Author's Note: Hi, I'm updating to avoid studying for my finals, but it is okay because my finals are all jokes this semester anyways. Let me know if you want me to put in links of what the characters look like to me. Also, while Jace and Clary are obviously end game, I could argue that some of the female connections, like Clary and Isabelle, are just as important, if not more. I am a huge fan of strong and realistic female friendships, so that is going to be a huge focus of this story.
If you have any suggestions, please let me know, and I would really appreciate if you would give me specifics about what I could change or work on because that is more helpful for me. I really want to know, especially with the Russian, because I am still learning and want to get better :).
Jace visited his father the night before school started again and was shocked at how he was progressing. When he walked in, he was on the floor, clutching the carpet, covered in feathers from a pillow he had tore apart earlier. He was getting worse, and Jace had accepted long ago that he could not force his father to take his medicine. When he tried to approach him, he lashed out and hit Jace in the face, hard, before cowering back into the corner. Jace tried to reason with him and calm him down, but he was so far gone that for the most part he was having trouble recognizing him.
When Jace walked over to the refrigerator to check for some ice, he realized that it was empty, and he began to fear that his father hadn't eaten in a few days.
"Dad," Jace walked over and put his hands on his shoulders, "when was the last time you ate?" Michael started shaking. He grabbed Jace's face hard, and pulled his ear to his chapped lips. He smelled like death.
"It is behind you," he whispered shakily. Jace shook his head.
"No dad, there is nothing behind me. You're okay. When was the la-"
"I SAID IT IS BEHIND YOU, HAVE TO MOVE, WE HAVE TO LEAVE." He threw Jace off of him, and Jace hit his head against the chair lightly. He ran to the corner of the trailer, grabbed a knife, and started stabbing the kitchen counter in manic. Jace rubbed his head and ran over to his father, grabbing him from behind, trying to immobilize him. He eventually grabbed the knife from his hand, setting it down on the counter, as he tried to hold his father tighter. Once when he spoke to the doctors after a particularly bad night where Michael had ended up getting arrested for threatening an all night grocery store with a knife, they had told him that holding him tightly might work to calm him down.
"GET OFF OF ME YOU ARE ONE OF THEM. GET OFF, GET OFF, GET OFF NOW." He would not stop shaking so Jace slammed around, grabbing him by his shoulders.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP" he roared, shaking the trailer. His father paused. "There is nothing there for god's sake dad what the hell is wrong with you…" he paused, bringing his hands down to his sides, clenching his fingers into his fist, "... there is nothing fucking there. Why the fuck will you not just fucking take your goddamn medicine. I have tried so damn hard to just be your fucking son," Jace stepped back, gripping his head distressed, "I have tried so," Jace punched the fridge, "fucking," he slammed the cupboard shut, "hard, goddamnit. Dad." He started crying and sunk to the floor, his fists bloody and his head throbbing where his father had accidentally hit him earlier. "Please."
It was silent for a few minutes while Michael stayed completely still and Jace sobbed violently on the floor.
"I'm sorry," Michael muttered and Jace looked up hopefully, "get the fuck out of my house you goddamn intruder. YOU'RE ONE OF THEM GET THE FUCK OUT…" he kept screaming as Jace got up and slammed the door behind him.
As he walked to his car, Michael kept screaming and shouting insults and nonsense. Everyone in the trailer park was stepping out to try and figure out what was going on. Jace kicked the ground and punched his car, leaning in to start crying again. He got in, punched both hands on the steering wheel sobbing loudly, started the car, and drove slowly away.
Jace drove off to parking lot and cried for awhile, not wanting to drive until he calmed down. Jace may have been impulsive and often spontaneous, but he was never careless. The last thing he wanted was to cause the Lightwoods more grief.
Once his father's health began deteriorating rapidly, Jace was only in sixth grade. Unable to take care of him, or himself, Robert Lightwood, noticed and decided that he should stay with them as often as he could. Robert, being one of the wealthiest lawyers in New York, knew many of his colleagues who dealt with cases like Jace's and knew that they never ended well. They tried to get Jace to go to therapy, but he kept running off, so they eventually told him that if he did not want to go to therapy, that was fine, but as soon as he stopped communicating with them, he would be forced to go back.
Sometimes Jace's father would disappear for weeks, and when Jace was younger, it was very hard on him. He would show up sometimes twice a day with fresh food or leftovers that he had taken from the Lightwood's, and Jace could still remember the sinking disappointment of showing up and him not being there. He struggled in middle school, and had it not been for the Lightwoods, he may not have discovered hockey.
