Hearts Lie, a mortal instruments fanfic

Push away the past, that vessel in which all emotions curdle to regret.

Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

She pushed the button near the CD player, stopping the music that was flowing in the car. He sent her a look, something like confusion, and shrugged, his hands still steering the wheel. It took a few moments for him to park and when he did, she didn't get out of the car. She stayed where she was, in the passenger's seat, the seat belt still across her chest. He unlocked his door and stepped halfway out before realizing her reluctance.

"Clary?" He called, poking his head inside.

She didn't dare meet his eyes. Her hands trembled, but she pinched her skin, the pain silencing her body's movements. Outside, it was snowing. New York was getting its first dose of winter. She watched as a couple shuffled into a shoe store, their hoods protecting their heads. Then she watched a group of teenagers, chattering and staring at their phones, the weather not the least bit one of their worries. In the distance, she heard the sound of beeps and hollers. Incoming traffic.

She licked her lips.

"I can't do this anymore."

There was no turning back now.

His orbs narrowed. He got back inside the vehicle. His body turned towards her. "What?" He cleared his throat. "Can't do what anymore?"

She lifted her right hand and tugged off the engagement ring. She sucked in a breath. "This." She still wasn't making contact with him. She couldn't. Or else she'd fail. She'd see his face and crumble. And go back.

"Clary?" And this time, his tone was weary. "What are you doing?" There was amusement in his voice. Like this was a joke. It was so like him. To never think about the worst that could happen. Everything was humor to him. She should've known that was the way he'd react.

"I can't marry you." She unclicked her seat belt and shouldered her satchel. She dropped the ring on his lap and trudged out of the car briskly, not knowing where she was going. It was cold, the wind biting into her flesh. She bit her bottom lip, holding in her emotions. She was going to cry. She knew it.

She stopped in front of a coffee shop. She thought about going in. She hadn't ever been there before. She thought about trying to act normal. Her hand felt bare without the ring. She wiped the tip of her nose and paced on the concrete.

Then he was in front of her. Conjured like a dream. His hands were in his pockets. His face was stiff. He forced her to look at him. She swallowed the lump in her throat. He spoke first, raw and hurt. "You can't be serious, Clary. What did I do?" He ran his fingers through his hair. It was a habit he had when he was frustrated. "I thought-" His voice cracked. "I thought we were doing well."

Her eyes glistened. Green mist. "It's not you."

"Can you fucking talk to me?" He was getting angry. The volume of his voice was rising. It was his way of releasing his stress. "What did I do?"

She sobbed and his expression changed. His face softened. The outlines of his eyes were red. In the background, pedestrians watched curiously. "You didn't do anything." She shook her head, her auburn hair bouncing. "You didn't do anything."

He brought his palms to her face. His flesh was rough and warm and calloused. He stepped closer to her and her eyelids shut when she smelled his familiar scent. Rich cologne and honey. "Tell me. I love you." Her insides were burning. Shame spotted her mind. "Tell me. I'll do anything." And she was certain he wasn't lying.

She pushed him away from her. He was breathing harder, gazing at her in disbelief and grief. He was so vulnerable. She couldn't stop her fury. She couldn't hide the pain. "It's me! It's me!" Tears were blurring her vision.

His eyes widened a fraction. He opened his mouth. It took awhile for him to say anything. "I never changed, Clary. I never changed." He was so naive. Why did he always blame himself? He glanced to the sky momentarily and she caught his low shoulders, the weakness in his body that he never displayed in public.

They were the only two people in New York. The city was theirs. Nothing else mattered.

She struggled to explain herself. "I changed."

He tilted his head. She had broken him. "You're still the same person."

She didn't know when she'd stop crying. She didn't know when her ribs would feel like they were not breaking. She didn't know if the emptiness inside her could be filled. "I'm not."

She crumbled to the cement. And again, he was there to hold her. Even though she was stabbing him repeatedly, blow after blow. His arms found her waist. Stayed there. They were making a scene. But they didn't care. She was weeping uncontrollably now. Her shoulders were trembling. Her hands were pale. Her cheeks were red. Her eyes were puffy. And her head was nestled against his hard chest and he was rocking her back and forth. His locks of hair tickled her forehead. Everything about him was so familiar.

She whispered, softly and fully aware that he was listening, "It's my heart. It's not you. I'm so ashamed." She sniffled. "I can't help it. I'm scared."

