Seeing the Truth

Jace:

I glanced over at the girl beside me. Her hair was adorned with cute little ribbons and a light pink dress flowed over her body. She almost tripped as she saw me looking, and then laughed- no, giggled, like a little child. She was acting bizarre, nothing like the girl I'd asked out. Nothing like the girl I'd seen something special in.

I wished, just for a moment, that our perspectives were reversed. That she could see all the gaudy clothing and layers of make-up only detracted from her. They made her into something she would not have otherwise been; a lie. And I could blame my sister, Isabelle, for it, sure I could. But that wouldn't deal with the heart of the problem: Clary didn't feel as if her true self was good enough. And so she tried to blend in with the masses; she had high heels, the make-up, and the sugary smiles.

No-one could love that, I found myself thinking. I shouldn't even be thinking about love, and yet there it was. For a moment I thought about it, I truly did. I thought about telling her- pleading with her- to back to the house, to scrub the make-up from her face, to throw on the jeans that were falling apart and the woollen jumper that was surely a gift from a grandmother. And yet there was no way to do it without hurting her. Without sounding cruel, telling her that the effort she had made was for nothing. I couldn't destroy her confidence like that, not when I wanted the exact opposite. I wanted her to feel more confident in her skin.

So instead, I reached out for one of the ribbons in her hair. I took hold of it and tugged gently, releasing a curl of red hair. She looked at me questioningly, and I said, as sincere as possible, "You don't need it."

It confused her for a moment. I saw the flicker of surprise in her deep green eyes. My heart soared when I saw the happiness that replaced it, momentarily, before she looked away again. "Where did you want to go?" she asked carefully, still unsure.

I had remembered seeing her with Simon before we met. She had been light-hearted and carefree. She had laughed and poked fun at her friend. A little jealousy surfaced. Why was it that when she cared so little about how she was perceived, that she became so much more open and natural? That when she was with him, she would talk with eyes full of wonder about her favourite painting in her favourite gallery. That she didn't even mind when he rolled his eyes as if he thought she was strange for having such a keen interest in art.

"I thought we could go see Spectacular Catastrophe? Or Lady with the Red Umbrella?" She stared at me, trying to place the names. "Or maybe, The Lost Lion and the Avenging Angel?" I said, naming her favourite.

I saw the smile appear in her lips, involuntarily, as I said the name. There was wonder in her voice as she asked, "You- you like art?"

I grinned at her. "I didn't before, but I think I might grow to like it."

She laughed, for real this time, and her eyes grew brighter. Her entire face looked more animated. "You better," she said eventually. "Because if this goes well, I am going to be dragging you round far bigger galleries than this."

"Hey, as long as they're duck free, we're flying."

She laughed again, but looked mystified.

"I tell you when we go to the Louvre," I promised.

"The Louvre is so over-rated, "Clary replied, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, so you're a hipster too?" I teased. "Can't like anything too popular."

"I can't believe that people come from all over the world just to see a tiny painting of some lady from hundreds of years ago," she exclaimed.

"I think maybe the fact it was done by Leonardo da-"

She cut me off: "AND, I happen to know that da Vinci was a duck lover."

I thought about it for a moment. "The Louvre is the most over-rated there has ever been," I declared.

Clary smirked, and took my hand. "This way. Unless you want a tour of the greatest museum bathrooms."

She led me away, and I couldn't help but throw in, "I happen to think that the bathrooms of museums are incredibly under-rated and that no-one truly appreciates the important part the play in all of our lives. Well, those of us with enough class to visit museums in the first place. Hmm… I wonder if that makes you less hipster and more-"

"Oh shut up," she said, elbowing me in the ribs.

I had a feeling it wouldn't be the last time she said those words to me. The thought made me grin again (although Clary scowled at me as she thought I was smiling at her least favourite, Girls in Dresses.)

And that concludes that little snippet. As you may have noticed, the first chapter wasn't done with any seriousness; it was actually curiosity about the response that drove me to write it. Call it an experiment. I'm glad that it didn't work the way I thought it might- my faith in humanity has been restored, just a little ;) :D