Jace:.
I can't take this anymore! All these secrets and masquerades... They're all too much. I'm a professionally trained Shadowhunter and have my record and show of skills as proof; I'm the best there is at my age, and most likely I better some of my superiors. I train, I research, and I evaluate every situation and attack without mercy. It's killing demons who have escaped their forsaken world, driving a wooden steak through the vamps who don't tread careful enough when choosing their supper, controlling warlocks who have abused their capability in using their powers, and it's keeping the peace with the fairies and their sweet-tooths. It's all I know.
It's all I knew.
The job at Pandemonium could well and truly be one of the easiest cases Isabelle, Alec and I have been assigned. All it entailed was a seductive side glance and a store room that was claustrophobically damp with mouldy decay and mites, and that blueberry was as good as caught. And then she walked in. Some nosey nobody who could see us and who had the gusts to stand up for the little monster. She couldn't have been more captivating… which is probably why the subject of the entire operation got away.
Who cared though, right?
I'd met one of the most unexpected and beautiful girls. And she was human too; not some fairy or a phony waitress at Taki's. Wait, not human, Nephilim. I had a good solid, logical reason to be interested in her, in Clary. Captivated even; she saw under all three of our glamours and discarded the fact that we were all highly equipped with weapons, just to try and help some measly blue-tongue lizard. She has angel blood coursing through her veins. But what gave her the ability to pierce my armour and bravado façade? She was only some girl who turned up at the wrong place at the wrong time, right? If she had any sense in her she would have stayed out on the dance floor with the medalling rat. Hmm.. on second thought, maybe forty-seventh thought, she did have a right mind to find an excuse to get away from him.
She found me in her attempt at an escape and I could not have been more willing to be her distraction, her friend, or even the boy she could grow to love. We were there and things were... they were scintillating. Clary laughed and walked her way right into my heart and I had never wanted anything more than to keep her there. So I made it hard for either of us to let go. I found any excuse I could to be near her. I took her up to my secret place, my greenhouse and shared her birthday with her under the cover of moonlight and flowers of Idris. I shared with her the memories of my home and still to this day cannot believe that I told her I have bathed in spaghetti. I kissed her and wanted so bad to tell her how much she meant to me, how much she means to me.. but it all seems pointless now.
All I can do is sit in my army-resembling tidy room whenever I'm not out and bout fighting off Downworlders and demons. The walls I once considered my haven are now my prison where I can no sooner find my breath than I could my old self. I miss him sometimes, as immature as that sounds. He knew what had to be done and did it without reasoning of emotions or a hope of change. She's changed me. Of all the defenceless people in the world, let alone New York, Clary is the one to succeed in tearing down any incentive I had of keeping up my cocky warrior disposition. Now I'm just some weak little boy who is undeniably in love with his sister.
I feel a sudden sharp pain shoot its way through my chest, stopping just an inch from killing me and saving me from this twisted trick of fate. Never did the dagger plunge its way that one inch deeper into my chest. It would never give me the satisfaction. No, instead the knife sits itself so I am reminded every thought and glance that she can never be mine. And although the pain is at times so unbearable to withstand and the stolen moments are filled with longing and unspoken desires, they'll never be another.
A jab in the chest cuts the hole deeper.. I have to get out of here.
I swing my legs off the bed and walk out the door before I could put my shoes on or grab a jacket. It would have taken up too much time and allowed a memory to slip back into mind. Besides, this wouldn't be the first time I walk around the institute bare-foot and wearing my white t-shirt and jocks.
As I make my way through the halls looking for a worthy time-consuming project, i begin to regret not putting on some shoes. My feet are freezing on these marble floors. Which means I need a room with carpet... and a fire would be nice too. I'm not going to go to the library; too many people coming and going, researching old runes and mentors. The greenhouse is already out of the question; too many memories that haunt. I'm not hungry either, so not much point walking to the kitchen. Even with Isabelle not cooking any more, I hardly ever feel the need to eat. Or rest, or sleep, or think. Too many taunts.
I turn the corner of the eastern wing of the institute and see a door slightly open with a stream of night-light peering through the slit. The room led into the hardly ever used room where my beloved piano resides.
Perfect.
I make my way to the end of the corridor and gently place my hand on the handle and ease it open, trying not to aggravate the creeping sounds these old doors seem to love to make. The feel of carpet under my feet is inviting, and the familiar smell and feel of the room was comforting. Perhaps these particular walls would become my new haven. The fire place still worked and was situated next to the arched window and red curtains on the far back wall. Small tables and chairs were dotted about the cosy room. On one of the small tables there was a delicately designed vase with gold trimmings placed in the middle with flowers. All different kinds, including a few leaves from the plants in the greenhouse. They were dead though, deprived of sunlight or maybe they have been there long enough. Maryse or one of the other passing Shadowhunters probably thought the bouquet would be nice. The piano just to my left along with the paintings and books covering the walls are highlighted by the shine of the moon. Especially the piano. The black exterior is in mint condition, thanks to me and my thankful abilities with cleaning such a priceless instrument. After all, it was one of my many tasks at Wayland Manor.
Another knife.
I cannot help but wince this time. I run my fingers through my hair, desperate to be rid of this aching and spot the matches to light the fire place. I walk over and remove the long-stemmed match and strike the side of the box. With ease the fire lights and catches on the logs of wood. I wait just a moment to make sure the fire will stay alight and then sit myself down on the piano stool.
Automatically my hands rest on the black and white keys, and I get a sudden fright. My fingers... they're so gaunt and covered in scars. My veins protrude my skin whenever my fingers clench and the nails are bitten short. I will have to stop that I think.
Once again my hands find their way back to the keys and I begin to play, the soft melody of the composition consuming every thought and worry in the world I had. In other words, this song was Clary.