She opened her refrigerator and sighed. She needed to go grocery shopping soon. A half container of old cheese and two bottles of beer wouldn't last her a few hours. She rose up and filled a glass with water. She wondered when the water would be shut down. She hadn't paid the bill yet. Work was slow. The ringtone of birds chirping made her reach for her phone. She lifted it to her ear. "Yea?"

"We've got some clients." It was Luke's voice, sounding hopeful and less stressed than ever.

"Really?" A grin spread across her face. She placed her glass down on the counter. "Who?"

He laughed, amused with her excitement. "A wealthy family. They're old friends. They need some portraits."

She released a breath. "When?"

"Is now alright with you?"

It was both the happiest and saddest day of her life.

Photography was a dying profession. With more advanced smart phones and technology, professional photographers were no longer needed for pictures. Fewer customers meant losing business. And losing business meant living paycheck to paycheck.

She walked into their tiny studio. Years before, it used to bustle with people. Now, it was empty and lonely. She grabbed her camera and strapped it onto the tripod. And that's when she heard the sound of conversation. Loud and lively. A few seconds passed before a group of men and women appeared. She straightened quickly, guessing that they were the family Luke had spoken to her about.

There was an old man. Bald with a thick, gray beard. He was smiling at a woman who appeared his age. She had blonde hair and wrinkles underneath her mouth. Clary guessed they were wife and husband. Then there were younger individuals. Two males and one female that looked to be around her age. The girl was tall, all legs and flashy skin. She was beautiful. A tan face. A small waist. Brown curls. Perhaps she was a model. Both of the guys looked completely different, but Clary knew they were siblings from the start. One was shorter, with long brown hair and hazel eyes. He wore a crisp, black suit. The other was a little more careless. He was striking in a way that was noticeable. His hair was a dark shade of gold. It was tousled on his head, not combed. His orbs were a melting orange. The kind of color that changed often.

Clary stumbled back a step when she realized the old man was talking to her. Flushing, she asked, "I'm sorry. Come again?"

He nodded his head. "I'm a dear friend of Luke's. My name is Stephan Herondale. This is my wife Celine." He pointed a finger backwards. "These are my children. Aline. Jordon. And Jonathon."

Jonathon clicked his tongue. His arms were crossed over his chest. "It's Jace."

His father didn't seem to hear him. He pointed to the shooting room. "Shall we?"

Clary smiled. "Of course."

The first picture was of the family sitting on a couch, seemingly normal. Clary set up the lighting, turned off lamps when needed, and shifted a few pieces of furniture. She adjusted the camera about a foot away from them and observed them from a distance. She was nervous. She had done this a billion times. Taken a billion pictures. Yet she had never taken photos of elites. The Herondales weren't just a rich family, they were notable. They were the faces of America's largest industries.

And here she was, inches away from them.

She cleared her throat and stepped towards them. "Can you guys switch positions, please?" Aline nodded and rose up from her seat. Jonathon took longer to simply stand. He was lazy with his movements. Almost like he didn't care. As he sat down, his eyes slid over her for probably his first time that day. Her heart was in her throat. She couldn't breathe.

And then it was time for the photos to be taken.

One of Stephan and Celine, hands tightly grasping one another.

One of Aline, Jonathon, and Jordon.

And one of Jonathon and Jordon.

They were grinning, the two brothers. Even Jonathon, who didn't seem like the person who was happy often. They were clasping shoulders, faces devilish and angelic at the same time.

At the end of their session, Stephan paid with a check. Three times the value that was needed.

When Clary got home and for a few weeks after taking pictures of the Herondales, she began doing her research. Her searches included:

Herondale family.

Herondale business.

Jonathon Herondale.

Lastest news on Jonathon Herondale.

Image results of Jonathon Herondale.

She didn't want to admit it, but she wished she could see him again.

Somehow.

He was a playboy.

Despite his status, he was found in clubs and bars late in the morning. Sometimes, workers would find him collapsed on the ground. Intoxicated and asleep.

He was the heir to his father's industries, alongside his brother Jordon.

When the media questioned Jonathon's reckless acts outside of work, it was Jordon who answered, firm and certain. "My brother's activities are of no concern to you. Please go back to your mindless pursue of stories."

