Clary POV

He threw himself into the chair, "I'm going to make this hell." He growled.

I was outraged. How dare he act like this is my fault. Fate had been cruel, throwing us together, or maybe Mrs Branwell was just evil.

"Clarissa. Jace. Start your worksheets." She called from the front of the class.

Students shot Jace sympathetic looks, for me, nothing. I lowered my head, seeking temporary refuge behind my curls. I took my worksheet and began filling it out, while Jace just stared straight ahead.

1. Favourite Colour? Why? Orange, I painted my bedroom wall with it. My own personal Sunset.

2. Favourite Pastime? Art. Drawing, painting, creating, you name it.

3. Favourite Season? Autumn, I love the colours.

4. Favourite Drink? Black Coffee, 3 sugars. Can't function without it.

5. Favourite Song? Why? Dear Maria, All Time Low. Jonathan's Favourite.

6. What do you dream of being? An artist. I want to inspire people.

7. Tell us about your family? Mum, warm, bright, artistic, but childlike. Father, cold, stern, military, always on the move. Brother, warm, funny, protective, best friend, dead.

8. Greatest Childhood Wish? To stay in one place.

9. Ambitions for after school? To get into a good art school.

10. Why did you choose this program and what are you hoping to get out of it? It is joined by arts. I am hoping to fine tune my crafts and score a scholarship. Jonathan loved my voice.

I knew it was risky to write such personal stuff, especially when he was to read it, but I couldn't stop myself. Maybe I was that desperate for someone to know me that I didn't care who it was. Perhaps he wouldn't read it, or maybe he would share it all over school. Whatever. I looked over to see him filling out his sheet quickly. The bell rang, and we exchanged sheets. He stuffed mine into his bag and left without a second glance like he couldn't get away fast enough.

At lunch, I sat in my usual isolated spot and looked over his sheet. Dot point answers. I wasn't surprised, I wondered how many of the answers were false.

1. Favourite Colour? Why? Green.

2. Favourite Pastime? Piano.

3. Favourite Season? Winter.

4. Favourite Drink? Coffee.

5. Favourite Song? Why? There's no home for you here, The White Stripes.

6. What do you dream of being? A Rockstar.

7. Tell us about your family? Parents. 2 Brothers. 1 Sister.

8. Greatest Childhood Wish? Mother.

9. Ambitions for after school? Rockstar.

10. Why did you choose this program and what are you hoping to get out of it? I want to be famous.

Mother? That was interesting. Putting it away, I pulled out my sketchbook and lost myself.

When I got home, I sighed in relief. The rest of the day had been tolerable, but I was thankful it was the weekend. At least I would get a partial break. I finished my homework early and wandered down to the kitchen, my stomach grumbling. Father was in the fridge, I tensed and started backing out, but it was too late.

"Clarissa." He nodded, taking a beer from the fridge. "Why aren't you doing your homework?"

"I'm finished." I looked down, wringing my fingers.

He nodded, "Then let's train." He walked towards the garage, and I shuffled after him.

We started with stretching, followed by sparring. Father wasn't exceptionally tall, but he was a wall of solid muscle, and in no way did he take it easy on his slight, 5'2" daughter. I'd never won against him, and this part of training usually consisted of him repeatedly slamming me to the ground. "C'mon Clarissa," he growled, "you are small and fast, dodge and defend." After forty minutes, he declared us done, with a sigh of relief I moved on to my solo training. It was made up of cardio, weights, and boxing. By the time we were done, I felt as if I would collapse under the weight of my exhaustion.

The next morning my whole body ached, and I could feel the bruises coming on. Luckily, I would be able to rest until the evening, Father was on base today. I ventured out to find Mum in the kitchen.

"Morning, Sweetheart." She beamed at me. It should be illegal for people to be this happy first thing in the morning.

I grunted in response and poured my coffee, she laughed as I piled the sugar in. Mum slid a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me, and I ate greedily.

"So, what did you want to do today?" She asked. I shrugged, stuffing bacon in.

"I thought we could go paint in the park?" I smiled and nodded yes in response.

It was a beautiful day, the park had trails leading through a wooded area. We picked one and set up. We were silent for hours, losing ourselves in our work. I was always in awe of my Mother's art, it was inspiring. One day I'll be that good.

