stoic, she couldn't detect any emotion of sorts.
''Clary, what are those cuts on your arm.''
She didn't know how, but he knew that she was awake. So she opened her eyes.
''Nothing.'' She said softly, pulling her sleeves down.
''Yeah, right,'' He started, and now she could detect annoyance, ''Why is the kitchen so filthy? Why didn't you do the dishes?'' She could see the fury in his eyes.
''I-I'm sorry. I'll go wash up right now.'' She said hurriedly, jumping to her feet a tad too quick.
Her head spun as her sight became fuzzy.
She heard footsteps, but she was in too much pain to notice, or to comprehend what he was doing.
She was clueless as to what was happening until she felt a harsh shove in her back.
She stumbled, trying to gain balance, but failed. She fell to the ground, her hands catching her. She hit the ground hard, and both felt and heard a snap as her wrist doubled.
She cried out in pain.
''You whiny little bitch. You're no good.'' He snarled, giving her a kick against her back.
She sobbed, letting a cry slip past her lips.
Suddenly she was hauled up by her shoulders, and pushed forward—not gently, but not painfully either.
She stumbled as he directed her to the kitchen, where she saw the mess he had made.
She barely came in the kitchen anymore, seeing she often skipped dinner. Not like she had anyone to share it with.
''Look what you did!'' He hissed in her ear, making her wince.
''I-I'm sorry.'' She mumbled.
''Clean it up, or you'll pay for it.'' He hissed again, slowly stepping away from her with menacing steps, towards the bedroom.
0~•~•~•~•~0
She quietly stumbled to the bedroom, expecting that he was asleep. He wasn't.
He was sitting up in the king-size bed, waiting for her.
She gasped as she saw him, the vicious look in his eyes.
He grinned, but it wasn't a kind or sweet grin. It was mocking.
''My dear Clarissa…'' He mumbled, quietly, same grin on his face.
Slowly, he rose from the bed, standing on his feet. His eyes on hers.
She shivered.
He walked towards her, with a cat-like grace.
She took one step back for each he took forward.
Eventually she was pressed up against the wall, his grinning face in hers, his hot breath fanning her face.
A few months ago, she would have found this romantic.
Now, she found it horrifying.
She knew what would come next, and it sure wasn't as pleasant as it had been before.
The evening that he proposed was the first time that she had had sex. And it was absolute bliss.
He had delivered her so much pleasure that she nearly passed out, he had taken her in his arms and whispered loving words in her ear.
And that was how it happened for weeks after, every single night.
Until his father died.
Then this happened.
His eyes twinkled maliciously, his hands cold against her feverish skin.
His hand lazily trailed up and down her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
He enjoyed seeing her shake in fear.
He enjoyed seeing the drops of cold sweat rest on her temples.
He enjoyed and bathed in her pain.
His hands slipped to the hem of her shirt, letting his thumbs slip under and touch her skin.
She was horrified, yet found the strength to raise her arms and push against his chest as he tried to touch her. She didn't want to be touched.
He laughed, the sound making her freeze. She felt like she had ended up in her nightmare.
And somehow he made it even worse.
He slipped a knife from his jean pocket, holding the cold edge against her cheek.
Her eyes teared up, one tiny drop leaking out of the corner of her eye, hitting the blade and rolling down to the handle, to his hand.
He pulled the knife away from her face, licking the tear off his hand.
She whimpered in fear.
He pressed the tip of the blade to her collarbone, pressing, yet not hard enough to break the skin.
Slowly, he dragged the blade down until he reached the top of her shirt.
He stopped, letting his eyes meet hers. She didn't like the look in them, at all.
Slowly, he sliced the blade through her shirt, avoiding her bra for now.
His eyes followed the blade, amusement sparkling in them.
''Please stop, baby.'' She whispered, as more tears trickled down her cheeks.
He sliced through the last inch of the fragile fabric, before his eyes shot up to hers.
He stayed still for a moment, tilting his head to the side.
He was crazy.
This was much worse than usual. She was freaking out.
He had gone insane.
He laughed.
His hand shot out and grabbed her hair, tugging painfully harsh on her red curls.
She cried out, her voice cracking.
''Baby, please.'' She whimpered pathetically.
