Sorry, for the long wait! But I hope it will be worth it for you. You'll get to have a little background on Jace's character! And we all know how much we love Jace.
As always I'm just an obessed fan at home writing about a world Cassandra Clare created while she reaps the benefits of her genius mind.
In other words, I own nothing.
I want a Jace *sigh*
Jace sat in his car as it idled. His knew he had to go in and talk to his dad; his brain was urging him onward, trying to coax his legs to move but he was frozen. He didn't want to have to see his father's disappointed and angry scowl. He already knew what he was going to say, something along the lines of him being an utter disappointment and how he was his father's greatest regret. He didn't know if he had the patience today.
He ran a hand through his wet hair and briefly chanced a look in the seat beside him drenched in water. The small droplets rolled from the middle of the leather seat and fell down. Clary Morgenstern was so tiny; she barely even reached the top of his seat. Her bones looked like he could crush them in his hand to dust and yet there he had found her; without any fear at all walking through the aimless, cold darkness going home.
Jace didn't completely understand her. She was a pretty girl, he supposed, though there were a lot of pretty girls around him; some much prettier if he were to be honest, but she had something no one else had. Something he had never seen in someone before, it drove him crazy that he couldn't put his finger on the word he was looking for.
He sighed as he cut the engine, not wanting to waste anymore of his precious gas, and slowly opened and stepped out of his car door. The lights were on and illuminating the outside world with its bright glow. Jace had always liked his house; it was a large white mansion, much like the President's. He liked what it stood for: wealth, power, importance, propriety. It reminded him of his own self-worth and made him raise his head higher in superiority.
Back then I thought that was the meaning of life to have wealth and power. Boy, was I wrong. Thing is, no one told me differently. My father never showed anything but contempt for anyone and this didn't change when he spoke to my mother. It almost seemed like he regretted her much more than he ever could me. Love wasn't talked of much in our home; it was a cold place more than a warm-hearted one. But, this was all before.
Before her.
Before I fell in love with Clarissa Adele Graymark.
He walked up the stone steps begrudgingly as Robert Lightwood, their butler; open the door with a flourish. Jace swallowed thickly as the nicely dressed man bowed with a wide smile; he wouldn't be smiling if he knew what Jace had done. But he didn't; he hoped he never would.
The handsome butler grinned brightly; a smile that cut Jace to his deceiving, black core.
Just as it always did.
"Hello, Mr. Jace. Did you have another fulfilling day?" Robert said with a deep laugh as he reached for Jace's soaking coat. When he and the other Lightwood siblings were little Robert would bounce each of them in turn up on his knee and tell them that life was to be embraced. He would smile at each of them in turn and ask them his favorite question.
"Did you have another fulfilling day?"
They would set out each day trying to fulfill the most so they could all run back and try to amaze Robert; try to make him the most proud. He had been the father Jace had always wanted, he remembered being so jealous of Alec, Isabelle, and Max. He wanted his dad to look at him with that face; the face of pride in his kids. He wanted his father's eyes to light up when he told him about all the frogs he had caught at the pond out back or when he told him that he had climbed to the top of the big oak tree in the backyard meadow. Stephen's blue eyes never lit up the way Robert's did and after so long of only seeing the dull, lifeless, stultified stare he stopped his stories all together.
He only told Robert about his fulfilling day. Because only he cared.
They didn't have much, the Lightwoods, but what they did have they shared with him whole-heartedly and how did he repay them? He had humiliated and deserted their son in his time of need; the boy he called brother.
Family.
Jace bowed to Robert and gave him a weak grin, he would always honor and treat the overworked butler with as much respect as he could without looking suspicious. "It was . . . " He was going to say what he normally did, which was along the terms of fine or unexciting but he found himself stopping. His body, which had shown just how much of a traitor it was whenever he thought of her, seemed to be in command of itself as the words pooled out of his mouth. "Different."