It was about nine in the afternoon when she finally got out of the studio. It was dark and warm outside. She shoved her camera into her bag and searched her coat pockets for her car keys. "Shoot." She mumbled, wondering if she had left it in the office. She pursed her lips and turned back to the studio. It was then that a car screeched ahead of her, stopping only when the hood was centimeters from her body. She screamed and fell backwards in an attempt to move away. The vehicle was shiny and black. A sports car.

Her eyebrows knit and she scrambled to get to her feet. The driver's door opened and he came out, staggering a little. Her jaw went slack. He sauntered towards her deliberately, as if he knew her. "What are you doing?" Her words shook. Her lungs were shriveling up.

He smirked. He was drunk. Drunk and beautiful. "What was your name again?" He was slurring letters together. "Carly?" He squinted, coming closer. "Chloe?"

She cut off his guesses swiftly. "It's Clary."

Something darkened in his eyes. "Clary." She almost shivered.

Inches separated their bodies. He was wearing a wrinkled dress shirt and sweatpants. His hair threatened to spill over his face. "Come with me, Clary."

"What are you talking about?" She frowned, wondering where he was going with his thoughts.

He slid his gaze from her to his car.

She shook her head. "You shouldn't be driving. You're drunk."

He scoffed. "Are you coming or not?" He walked heedlessly to his car and slid in the driver's seat. From the windshield, he stared at her.

He raised a hand, all five fingers up. He was smiling. Slowly, each finger started to lower. He was counting till 5.

She opened her mouth. She glanced at her watch. She looked back at the studio.

Then she ran to climb into the passenger's seat.

The first thing she did was strap on her seat belt. The interior of the car was clean, not a speck of dust coating any surface. She turned to him when he ignited the engine. "I'll drive you home." She started. "You can't drive like-"

He whirled to face her. He lifted an eyebrow. "Loosen up."

He revved the engine.

And they were speeding down the road.

She clasped the arm rests. Whispered a prayer. He was laughing delightfully. "This is the most fun I've had in awhile." He passed a red light absentmindedly and Clary shut her eyes, wondering when the cops would follow them.

"Hey."

She refused to meet his gaze.

"Hey!"

"Clary."

She peered at him involuntarily. One hand was on the wheel, the other was reaching towards her. "Do you trust me?"

"What?" She asked incredulously. "Can you keep your eyes on the road?"

He ignored her demand and repeated, "Do you trust me?"

Helplessly, she responded, "I barely know you."

He released a small, cruel sounding laugh. "That's true." He sighed and then mumbled, "No point in trusting me anyway."

Maybe it was the fact that she had a crush on him since the day of the family session. Or that she had stalked him relentlessly on the internet. Maybe it was the fact that he was being bitter towards himself. Maybe it was because she was with someone she wanted to be with in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere.

Green met gold. "I trust you."

Then they crashed.

When she came to, the only thought on her mind was him.

She had no loved ones, so the only people surrounding her were nurses. "What happened?" She croaked.

A small nurse turned to her in surprise. "You're awake!" She checked her pulse. "You were involved in a car accident. Luckily, you got out with a few bruise-"

"What about Jonathon?"

The nurse gave her a funny look. "The man that was with you?"

Clary nodded weakly.

"A broken arm and a mild concussion."

She rose from the hospital bed with a grunt. The nurse reached for her, but Clary waved her away.

She walked down the hospital halls, dizzy yet wide awake. She needed to see him. To make sure he was okay.

When she reached his room, she stopped at the door. She heard the voices of his family members. She held her breath. Decided against it.

Afterall, she was nothing to him.

The next time they interacted was in the studio. She was developing some sample photos and hadn't realized he had come in through the front doors.

"Clary." He said, clear as day.

She gasped in surprise, paper falling to the ground. He was standing in front of her, definitely not drunk. His left arm was slung with a wrap. Bruises covered his face. They made him look sharper than ever.

She tried to cover up her joy at seeing him. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled and she couldn't help but blush. "I came to apologize."

She frowned. "For what?"

He took a lock of his hair and twisted it around his finger. "The accident. I wasn't acting right."

"Oh." She stared at her shoes. "That's okay."

"When do you get off?" He asked, walking around the shop. He evaluated some of the frames that were hung up on the walls.

"In two hours."

He hummed a little. "We'll meet up at Roberto's then." He strolled to the doors. Before he pushed them open, he turned to her. "See you then."