She saw a flash go through his eyes, and for a moment her heart swelled with hope.
But the flash was gone as soon as it came. She could as well have imagined it.
His other hand shot out, the one with the knife, as he slowly dug the blade into her cheekbone.
He twirled the knife while it was still dug into her skin, before he slowly dragged the knife sideways, towards her nose.
She gasped sharply, as she felt the blood trickle down her face.
Before it dripped onto the ground, his tongue latched onto it, trailed upwards to the cut, which he followed to the end.
''Hmm, delicious.''
She was stuck with a maniac.
He finally released her hair, and retreated the knife, which he hid in his pocket once again.
He slowly dragged the ruined shirt down her arms, throwing it somewhere in a corner.
She was shaking frantically, tears streaking steadily down her cheeks.
Next, he cut off her bra, dragging that garment down her arms too, so that he could fling it into the same corner.
His eyes focused on her breasts.
''Stop, baby, you don't have to do this.'' She whispered, hoping that he would stop with all her heart.
But there was no such thing as stopping for him.
''Shut up.'' He hissed.
He was angry again, now.
She hated herself.
Why did you have to say that?
He threw her down harshly on the bed, and she immediately curled into a ball to protect herself.
He laughed, and he couldn't stop.
Slowly he unbuckled his belt, still laughing, circling it once around his wrist.
He held it steadily in his hand.
His laugh died down to a grin, until there was only the ghost of a smile left on his face.
''You know, she's better than you are. Better than you will ever be.'' He said.
Her heart broke once again.
Somehow, he managed to find just the tiniest bit and break it into a million more pieces.
Until there was nothing left but powder.
She sobbed into the comforters.
She didn't know what was happening.
She was curled up in a ball, her back bare, her arms hiding her face.
She didn't want to know what was going to happen next.
For once, she didn't mind the surprise.
All she wanted was nothing.
Nothing at all.
She wanted the darkness, she welcomed it.
She drowned in it, in him.
In his insane ways of hurting her.
There was no light at the end of the tunnel. There was only darkness, only him.
She could never escape, and he made sure that she never tried.
''She's so pretty. She's gorgeous.'' He hissed.
She felt it, he stomped down onto another bit, leaving a heap of powder.
''You are absolutely nothing compared to her—scratch that—you're nothing compared to anyone.'' He laughed at his own vicious joke.
That's when she realised what he was doing.
She felt it, she heard it.
A harsh snap.
A harsh burn.
The belt slapped across the fragile skin of her back, the belt digging into her flesh, before it pulled out again.
She felt the blood, she felt it cool her feverish skin.
She bathed in the pain. She bathed in the darkness. She bathed in him.
She sobbed, crying even harder.
He snapped the belt across her skin, harder—if that was possible.
She screamed with her hoarse voice, as loud as she could.
She heard him laugh.
She could see his face before her eyes.
She could see only his face. The rest was darkness. The rest was all him.
She wanted to sleep. She wanted to feel, see, hear only darkness. She wanted to be darkness.
She wanted to be nothing.
The belt hit her skin again.
She screamed again.
Belt.
Scream.
Belt.
Scream.
Belt.
Scream.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Thrice there was a knock.
A knock on the door.
''Hello?''
Belt.
Scream.
''What's going on in there?!''
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
A laugh.
Belt.
Scream.
Darkness.
0~•~•~•~•~0
Idris News
Man Arrested Angel Square Apartment
The night of the 14th of September a man was arrested in his own apartment, charged for sexual abuse and violence. The upstairs neighbours had heard screaming, and decided to call the police.
His fiancé had been severely injured, she is now resting in Raziel's Sanctuary Hospital.
She is currently in a coma, and is not expected to wake up soon.
She had several wounds: whip marks on her back and self-inflicted cuts on her arms, along with multiple bruises, which were inflicted by her own fiancé.
The man was thrown into jail, and at that the case was closed.
The woman will not likely walk out of the hospital alive.
A/N:
Hiiiiiii.
Okay, so you guys decide if her fiancé was Sebastian or Jace…
I know, I'm cruel.
If you guys want, I might upgrade this to a two or three-shot.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments.
I do not encourage abuse or rape, both are bad things, and should never happen