With all of the anger that Jace harbored, hockey seemed like a reasonable solution to let go of some steam. Jace, of course, was a natural and by seventh grade was the best in the county. In ninth grade he was given the Gatorade player of the year award in New York. No one could understand how he got so incredibly good since he had started in fourth grade when most of the boys had been playing their whole lives, but Alec knew that he spent every waking moment on ice. The rink complex that their team practiced at was coincidentally paid for by the Lightwoods as a sort of donation to the community and as a place for Maryse to coach her kids. High school and local hockey teams practiced there, and there was a lot of open ice time for skating lessons.
Jace was lucky enough to have a key to the rink that the Lightwoods had given their kids if they ever wanted to skate outside of their practice times. He loved it, and sometimes when he couldn't sleep, he would drive down to the rink and practice plays. When he grew a foot over the summer going into his freshmen year, he became unstoppable. He owed everything to the Lightwoods, and to Alec who had befriended him against all odds in second grade.
Jace turned the stereo on loud as he pulled out of the parking lot to head back to Lightwoods house, but checked the time and realized that it was nearly six in the morning. He would have to be at school in a couple hours anyways, so he drove to a nearby coffee shop to read before school. His friend Kaelie was a barista there in the mornings before school, and he loved going to flirt and joke around with her. She knew Jace from school, and the two had been friends since middle school. She was adopted by the owner's of the bar after her parents were killed by drunk drivers. She was in the car, and had seen the whole thing as a young girl. Jace admired her.
"What's up," Jace walked over to the bar and sat down as Kaelie rolled her eyes and walked over. She was unique, and had recently died her hair pink, which matched her wildflower, watercolor tattoos that she had all over her body. Her foster mother owned the place, so her drawings and sketches were all over the walls. Jace honestly thought she was the shit.
"Well, it's six in the fucking morning and mom was nagging me about cleaning everything before shift," she started on his coffee and floated over to him.
"Yeah, but I'm here now, so your day just got that much better," Jace smirked at his book that he had just spilled a little coffee. He hated the coffee lids.
"I'm sure you'd like to think that."
"Hey, have you heard anything about that new girl?" Jace casually wiped the coffee off his lip and she brought him a muffin that she just made. She leaned against the bar facing him.
"Word travels fast, and yeah, Isabelle brought her here after practice the other day. Real quiet."
"She isn't too good with English. You should hear her accent." Jace laughed slowly.
"I would love to see the day that you actually learn English Jace," she walked over to the door locking it before taking his hand, leading him to the back. "C'mon we have a little before mom realizes that I never opened."
Jace eagerly followed her into the back, happy for the distraction. Kaelie was too.
...
Clary was sure that she had never met someone who talked as much as Isabelle. For the next few days after their practices, Isabelle and Clary did something together. One day they went for a run, and Isabelle showed Clary around the neighborhood, another day they went out to eat at her favorite diner, another time the two of them went hiking in some nearby woods. Clary found that this girl was impossible to say no to, and against everything Clary was used to, she was beginning to really like Isabelle.
It became clear to Clary that Isabelle did not have many friends outside of her, Magus, and Simon, and she was very awkwardly socially. Isabelle was the perfect American girl: tall, skinny, long dark hair, tan, intimidating, and gorgeous, but her looks did not match her personality at all. Isabelle had not had any friends who were girls, and struggled to make friends at school, which Clary expected was because of her busy schedule and her resting bitch face. She spent a lot of time with her brother, Alec, and Jace was like a brother to her and they were very close. She and Max spent a lot of time together as well, skating in their backyard, homemade ice rink and eating at Taki's, which apparently had the best food in the county.
Clary had yet to see Jace again after their run ins, and made sure to be off the ice when the hockey team got on. Her week had been better than she had expected, especially with the daily calls from her coach in Russia, and her brother texting her every hour of the day. Her father had called twice, and each time they spoke for a formal ten minutes before he was forced to go and deal with another long meeting. She missed home, and was starting to miss the boring Russian food that she took for granted. She weirdly also missed the taste of the water back home.
She had yet to talk to her mother about anything other than the upcoming first week of school or small conversations about meals or logistics. She mostly ignored her, and Jocelyn stayed out of her way. Once, the two of them woke up around the same time one night and ran into each other on the way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Clary swiftly turned around and headed back to bed, determined to suffer through a dry mouth if it meant avoiding her mother.
...
