Loud sobs caught Jace's attention and he reached for her. "It's going to be okay, Ris," he whispered to her, before realizing she was still asleep, probably caught in a nightmare. He shook her lightly, "Ris, baby, wake up. Come on, Rissa, wake up. Wake up, baby." She did, sitting up.
"Jace?" She asked, eyes wild.
"Yeah, Ris." He hastened to assure her. "It's me."
After that she came around fairly quickly, a stoic mask slipping into place. "I need a shower." She said, finally. Jace furrowed his eyebrows, but decided not to psychoanalyze, instead promising that he'd be right there if she needed him. "Right here," he'd emphasized squeezing her hand tightly. She nodded once, walking away.
"Where is she?" Jocelyn demanded, walking in just as Clary disappeared to the bathroom.
"Taking another shower." He said, his concern showing through.
"That's totally normal, Jace," she said soothingly, "she feels dirty."
That actually made perfect sense. "Yeah, she told me that earlier. Said she couldn't get clean."
"It's normal," Jocelyn repeated. "And…" she hesitated, "It's normal for you to feel…you know what let me send you to Luke."
"I can't leave Clary." He protested.
"I'll take care of her. This'll affect you as well. Talk to Luke."
LINEBREAKLINEBREAKLINEBREAKLINEBREAKLINEBREAKLINEBREAKLINEBREAKLINEBREAK
"How's Clary?" Luke immediately asked upon seeing Jace.
"Not great. How is she supposed to be, though?"
Luke took a deep breath, conceding the point. "Amatis—that's my sister—she took ten showers every day for almost a year. I swear I looked away for not even five minutes and she had disappeared. I found her, clothes torn, crying on the ground. She was an adult, of course, and it's not like it was my responsibility but I was right there and I couldn't prevent it. I blamed myself," he snorted dryly, "she blamed herself. Nobody seemed to blame the piece of shit that actually attacked her, though." He sipped a coffee. "It's not your fault, Jace, don't think so. I know you feel guilty and I understand it, but you're not. He is. And don't let Clary blame herself either; she'll probably try. She'll wake up screaming," Luke told him, "she'll have panic attacks. She'll need reassurance all the time and sometimes you'll take her hand and she'll flinch away. That's all normal and there's nothing you can do but be there. Sometimes she'll need to be held and sometimes she won't be able to bear being touched and you won't guess right every time. That's just the way of it."
"So you're saying there's no manual that says what to do? My girlfriend has been victimized and traumatized and I just have to wing it?"
"Yeah." Luke confirmed. "That's what I'm saying."
"It's just…I've never met someone who…"
Luke corrected him hesitantly. "Actually…You almost certainly have."
"What?" Jace asked.
"Approximately how many women do you know?"
"Um…all the ones I go to school with, plus Maryse and Izzy. Probably at least fifty."
"Then you know at least ten who either have been or will be before they turn twenty-five." Luke shook his head. "Anyway, patience and love will get the two of you through. Beyond that…"
Jace wasn't sure how to handle that. There was no list of do's and don'ts—though some where pretty fucking obvious—there was no game plan. He couldn't do anything but be there. He felt useless.
"You know Jocelyn's with Clary. If you wanted to go home, get some sleep…" Luke shrugged.
"No," he declined. "I don't want her to think that now that someone else is here I feel like...I want her to know I'm here because I want to be, not because nobody else was available. I want to be here for her. I need her to know that."
"Sleep then? I'll blow up the air mattress, and you can sleep on the floor in Clary's room if you want."
Jace agreed to the terms, heaving himself tiredly up the steps with Luke following behind.
He knew this was his fault. He'd left her. He left her there, completely unprotected. He failed her, horribly, and it wasn't going to happen again. He dropped onto the inflated air mattress, dedicated to at least resting. No sooner had he fallen asleep, though, than he woke to screams. He raised himself up but Jocelyn held out a hand to him, indicating she would handle it. She was not doing so well, Clary couldn't be touched right now and Jocelyn's voice wasn't getting through to her.
"Let me try," Jace insisted softly five or so minutes later, seating himself at the foot of the bed. "Rissa? It's me, it's Jace. Rissa, come back to us, baby. He's not here. You mother is and me, Rissa, that's all."
One word caught Clary's ear. Rissa. Only Jace called her Rissa.
"It's okay, Rissa." He continued in the same voice that suggested he might be speaking to a wounded animal.
Rissa meant Jace.
Jace meant safety.
She was safe. She scrambled to her knees, launching herself into his arms. He rocked her back and forth, studiously holding in his own tears and focusing on his love. "I'm right here, baby. And I'm never leaving you."