Robert stared at Jace with warm brown eyes, the same eyes he knew Isabelle inherited, a look of relief falling over his face. "Oh? And is this different a good thing?" His wise eyes pulled at Jace's heart, knowing he could never lie, at least, not to Robert. He felt a sense of surprise when he realized he didn't want to either.
"Yes," Jace said as his mind conjured up a picture of the tiny red-head. The more Jace thought of her, the more appealing she became. And the more unsettled and frightened he became. "Yes, it was a good thing." He repeated with a nod.
Robert smiled that fatherly grin Jace had grown so use to and clamped a hand on his shoulder. Taking his coat, he walked toward the large closet filled with his mother's furs and his father's wool trench coats. He never knew why they needed so many; his mother had a different coat for every outfit. In actuality, all you truly needed was one.
"Why the hell don't you wear a coat again? It's pouring rain out; I mean, you own one, don't you?"
She shrugged her shoulders mimicking his nonchalance; she turned her head and trained her eyes out the window, still shaking from the chill. "Yeah, I do. I just don't want to wear it."
Jace shook his head as if to shake her image out of his mind. He didn't know what she was doing to him; but he certainly didn't like it. At least, he didn't want to.
Robert smiled largely from where he stood by the coat closet door; all white teeth and compassion. His brown hair was nicely swept to the side, not at all like his sons; which they let hang in their faces. Jace felt another shot of sadness take refuge in his stomach. If he were being honest, he missed Alec. He missed everything about the Lightwoods in all actuality. He missed Max's worshipping gaze and Isabelle atrocious cooking. He missed the way Maryse used to sing to him late at night and stroke his hair back. He missed the way Church—their cat— used to curl up at the end of Jace's feet wherever he sat.
Most of all, he missed answering Robert's favorite question honestly.
He missed being part of a family.
"Well, you'll have to come over sometime." Robert said as he gave Jace a nod. "Maryse and the kids miss you." The butler took a breath before looking the tall boy in the eyes. "We all do. And you know how Maryse feels about company. The more the merrier." He gave a laugh that Jace couldn't help but smile at. He knew how the other Lightwood siblings truly felt though. They wanted nothing to do with him.
But he gave no indication that he knew this as he bowed again toward Robert. "Yes, I should."
He wasn't outright turning the older man down, he truly didn't have the heart, but he wasn't accepting either. This might have something to do with the fact that he didn't really want to turn him down either. And with that being said, Jace turned his back on the past he knew; of the childhood he held dear to his heart and kept him human. Away from the problem that felt like the weight of the world on his shoulders and walked with stiff steps toward where his father's study, which he could see the light shining under the crack of the closed door.
He knew he would have to talk to him sooner or later. He just wished he could postpone sooner and just stick with later. But it would only fester if he did that; like a sickly, blistered wound. It would crack and crust; infecting him further rather than if he were to just approach the dilemma now.
He took a deep breath and shook out his tense limbs. All he had to do was tell him about the detention. He'd tell the truth; that it had been his fault and he deserved the sentence; actually he deserved worse but he'd leave that part out. He'd also leave the part about talking and driving Clary home out too; not only would this downright enrage his father but he wanted to keep the experience all to himself. He wanted to keep her large, green eyes filled with mischief and wisdom selfishly to himself; her smile safe in his mind.
He felt his heart sink in fright as he heard his father cough from the opposite side of the closed door. Hear the clanging of glass—he was probably drinking scotch—on hard wood and the sound of his mother fidgeting on the leather sofa that sat in his father's pristine study. He drew in another shaking breath and tried to gain the strength to walk in; he shouldn't have truly been so scared. His father had never laid a finger on him in an incriminating way.
He'd been a reserved father; never one for large shows of love or devotion but Jace always knew he cared. Stephen was just never good at showing it.
But something about him seemed to change when brought up with the subject of football. He wasn't allowed to call him "dad" out of the field only "coach". And sometimes, he played Jace too hard; worked him until he bleed. He had never really minded before; but now it seemed to irk him.