It was a fancy restaurant she had never been to before.

She dressed as nicely as she possibly could. A blue, ruffled dress with a thin white cardigan.

She waited at a table that he had made reservations for.

She kept repeating in her head: I am going on a date with Jonathon Herondale. I am going on a date with Jonathon Herondale. I am going on a date with Jonathon Herondale.

He ran a comb through his hair and straightened his tie in front of the full length mirror. "Where do you think you're going?" Jordon asked from behind him.

Jonathon didn't bother to answer him. He grabbed a coat and slipped it on.

"Jace."

"What?" He drawled in annoyance, glancing at his brother for a moment. Jordon was sitting on the couch, filling out paperwork for the company. His arm sleeves were folded up and his face was gaunt with exhaustion.

"Where the fuck are you going? We're supposed to check over these orders." His eyebrows were drawn angrily together.

"I'll check over them when I get back."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Jordon stood up. "You're meeting with her, aren't you?" His voice was accusatory.

Jonathon rolled his eyes. "What's it to you?"

Jordon grabbed a pile of papers, his hard grip causing wrinkles to form. "You're not ruining our company with your play. I didn't work-"

"My play?"

Jordon nodded. They were standing nose to nose. "Admit it. This girl's your new toy." He smirked savagely a little. "You're using her. You're dragging her into your fucked up life. You're supposed to help me with the company. Dad's depending on us."

Jonathon shoved him away. "I couldn't care less. That's all he cares about."

Jordon shook his head and backed slowly to the living room. "Forget it. Do whatever you want, Jace. It's not like you listen to anybody else anyway."

He didn't end up coming.

Clary went home, crying and cursing her stupidity.

Who was she to believe he was interested in her?

She tried to forget about him.

But she couldn't help reading headlines about him. Wondering if he was okay.

He visited again.

At midnight.

And he was drunk.

He said, "I saw your car here. I wanted to see you."

Her mind told her to kick him out. To tell him to leave her alone. Her heart told her otherwise.

She didn't mention that he had stood her up. Or that he was giving her mixed signals. She simply replied, "I'm gonna drive you home."

He didn't argue.

"Where do you live?" She asked, stopping his car at a red light.

He was slumped in the passenger's seat, ready to fall asleep. "The plaza."

She nodded. Everyone knew where that was. It was the place of the rich and important.

"Clary?"

"Yea?" She bit her bottom lip, not knowing what to expect.

"Do you think I'm fucked up?"

She stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter."

She parked the car and hurried to his side. He was so drunk he had to lean on her to stand. He smelled like cologne. Strong. His right arm slid around her waist and she stiffened. She was sure her heart couldn't handle any more. She kept her expression nonchalant and helped him through the doors.

In the elevator to his floor, he leaned his head against hers. Red hair mixing with gold. "Why are you putting up with me?"

She wrung out one of her tired hands and admitted, "I don't know." She knew the reason, of course. She knew she liked him. More than liked him.

He laughed and it rumbled her body, deep and genuine. "At least you're honest."

She took him to his room where he struggled to grab his card for a few minutes. When the door finally unlocked under his identification, she steadied him, prepared to let him go. She needed to head home. It was already getting too late.

"Thanks." Someone said. Clary looked up to spot Jordon, reaching out to his brother.

In embarrassment, she released Jonathon, instantly wishing for his warmth back. Jonathon made a noise. It sounded like discomfort. "You're welcome."

Jordon pulled him effortlessly to the couch where Jonathon slept, his face nuzzled into a pillow. He turned to her. "Did you come with his car?"

"Yea." She placed a wad of her curls behind her ears. "Sorry. He was too drunk too drive."

Jordon waved a hand, a motion for her to follow. She did, after making sure Jonathon was slumbering soundly.

"I can drive you back home." Jordon offered, putting on his jacket.

"Oh. That's alright. I could walk. It's not far."

Jordon clicked his tongue. "Jace wouldn't allow it."

She knit her eyebrows. "What?"

He gave her a look that she couldn't decipher. "Let me drive you home."

Her eyelids were heavy and she didn't bother arguing. "Okay."

The car ride was silent.

Instead of possessing a sports car like Jonathon, Jordon rode a Mercedes luxury car. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving the road. He was so unlike Jonathon, it was difficult for Clary to believe they were brothers.