He swore it.
LinebreakLinebreakLinebreakLinebreakLinebreakLinebreakLinebreakLinebreakLinebreakLine…
Jocelyn took her to the police station who took her statement. She didn't really feel like they were both on her side, though. One of the cops clearly was: Did he say anything? Did you recognize him? But the other, his partner, she assumed, was not taking it seriously at all. Apart from a few defensive injuries and the knife cut—which could have been from much less than a knife, according to him—and the black eye, she wasn't really injured, he pointed out. What were you wearing? You knew there was a threat but went outside anyways? As if she were not the victim; as if she were to blame; as if taking her trash out signaled a desire to be raped; as if stepping onto her own porch constituted consent.
"Listen," the first cop said gently. "I believe you, but you should know even if we're able to arrest him, even if he gets indicted…it's not over for you. You'll have to tell your story to a grand jury and then again to twelve more people and whoever's watching and in front of him. And then the trial will be like that." The cop jerked his thumb towards the other man. "They'll try to make it your fault, or otherwise they'll pick at your story until it sounds like you were so scared and so traumatized that you have no idea who it was, despite that you clearly recognized him. If you do pursue this, it will suck horribly. Be prepared for that." His tone was kind but his words harsh, even if they were the truth.
How reassuring.
Clary was insistent upon going to school, even following that. Luke didn't think it was the best idea, Jocelyn didn't think it was the best idea, and Jace was sure it wasn't—was sure that this was going to blow up and end badly.
The first few periods went okay, other than Clary's mild panic when she had to take off her hoodie because she was burning up. Jace had been forced to take her hand, holding it gently. She still folded in on herself, but her breathing became less erratic and the panic attack was avoided.
Lunch was okay, though she insisted on taking it outside, citing that it felt as if everyone knew and were whispering about her. In solidarity, even though only Jace was aware of the situation, Izzy, Simon, Alec and Magnus ate with them.
She knew, logically, that they couldn't know and that even if people did, the five surrounding her—and even Sebastian—would her back, and her front and her sides if need be. It didn't help.
Jace almost though he was wrong—that the day would be okay until they reached Psych of Women, an offshoot of the Psych requirement and a dual credit class which would get them ahead for college.
"Today," the teacher announced, "we will began our unit on Rape Cuture."
Oh. Oh no.
He darted a glance at Clary whose eyes were shut as she focused on breathing normally.
"What is rape culture?" The teacher opened up.
Clary's breath was quicker and shallower and anyone not paying attention would've missed it. Luckily, Jace was paying attention.
"Mr. Wayland?" Starkweather called after nobody answered.
Jace kept one eye on Clary, "It's the encouragement of sexist and chauvinistic behavior as well as a negligent attitude towards sexual assault that results in the objectification and sexualization of women and therefore almost a justification for sexual assault."
"I'm sorry, sir. May I use the restroom?" Clary asked, receiving an acquiescence and shaking her head at Jace when he made to follow.
The teacher gestured for Jace to continue. "I mean, nobody says 'Are you sure you didn't give him your wallet and now you're embarrassed about it?' or 'Well, you parked your Corvette outside your house. Surely you figured someone would steal it?' or 'It was probably a misunderstanding. He probably thought you wanted to get mugged.' Do they?" He had meant it to sound reasonable but it came out passionate and almost personal instead. He figured he was still pissed from the police station.
"No," the teacher acknowledged, looking shrewdly between the golden boy and the door Clary had disappeared through, obviously, to Jace at least, connecting the dots. "An excellent point."
"Uh, sir…"
"Go ahead, Mr. Wayland."
At that he almost ran from his seat out the door, following the sobs that could be heard even that far away. Granted, even if he couldn't hear them, she was in the first place he'd have checked—the bathroom by the nurse's office that nobody used, due to it being so far from classes.
He steeled himself. Watching Clary cry was not his favorite sight. He approached her slowly, calling her Rissa to let her know it was him. So far, it seemed he was the only one that could calm her and though he realized this with no little pride, it was worrisome. He couldn't be with her every second of every day, physically couldn't, no matter how much he would like to. Izzy would need to be filled in and hopefully Clary would come around to Jocelyn's assurances.
Would she do this every day, or each time they had Psych of Women until the end of the unit? Jace would have away games and what if he got seriously ill and couldn't come to school?
What would she do if he couldn't be there?
He doesn't bring any of this up as he wraps his arms around her. He doesn't mention that they'll need to explain to people while he hums a lullaby to her, intermittently whispering that it'll be okay, everything will be okay, it's over now…
But it's not he realizes. It's not over.
And there's no knowing when it will be.