He couldn't quite put his finger on what made him have a slight change in heart.
Clary's face popped him his head. The way she held herself; with strength not even he could truly understand. She acted as if nothing could break her; though she looked as delicate as a china doll. Her red mop of curly hair that she always left down and those big green eyes that seemed to take up most of her face. Those shining emeralds of undisguised emotion; Clary never hide anything behind a well-painted mask. She let everyone see what she felt; what she believed because she didn't really cared what anyone thought. She was strong; Jace could be that strong to.
With a surge of power, he turned the knob of the study door open walking with soft, graceful steps into the well furnished room. His mother looked up from the couch where she sat with a smile on her face; his mother had always shone her love in an odd way. Cooing over him even at the old age he was; telling him he was better than everyone and that he was the most attractive child in all of town.
Jace already had an ego to rival the size of Texas; he really didn't need his mother adding to it. But this was how she showed her love for him. By complimenting and buying him things; things he didn't need nor really wanted. She wanted his love too much; he didn't know how to tell her she already had it without the toys she bought him.
He, again, thought of the small red-head. The way she held total disregard for his image; the way she seemed to be looking at something past the shiny exterior that Jace wore. Like she was looking at his soul and was trying to see if he was worth saving. He blinked as he remember her smile as she walked toward where he crouched painted that dumb night sky. The way Mr. Hanson made no move to stop her as she stuck out her hand toward him; in an act not of defiance but in acceptance. Clarissa Morgenstern, the outcast, had been accepting him.
"So there's some hope for you after all."
The comment threw Jace right off his game as he painted over another star and turn to look at her with wide eyes. "What?"
"Hope." She answered with a larger smile
He let out a soft laugh as his mother gave him a bright smile. She opened her painted crimson mouth, no doubt to give him some sort of praise he didn't truly deserve but his father spoke first. Placing the glasses that had been sitting on the edge of his straight nose; his blue eyes were sharp and cold as they regarded his son with contempt.
"Something funny, Son?"
Jace swallowed before rubbing his hand against the back of his neck with nerves. "No, Sir."
"Really? You don't find it just downright hilarious to have missed one of the most important practices of the year?" Stephen said his blue eyes beginning to warm with anger as Celine threw a quick and saddened look between the two males. His blonde hair was slicked back but Jace could see the ends beginning to curl back after a long day of wear. "Because I think it's just the best joke. Want to hear the punch line?" His father said in cool sarcasm; better than even Jace could manage. "Our quarterback flaked and we'll lose against Bakersfield. Funny, isn't it?"
Jace shook his head as he looked his father in the eye. "No, Sir."
Stephen stood from his desk with mock humor on his face. "Oh? You don't think so? Well, then there must be an even better reason for you to miss practice. If it wasn't some sort of joke."
"I got detention."
His father frowned before running a hand down his face; he was a handsome man; still fit and rugged from his days before he transformed himself in to a well-tailored politician. His tanned skin and tall physic was something Jace had inherited. Along with his golden hair and chiseled features but Jace had gotten his illuminatingly, unique eyes from his mother who also had the thick bright topaz swirling in her iris's.
Jace was quick to speak before his father could ask how he had received and who had given him detention. For some reason he didn't want his father to know that Mr. Hanson had given him that pink slip. But the reason why he didn't want to give him away was completely beyond Jace's realm of thought at the moment. It was something he couldn't bother himself to think about.
"But I'll make it up to you—"
"Sure as hell you will." Stephen answered in an obvious sort of tone. The words he used made Celine rise out of her seat.
"Stephen—"
The mayor gave his wife no notice as he looked solely at his son. The complete disregard and disrespect for his mother made Jace's hands curl into fists. Sure, she wasn't the best mom but she was his and he didn't like the way Stephen treated her.
"You'll go practice right now and make up the three hours that you missed."
Jace gave him a wide-eyed expression. "But it's raining now and nearly 9 o'clock."