"How are you adjusting to school?" She asks, not looking up from her work.

"Fine, same as always." She frowns, "We aren't going to move again, why don't you make some friends?" She places her hand on my arm. "It's not that easy," I reply, and she lets go.

"At least try." She says with disappointment. In the past, I had let her believe there was no point in making friends if we were just going to leave anyway. It's not a lie, people weren't lining up to be my friend, but I didn't really put any effort either.

After dinner, Father had us train again. Mum joined us for a little while before retiring to bed. I don't know if it was because he was military, but Father believed in being prepared. I've been doing military training for six years, but since Jonathan died, he has pushed me harder and harder. I pity the person who thinks they could beat me in a fight.

On Sunday, Father tried to get me training again. "No, can't I have one day to rest?" I walked out of the room, but he followed.

"Clarissa," he warned, "You need to be able to protect yourself." I rolled my eyes.

"I'm pretty sure we've gone over that, I just need one day to rest." He continued to glare at me as I walked away. I needed to escape.

Grabbing my guitar, slipped out of the house, and headed to the park. I entered the woods and went off trail, and continuing until I found a log to sit on. I strummed the strings and let it open out into a song. I let out all the pain and frustration of these last few months. It was almost dark by the time I was done, and I started heading home, feeling a little lighter.

That all came crashing down when I tried to go to sleep. The anxiety of going to school clawed its way in, becoming louder and louder until it screamed through my blood. My mind was racing, and I felt trapped like I was slowly drowning with no way out, no escape route. My head pounded and my heart raced until 2am when my body finally collapsed from exhaustion. But that brought no relief. My dreams were filled with Jonathan. His smile, us singing in the car, bright lights and the sound of metal on metal.

I struggled through my coffee as I walked into the school grounds. My head was struggling, and I wasn't sure how much more my body could handle. I was walking up the stairs in a haze, so I wasn't paying attention when someone stuck their leg out into my path. I tripped forward, my coffee spilling all over me, soaking my clothes and scorching my skin. I look up to see Jace and Sebastian laughing at me, a phone in Sebastian's hand. The fog closed over me, and I couldn't breathe. More students huddled around to laugh at the spectacle, and I felt like I was suffocating. I managed to gather my stuff and walk away, head held high. I was trying to keep it together. I managed to make it into a cubicle before coming undone. The sobs came out soundlessly, and I gasped for air. I couldn't slow the panic, every time I tried to calm my breathing, I'd end up hyperventilating again. Black dots swarmed my vision, and I felt myself slip away.

When I came to, it was already halfway through the second period. I decided there wasn't much point in going to class now. Instead, I tried to clean myself up the best I could. By lunch, I was exhausted. The video from this morning had already made its way around the school. People snickered at me as I walked past, some of them shouting cruel comments. I did what I always did, continued walking with my head held high. I could feel myself shutting down. I knew it was dangerous to allow myself to become numb. That last time I almost got seriously hurt. I hadn't been this low since Jonathan died and I was trying, but it was hard. I decided I should probably go to the doctor. After school, I called and made an appointment for the next day.

It wasn't long before the text messages started up again. "Nobody wants you here, leave.", "You're a waste of space.", "Dirty whore, rotten to the core." I decided that tomorrow I would get a new sim card, after the doctors. For now, I turned my phone off and headed to the Kitchen.

"Hey Baby, you ready for dinner?" Mum asked as I sat at the table.

"Yes, thank you." I played with the napkin, "Can I borrow the car after school tomorrow?" I asked. Mum looked at me curiously.

"Why's that Sweetie?" I looked up and smiled.

"I have a few errands to run and need to stop by the doctors." Mum studied my face for a moment, and I was worried she'd see the truth.

"Is everything ok?" I smiled bigger, "Yeah, the school just wants updated vaccine records." I said like it was no big deal, "And I was hoping to do a little shopping." I looked at her sheepishly. She bought it.

"Of course Sweetie."

After dinner, Father made me train for an hour. By the time I went to bed, I was dead on my feet. I got lucky that night. After training and everything that happened at school, I managed to pass out before the anxieties could start.