HI there readers!
I know long time no type! And forgive me for giving you the lamest and most used yet true excuse but there's been a lot going on for me in my life, (i.e. writers blocks, not getting into a school's writing program, lost laptop chargers, ect.). But I'm back now so that's good. . . I hope.
Anywho this chapter is reeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaally short I'm sorry but I had to cut it half to kind of let you guys know the fic will prevail and that I was still alive!
No worries though the second part will be posted this week so. . . yeah
Cassandra Clare owns the characters!
happy reading~
"Jesus, Clary. What have you done?" A voice murmurs, waking me up; I'm draped over a stiff cushion in a brightly lit room- the infirmary. My eyelids flutter open, absorbing my surroundings, which consist of four walls, one ceiling, three windows, ten cabinets, five beds one occupied by me, and one chair with Jace seated on it. He had his face buried in his hands, the dawn breaking on the horizon causes rays of light to shine through the window and catch his tousled blond hair, the muscles under his shirt are tensed, he looks worried. I endeavor to get up, only to let out a yelp of pain, my side is burning as if it was set aflame and my body is sore, I sift through my memories trying to figure out what caused the pain. . .
Shrieks of horror and pain find their way to my ears, but my brain doesn't register it. No, my full focus is on my hands, they were on fire, I should be screaming, my skin should be blackened and burned, but it seems to be immune. The fire licks its way up my arms, spreading until it coats my entire body, it spreads until I am cocooned in it. In the pit on my stomach sorrow, guilt, and fear stirred restlessly, demanding to be felt, but I can't figure out why. The flapping of paper catches my attention; my drawing, still attached to my sketch book, ripples in a nonexistent wind. I trudge my way over to it and cautiously lean down to get a better view of what I drew, careful to not to set it aflame. I gulp in a scream of fear at the sight of the morbid drawing created by my familiar hand strokes. The picture had a single person on it; recognition strikes me hard and fast, a girl from my vision one who laid dead on the busy streets of NYC, a girl who stole a second look at Jace, a girl from the institute, a girl whose room is next to mine- Kaelie.
I'd set Kaelie on fire.
Swallowed in flames as I was, she was screaming, back arched, arms flailing, pain was etched in every minute detail of her body.
The scent of scorched skin hit my nose, gagging me, I clumsily moved away from the picture and toward the bottle of water on my bed side table. Tilting it upside down, the cold liquid coated my body, the sizzling fire went out without a fight; looking down at my body there was no signs of charred skin.
It wasn't my skin I smelt
I yanked the door open; it clacked against the wall causing a resounding echo. Bolting from the room I followed the putrid scent. All the way to Kaelie's room, smoke billowed out from underneath the doorway, the screams I've heard before have long been silent. People bustled around it, some in suits, some in scrubs, some in NYC fire department uniforms, some pulling my numb body away from the door. I've done this; my power seems to be death. I'm a murderer. A reoccurring thought once again drifts through my mind.
Raphael's employer is coming, oh shit.
"Clary? Shit, why do you always pass out around me? I mean I know I'm built like a god with a personality to match but come on. CLARY!" Jace's voice pierced through my dream like state. My arms swing as I try to get a grip on something.
Perhaps my life.
I feel my throat tighten, my breaths coming in shallow wheezes. I needed to get out of this place, I needed an escape. I looked toward the window.
Bingo
As if reading my mind Jace jumps up. "Don't you dare," He holds his hands out, as if I'm a feral animal about to attack. "I'm serious, don't do it"
Too late.
Sorry again for the short chapter, but I hope you still enjoyed.
Thanks for reading!