Stephen frowned and gave him a shrug, as if it was totally out of his hands. He sat back in his seat, his glasses back in place and his tone suggesting that the conversation was over. "Well then, you better get going if you want to make it home before 12:30."
Jace stood staring at his father for a complete moment in disbelief before his mother stepped forward. "Stephen, don't you think you're being a tad bit unfair." She spoke in a soft tone, so not to rile him up as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
The gesture made Stephen whip around; making her hand fall away immediately as if the simple touch burned him. "Leave it be, Celine. In fact, leave me be as well."
Celine stared at her husband for a few beats before she nodded silently. The heart breaking look in her gaze made Jace want to cradle his mother close and shield her from his father's wrath. But she would never allow him to do that; because she had already taken it upon herself to be his shield. He knew how much his mother loved his father; he could feel it in every word, see it in every touch but the feeling was not mutual. It made Jace wonder why his father married Celine in the first place.
As his mother picked up her discarded book from the leather couch, she had been uncomfortably perched just minutes before, and made her way out of the room she placed a cool and comforting hand on her son's shoulder. She placed a warm kiss to his cheek as she whispered in his ear.
"You are my beautiful little angel; you shine like a beckon of light. My beautiful angel boy."
My mother was a beautiful woman; all fines lines and soft strokes, at least that's what Clary said she was. Clary always talked like that; she described someone's beauty like you would a painting and for some reason it always seemed more enchanting that way. Celine fell in love was a golden boy in her youth; a boy who made her think on her feet and made her wish to please. She fell in love with Stephen Herondale at a very young age but Stephen Herondale never truly fell in love with Celine. It was the sad way her story ended. In a loveless marriage; one that devotion was only felt one way.
I wished my mother would have woken up and saw where her life was going. Because it was on the straight and narrow toward disaster.
And I was going right down with her.
Jace parked with a jerk; his hand clenching his steering wheel far too tightly as he swallowed thickly as pushed the door open, grabbing his football bag in the back of his car before leaving and running through the falling rain toward the center station.
He shivered slightly as he brushed some wet, lank curls away from his face and found the proper key he was searching for and pushed the heavy door open in a flourish for warmth though he found none. He looked out at the desolate football field with a sigh as he opened the electric box at the far corner of the room and turned the overhead lights on illuminating the desolate green arena in an eerie sort of glow.
With a sigh, he tied his Nike cleats and headed out into the pouring rain. It was slowing he could tell but the amount of downpour was still falling. He silently prayed to whatever God was watching that he wouldn't get sick. He began his conditioning as he jogged around the arena; he knew how many laps he had to do but he didn't truly want to do them all.
He had a feeling if he lied Stephen would find out somehow and the thought of his father's wrath was too sick a sight to bear as he pushed onward into another lap. He thought of the way his father disregarded his mother; the way his mother acted like a kicked puppy and simply let him win. In a way, he both pitied and resented his mother. Why wasn't she strong enough to yell back; why didn't she challenge him? Why did she have to roll over when he told her to? Why did she jump when he simply said the word?
Jace let out a groan as he ended his 5th lap; legs already burning and a stitch settling in his left side; he crouched on the ground to begin his pushups. His hands slide against the cool and wet grass as he dug his fingernails into the dirt to keep him in place. He could feel his muscles start to burn but he enjoyed it. The feeling of being pushed, challenged. He liked the way his body made up its own heat now as the rain acted like a cool regiment. His shirt clung to him in a mixture of sweat and rain water as he pushed himself harder; the anger and resentment toward his parents pushing him onward.
The disgust at himself making him move faster.
Jace was just about to practice his throws when a voice spoke up from the distance almost lost to him through the sound of the rain and his loud thoughts.
"Hey there, Mascot." Jace turned in confusion, his blonde eyebrows scrunched low on his face as he clenched the football close. The rain fell in drizzles now; a slow type of fall that seemed to coat every part of skin that was exposed.
