Hey guys! Just a small discliamer, there will be alittle bit of self harm in this story as well as some very adult themes. If you are easily tirggered just beware that I may be talking about some intense subjects and while I will describe them in the means neccessary to understand the character, I am in no means trying to glorify self harm or anything of that sort, I just want you guys to be able to get into these character's brains and understand why they are the way that they are. Anyways, enjoy chapter two!

Chapter Two

Everything moved quickly from that point on, too quickly for my liking if I am to be completely honest. I am totally out of my element in this strange place and the irony is not lost on me as I watch each and every rich bitch escorted out of the estate leaving only me and a few members of the staff in the large room that was once filled. I can hardly breathe, though there is plenty of free air now that everybody is gone. He chose me. He chose me after barely getting a single word out of me. How could a man want to marry someone based on a dress? He must be shallow, this must be why so many women have fled from the Golden Man.

"Clarissa was it?" a dark-skinned woman with curly hair asks me.

"Um, Clary," I respond, reach my hand out to shake hers, "Clary Fairchild."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Maia," she shakes my hand. She seems kind and very warm-hearted, it's something I'm not used to in my daily life, but it is welcomed.

"You better be ready to ditch that last name, Jace seems to have taken a liking to you," she says, offering her arm to me and leading me up the large wooden staircase in the center of the mansion, "I've never seen a Choosing Ceremony end so abruptly."

I laugh uncomfortably, "I don't know what he thinks he saw, he barely said two words to me."

"The Wayland Boy works in a mysterious way, it's what keeps him so interesting."

"Well, at least it'll keep me on my toes," I reply, pulling up the straps of my emerald gown that has slipped off of my shoulders.

She leads me through the enormous estate and I can't help but feel a bit overwhelmed. There are so many rooms and hallways and kitchens and areas to mingle. It feels more like a hotel than a home, but I guess that is how it is meant to be. The Waylands are a very impersonal bunch I hear.

"We've arranged a room for you, it may not be your style, but feel free to decorate it any way that you would like. Jace's room is across the hall from you and when you two are to wed you'll move into the East Wing where all of the couples live."

"The couples are separated from everyone else?" I ask.

"Michael doesn't want any infidelity among these walls so he takes as many precautions as he must. It works for the most part, but the Wayland Boy still manages to get around."

So he's a cheater. That's why no woman will stay with him, he's a self-absorbed cheater. That will be just great for my self-esteem.

"We've also picked out a few clothes for you," Maia says, breaking me from my thoughts. "You'll be able to go out on your own and purchase some later, but this supply should get you through the first couple of weeks. Plus, we left you plenty of night-wear. Jace loves satin or silk."

She opens the door to the room for me and ushers me in. It's almost painfully plain. The walls are the same cream color as the rest of the house, adorned with a few paintings from the Renaissance era. The bed is large and looks extremely comfortable, a white quilt lays over the plush mattress and the pillows are a light shade of blue and seem to be covered with satin.

"Try and keep the boy happy," Maia says, walking towards the door, "we don't want a fourth Choosing Ceremony."

"I will do my very best."

I'm lying. My home may be terrible but it is still my home. I know what to expect there, I can control how to feel there. Here, everything is new and scary and too big to comprehend and as Maia closed the door to my new room I can feel the darkness seeping into me the way it always does.

These are the time that I must search for a release. The times that I must do something to gain back some control. The time where I fish the small blade flushed against my hip and bring it into focus.

It is a pretty color. I've always loved silver, the way it sparkles and shines, but isn't too flashy, it never gets noticed by any of the greats, but to me it is stunning. I swipe my finger across the blade lightly, it's not enough to hurt, but it does draw a thin line across the skin, red seeping out of it gently. I always go for the hips or the thighs, somewhere I can hide, somewhere that cannot be put on display. I never cut deep, though the scars on my hips would beg to differ. It is not to kill, just enough pressure to draw crimson, just enough to focus my mind on red and cleaning the red and fixing the red. I can fix the red. I know how to fix the red. Everything else, that is what's scary. A little bit of blood never hurt anybody. The world, the world hurts everybody.

()()()()

I have just fixed the red when I hear a knock on my door, quiet, but firm. I run over to the wardrobe and pull on a blue silk nightgown, it is soft against my fingers, but it is also quite slippery, I've never felt such fabric against my skin before, but it very pleasant.

There's another knock, this one a little louder and more powerful. "Unless you have run away, I'm pretty sure that you're in there, Clarissa."

The Golden Man, I knew he would be coming to see me at some point, but I assumed I would at least have night to myself before I had to start jumping through hoops for this man.

"I am just getting dressed," I call out, and the door suddenly opens. He likes to let himself in apparently.

"What the hell!" I yell, glaring daggers at him, "When a woman tells you she is getting dressed, that is not an invitation for you to come in."

"Oh shush it, would you?"

I cock my head at him, a loud scoff escaping my lips. "That's how you want to talk to the woman you are to wed?"

He nods, a cocky smirk splayed across his lips.

"You are absolutely terrible," I say, closing the drawer of my wardrobe and walking over the bed, sitting down and placing a pillow over my lap. "I was just about to go to bed, so if you don't mind maybe we could mingle later."

He follows me, sitting down right next to me and scooting until our knees touch, my bare one's against his covered in sweats. "I don't want to wait until later. I figured I should get to know you."

"Don't you think you should have done that before you decided I was the one you wanted to wed?"

He laughs, his muscular shoulders shaking slightly. "You're extremely feisty, you know that?"

I scoff, "Yeah, I think I've heard that once or twice."

"Why so serious, love? I'm just trying to talk to you," he pushes a strand of her out of my face and twirls it around his finger.

I can't help my face from flushing pink, but I can pull away, so I do, pulling the strand of hair away from him and tucking it behind my ear.

"I'm very tired, Mr. Wayland."

"Call me Jace," he responds and his ankle rubs against mine and I can't help but shiver at the contact. "What should I call you?"

"Well, my name is Clarissa, so that works."

"No, no, no. Clarissa is much too formal, what should I actually call you?"

He seems surprisingly genuine and it makes me uncomfortable, but it also feels nice.

"My family calls me Clary," I say, looking into his eyes for the first time since he's been in here. They are so bright and speckled with gold and they almost seem to tell me a story, a story of hurt and pain, but also a hopeful story, a story that hurts so bad to read, but eventually you get to the end and you find that you want to read it again.

"Okay, Clary. It's nice to formally meet you," he reaches out his hand to me and hesitantly I meet him. Instead of shaking my hand like I expect him to he pulls me close, his lips imperceptibly close to the skin of my ear. "I would love to stay and talk, but I can tell that you are exhausted and I want you to be rested for tomorrow."

I can't move, but I manage to open my mouth quietly, "What's happening tomorrow?"

He laughs quietly, his warm breath fluttering against my neck, "You'll just have to wait and see, love." He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my neck, right below my ear and I tense up, my breathing coming labored, but then he removes himself from me completely, walking towards the door slowly.

"Goodnight, Clary," he says smugly and I mean to respond, but I'm frozen, so I just watch as he closes the door and then I'm in the darkness again, but it feels different. It feels like I was just in a fire and now I'm engulfed in smoke and it kind of stings and chokes, but I like it, and I don't know what to do with that fact.