Her thoughts kept drifting back to Jonathon. Why did he only visit when he was drunk? Why her? Why couldn't he head to his family? She wanted desperately to believe that he was interested in her. That he enjoyed her company.

But he was THE Jonathon Herondale. He had everything at his fingertips. Clary couldn't be anything but a method to waste time.

"Take a right here." She told Jordon.

He stopped the car in front of her apartment complex. It was a rat's nest compared to the plaza. She gave him a small wave. "Thank you."

His hazel orbs flashed. "No problem. Have a good night."

"Do you ever take pictures of yourself?" He asked, tilting her camera in his hands.

She frowned and replied, "No. I take pictures of other people. That's the point." She snatched her camera away from him and rubbed it affectionately. He grinned. He was wearing a gray shirt and ripped jeans. On his wrist glittered a fancy watch.

"Well, maybe I can take one of you." He suggested, forming a square with his fingers.

She snorted. "Yeah, sure."

He shrugged and grabbed his phone from his back pocket. Holding it up, he waved his other hand. "Move a bit to the right."

Clary laughed and shook her head. "You're an idiot."

He was on the news often. The latest headline highlighted his lack of work ethic and his constant play with females.

The channel showed a clip of Jonathon coming out of a notorious club, swaying slightly on his feet. Cameras flashed everywhere, clicking and turning angles. His hair was tied in a loose ponytail and his shirt had a wet stain on it. He looked horrible. But what Clary wouldn't forget catching was his wry smile, void of any emotion.

Reporters started asking questions, pestering him for honesty.

"What would your father think about your actions?"

"Are you prepared to take ownership of the Herondale industries?"

"Would you describe your relationships with previous women as careless? Many would think so." At the last inquiry, Jonathon actually responded. His eyes slid to the camera, almost as if staring at her directly.

Even though he was heavily intoxicated, his answer was firm and serious. "I have a girlfriend. Her name is Clary Fray."

She called him numerous times.

He didn't answer.

So she stomped to his room.

Knocked the door repeatedly.

Until Jordon appeared.

Clary was angry and flustered. Jonathon had just announced to the world that she was his girlfriend. He had pronounced her full name, giving the media all they needed for them to capture her. She was scared and nervous and lovesick. He hadn't ever told her they were boyfriend and girlfriend.

She could hardly call him a friend, despite her feelings for him.

"Where is he?" She screeched, pushing past a startled Jordon.

From behind her, his brother answered. "Sleeping." After a moment, he added, "I'd suggest waiting for him to wak-"

She darted from room to room, finally able to find the one he was in. Jonathon was sleeping on his stomach, shirtless. His mouth was slightly open and his blankets were around his ankles. All her frustration disappeared. She sat on the edge of his bed. The air smelled like him. She wished she could slumber beside him.

"I wish you'd be serious for once." She whispered. "I wish you wouldn't take me as a joke."

He stirred.

Her heart froze.

Then his eyelids lifted lazily. He groaned, raising a hand to his forehead. "Shit." Clary watched him sit up, barely noticing her. His chest was covered with tattoos.

"Clary?"

She nodded. "We need to talk."

He yawned and pointed to the bathroom. "Be right back."

He apologized to her about saying her name on the news. He told her he thought they had that kind of relationship. She was shocked. Smoothly, he reassured, "I like you, Clare."

Her lips were dry and without meaning to, words spilled out of her. "Me too."

"He just needs a little guidance. You can't keep punishing him and expect change." Jordon reasoned, pacing in his father's office.

Stephan removed his hand from underneath his chin. He gave his eldest son a pointed look. "What do I do? He's showing absolutely no effort towards this company. You know it!"

Jordon sighed. "I get it. I understand, dad."

"No, you don't. Did you see the news last week? Did you or did you not?"

"Of course I did." Jordon squeezed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Everyone did."

"What do you make of it?" Stephan scoffed. "My son has a girlfriend that I have never met or heard of." He rose up from behind his desk and peered out of the window that overlooked the busy city. "Fix this, Jordon."

"We're not going over this again." Jace started, rolling his eyes. He grabbed his keys and swung them up into the air.

"Jace." Jordon blocked the door with his right arm. If push came to shove, he wouldn't waver.

His younger brother pursed his lips. "This is from dad, right? He told you to talk to me." He smirked a little. "I'm not a fucking baby for you guys to look out for me."