A slim figure stood strong against the black sky and bright lights; seeming tall and powerful against the soft breeze like a Goddess or a warrior princess. It was the most captivating thing Jace had ever seen. Her hand was perched on her hip around a large cylinder strapped to her side; a camera hung around her neck like a necklace. Her smile was bright and open as she stepped toward him.
Jace felt the foreign smile take over his face the closer she got. "You're still not wearing a damn coat."
"Neither are you."
Jace shook his head; his wet tendrils sticking to his cheeks before falling away. "What is with you and not wearing a coat? Do you want get sick?"
Clary smiled softly as she stopped a few feet away from him. Her green t-shirt clung like a second skin to her frail frame and her jeans made a strange rubbing sound with each step she took. Her red hair hung down her face in long, wet strands seeming to be a contradiction of the elements; fire and water combined.
She shook her head; a fiery set of wet flames spreading out around her before falling back to place. "It has nothing to do with sickness and everything to do with living."
Jace raised an eyebrow as his signature smirk fell back on his face. Tucking his football securely to his side, he watched her smile widen. "And what does not wearing a coat have to do with living?"
"The feeling of the rain." she said with a sigh as she leaned her head back; the slow rain drops fell upon her face like tears. Jace found his eyes focusing on her slim, white neck. How fragile she looked, he could crush her with little force and yet a strength in her shined like a second sun. He had never met someone so confusing.
And fascinating.
"It's funny." She said as she grazed up into the darken sky. Jace found himself glancing upward too, wondering what was so captivating that she wasn't looking at him. "I never used to care for the rain really. But now I find myself getting excited just at the prospect of it." She bowed her head, droplets falling down her cheeks. "You know, they say you've never known true happiness until you've danced in the rain."
"Whoever said that obviously never went to Disney World." Jace smirked. "Or met me."
Clary laughed as she tossed her head back in glee; Jace felt a sort of pride fester in his stomach as he watched her joy; knowing he caused it. There was something odd about this girl. Something he couldn't name or quite put his finger on. But now he knew he had to find out; if only to find whatever made her so different and take some for himself.
"What have you got there?" Jace said with a nod of his head to the shiny cylinder strapped to her small hip.
"A can of spray paint."
Jace let out an incredulous laugh before turning his surprised gaze back to her. What could she possibly need with that? Was she planning on painting someone's fence or something in the middle of the night? "And what could you possibly be doing with a can of spray paint?"
Clary dropped her gaze from his as if to contain her own laughter at the sight of his bewildered stare before she bit down on her plump bottom lip and looked back up at him. The rain seemed to make a curtain around them; trapping them in a strip of fantasy all their own.
"Why don't you follow me and find out?"
I stared at her for I don't know how long; thinking about that simple sentence. All she did was smile before she turned her back and walked away. I watched her go; wondering what exactly I should do. The football I had held in my hand felt like a weight instead of an escape all of a sudden as I watched her figure begin to fade. That one sentence that intrigued me and challenged me all at once to take the bait.
I followed her; grabbing my stuff and quickly shoving it in the car before running after her. She didn't mock me for my hurried pace as I tried to fall in step nonchalantly beside her; like I hadn't sprinted just to reach her. I didn't know it then; that I would have followed her to the end of the world if she had asked me too.
I didn't know just what I would do to earn one of her beautiful smiles or to make her eyes light up with happiness. I didn't know then that I was more of my mother than I cared to admit. Because I would have jumped if she said to; I would have rolled over if she wanted me too. I was like a lost puppy and she was my home.
I just didn't know that yet.
So, Jace is still the scarred boy we know.
What could he had possibly done to the Lightwoods?
Why does his mother show him such odd ways of affection?
What is so fascinating about Clary Morgenstern?
Please review; I love it when you favor and follow my stories but hearing our feedback always give me extra drive to write more and faster!
Here's the question for you?
If you could be any household item, what would you be and why?
LOVE YOU, GUYS!