Jordon met his gaze levelly. "You're my baby brother."

Jace's face softened. "Jordon. Who I date or hang out with is none of the company's business. The sooner you learn that, the easier it gets."

Jordon lowered his arm and moved aside. "Tell me one thing before you go."

Jace cocked an eyebrow.

"That girl, you're not in love with her. I know you more than anyone else. You're doing this because you think it's right. Because you think it's what you want. You don't HAVE to party and get drunk and make a fool of yourself. That's not you. What do you want with her?"

"It's never mattered what I want."

He kissed her for the first time in her studio.

His hands were warm.

She had shut her eyes and leaned in. It took a little while before his mouth touched hers.

And then he pulled away.

And he said, avoiding her eyes, "Let's go."

It was when Jonathon tried to pay for his beer at a bar that he realized his father had shut down his accounts.

He dropped the cash he had in his wallet on the counter and left, eventually demanding from Jordon what was going on.

"He can't do that. He can't fucking take my living away!"

Jordon was quiet. "He can."

Jonathon whirled around furiously. "What?"

"Your credit is connected to the company."

"What did he say? What did he tell you?" Jonathon demanded, his eyes imploring.

"You're spending more time with her than you are with the advertising department." Jordon clicked on his phone. "Dad said he'll open them up when you're ready. For now, I'll send you deposits. Let me know when you need anything."

Jonathon scowled and left the room. "Yeah, right. Fuck you guys."

"What's going on?" She asked when she opened her apartment door to find him standing in front of her.

He walked in without saying anything and she shut the door behind him, her stomach performing flip flops.

He collapsed on her couch, shutting his eyes. Clary hovered over him, worried. "Jace?"

He grunted.

"What happened?"

He told her about what his dad did. How he needed a place to stay temporarily until things changed. She held her breath. Possibilities kept flying through her head. The two of them in the same space. All they had ever done was kiss.

She swept her emotions aside.

"I guess you'll have to get used to being part of the working class."

She was delighted to hear him let out a tired laugh.

They were on the carpet of her small living room. They had pushed the furniture to the back so that they could sleep on the ground.

When they laid down, their shoulders touched. Clary kept her hands folded over her stomach. His arms were stretched outwards, one flung over her head and the other over his chest.

They stared at the ceiling, both unwilling to sleep.

"I finished the photos I took of you guys." Clary started.

"Really?"

She hummed. "Yeah. I'll show them to you tomorrow. I think you'll like them."

"I'm sure I will."

Before she could stop herself, she rambled, "My favorite one is the one of you and your brother."

Jace turned his body so that it faced hers. She flushed. "Why's that?"

"I don't know." Clary tugged at the cloth of her shirt. "Because you look happy."

Jace smiled and the gesture made her feel like the world was hers. "What did you think of us before we introduced ourselves?"

Clary tapped her chin playfully. They were close enough to kiss. To hug. Yet, she kept talking. "Your sister. She was a model. Every boy she met fell in love with her. And she only ever wore brand clothing. She refused anything other than notable names..."

Jace chuckled, his shoulders shaking. "Aline's a lesbian."

Clary's eyes were wide. "Are you serious?!"

"Yea." Jace wiped his eyes. They were a brilliant hue of green and blue. "Keep going."

She was embarrassed, but his encouragement made her feel brave. "Your brother is too worried. He takes everything too seriously. He's like a bartender. Too quiet and too invisible."

Jace was silent.

"Jace?"

"Hm?"

"Is everything alright?"

He cleared his throat. "I'm fine. You were spot on by the way." There was something sad in his face. Something nostalgic.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She could see that he was trying to erase whatever was bothering him. "What about me?"

"You're a musician. You belong in a rock band. You play the guitar and sing too. When you're bored, you write love songs."

Jace played with the locks of her hair, his hot breath tickling her skin. "No. Jordon's the musician. He used to play the piano."

"And you?"

"I'm not a music kid."

Clary placed her palm on his chest. It was hard with muscle. He relaxed. "You're close to Jordon, right?"

He took a deep breath. "He's my other half."

A month later, she lost her virginity to him.

As she was below him, he had whispered, earnest and true, "You're so beautiful."

Jordon supported him with payments. Never allowing his father to realize he was helping Jonathon when he wasn't supposed to.

Slowly, Jace drifted away from her.

He came home later.

Went to bars more often.

Arrived drunker than ever.

They were in her studio when he suddenly exclaimed, "Why do you even like me?"

She had thought he was joking, so she replied lightheartedly, "Who knows?"

He spat out, "I'm a fucking worthless son. I'm a monster." And his locks quivered on top of his head.

She dropped the paper she had been clutching. She tried to grab for his hand, but he pushed her roughly. She fell to the ground with a thud. Her eyes watered. He stared at her, like he couldn't believe what he had done. And then he ran out.

Jordon had seen everything. He had come to grab Jace to talk about some marketing ideas he had. When he heard Jace's outbursts, he stopped near the door.

Then he saw his brother storming out.

And she was crying on the floor.

He didn't know what to do. He said what he could to her, "He's just tired. Don't take his words to heart."

She covered her face with her hands.

Jordon watched her, not able to identify the tug he was feeling in his chest.

All of a sudden, she hugged him. Clasping onto him like a child.

She smelled like cherries.

Jace didn't come back to her apartment for weeks.

He didn't text or call her.

The only way she heard from him was from the news.

He was found unconscious in clubs again.

She was heartbroken.

Jordon visited.

He didn't know why.

He needed to.

Somehow.

Weeks became a month.

"He's not coming back, is he?" Clary asked, staring at a painting she had just finished.

Jordon was standing over her. He had come to check up on her. "I don't know."

She met his eyes. Chocolate and emerald. "You knew all along. That he would do this to me."

He didn't lie. "Yes."

All she did was shed a single tear.

"Here, I've got them." Jordon offered, taking some of the grocery bags in her hands.

She rose up and unlocked her door. Stepping forward, she let out a yelp when her shoe slipped over the curve of her carpet. Then everything came crashing down.

Including Jordon.

And she was beneath him, his mouth centimeters from her cheek. He cursed. His voice was uneven. "Are you alright?"

She was feeling a sensation she wasn't used to. "I'm okay."

They gathered themselves awkwardly up.

At night, he repeated to his pillow.

You can't like her.

You can't.

She's Jace's. Not yours.

Two months passed without word from Jace.

The only solution to get rid of his feelings for her was to travel. To leave. To distance himself from her.

He booked a ticket to Europe.

She found Jordon's plane ticket when she was hanging up his jacket. She had offered him some dinner and he had gone into the bathroom to wash his hands.

She couldn't push down the disappointment she felt. And then she couldn't figure out why she felt that way.

She placed the ticket back into his pocket and acted normal as they ate.

It was hard.

He picked up his luggage, dragged it down with him.

He didn't know anybody in Europe. He just knew he had to be loyal to his baby brother. His feelings had to be destroyed. His brother was more important than him.

He checked his phone. He hadn't told anybody he was leaving. It was going to be a bitter surprise.

"Jordon!"

It was her. Rattled and crying.

How had she known he was going away?

She jumped into his arms.

"Please don't go."

He did go.

He said he had to.

Her nose was red. "Thank you."

She didn't know what she was thanking him for.

Approximately three and a half months later, Jace appeared in her studio.

She thought she was relieved. She had waited so long for this moment and now he was there. Healthy and okay.

He kissed her. He hugged her. "I'm never gonna leave you again."

He proposed to her a few weeks later.

She said yes.

Of course she did.

She never asked him why he had left her in the first place.

Where he went.

Who he spent his time with.

He stopped drinking alcohol.

He started going to work.

He was changing.

For the better.

But why wasn't she happy?

"What are you ashamed of?" He asked, disoriented. He was still holding her. Tight and unyielding.

She jerked away from him. And screamed in the yawning streets of New York, "I don't love you anymore! I tried!"

She took off.

When Jordon came back from Europe, he caught a glimpse of her near the arrival gate. He thought he was seeing things. It couldn't possibly be her.

It was her.

Wearing a thick sweater and skinny jeans.

She walked slowly to him. Like she was making sure it was really him.

Then they embraced.

And it was cherries all over again.

[a/n]: So yeah. Wanted to give you guys a dose of life. Review.

p.s. No matter what you do, you never forget your first love. No matter where Clary is or who she is with, she'll never forget Jace. That's the way it is.

Here's to first crushes. The pain. The exhilaration. The tightness. The nervousness. The anxiety. The waiting. The burning.