On the Monday morning of her first day of school, Clary tried to explain to her mother that she was already enrolled in Moscow State University for the fall semester, and had completed her studies well ahead of the rest of her social grade. Her father expected nothing less, and Clary did not go out much besides painting or practice, so it was easier than she had thought to complete her studies.
"Mother, you know that I do not need schooling, especially not American schooling. It is a joke in Moscow." Clary was tying the laces on her shoes. In typical Moscow fashion, she only owned dark colors with the occasional red statement. Her hair was half up, tightly braided back with the rest of her hair running down her back. She had her favorite scarf on, yet her mother gave her odd stares.
"Yes, but you are going for at least half the day for the rest of the year to learn some English and take some art classes. Luke worked it out for you with the Russian Federation," she stared at Clary, "why do you look like you are dressed for a funeral?"
"I do not."
"Yes, you do. No one dresses like that."
"Like what?"
"Like they are going to a funeral business meeting or whatever. Aren't you supposed to be an artist, who I don't know, wears actual colors." Clary rolled her eyes and saw Isabelle pull up. She adjusted her scarf again, and walked around her mother without saying another word. Isabelle was wearing jeans and a beautiful pink sweater that Clary could not ever imagine coming anywhere near her. She shook her head and looked back at the door where her mother had been standing. It was closed.
"What's up."
"I have no need for schooling this semester, and my mother forgets this."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about the weird Russian tutor thing that your hardass dad did for you over the years. Well at least you'll be able to help me out a little. I'm taking advanced French this year and I cannot speak it at all. It's like a total mess and the exam is coming up in May and I have no idea what I am going to do," Clary felt comforted by her talking. She enjoyed the lack of silence.
"I did not know that you learn French."
"Yeah, I used to take Spanish but I stunk at it, but my mom told me that I had to learn at least something so I wouldn't be totally helpless. I like the way it sounds." She pulled into their school and Clary groaned at how American it was. It resembled a prison, completely contrasting the rest of the town.
"I am fluent in French. My father thought it was important that I learned it since we spend so much time in Paris."
"You've been to Paris? I want to go so bad." She kept talking as they walked in.
After Clary had walked around a few times with Isabelle and had gotten her morning schedule from the office, she felt confident enough to find her art class without gagging. The inside of the building was uglier than the outside, and she felt completely out of place. Her father refused to dress her in anything but the best, and her scarf probably costed more than most of the outfit that the girls were wearing. She was even dressier than Isabelle, who was wearing that stunning pink shirt. Everyone where she was from dressed as she did, and those who could not afford to would wear the same sorts of clothes just of different brands. She liked the uniformity and the refusal that the whole country had to changing fashion. It made her feel connected to everyone around her, something she did not appreciate or understand until she was walking around her new school being looked at by girls dressed in joggers with crop tops.
Her head was already aching from all of the English she had to translate in her head and then retranslate when she spoke, and on her way to art, she was starting to miss Isabelle's constant presence. She had gone above and beyond to make her feel less stupid about not being able to speak quickly or understand every word.
When she turned into the art class, she was taken aback at how much art supplies they had that was available to the students. She had brought her own, something she had to do at the university art classes that she took weekly. The room had to be more beautiful than anything in the school combined.
She took a seat near the front of the class as a few people started to trickle in. She could tell that people were staring at her, but she did not care. Not since Clary was in elementary school had she been in real school. Most of her time was spent with a tutor, or on ice, or even painting when she had the time.
While Clary was admiring her surroundings, a girl sat down next to her, tapping her arm.
"You're in my spot."
Clary looked over to see the palest girl she had ever seen. She was covered in gorgeous tattoos and her hair was dyed a light pink that clashed with everything in the room. Clary smiled slightly, beginning to move her things. The girl grabber her arm.
"I was kidding you don't have to move," she laughed playfully and lightly grabbed a piece of Clary's hair, twirling it in her slim fingers. Clary felt weirdly comforted by it. Back home, everyone was very touchy and people played with her hair all the time, even if they did not know her. It felt familiar. "I'm Kaelie by the way."
"I am Clary." Clary grimaced at how coarse her voice sounded. She did not want to scare the girl away.
"Oh, you're the new girl, aren't you," she let go of Clary's hair and turned to face her, grabbing her arms lightly. Clary smiled.
"I suppose I am."
"Do you know anyone yet? I mean I know you just moved here and all, but I can already tell we are going to be good friends." Clary thought she was very odd, yet did not want to leave. She had only said a few words to her and already really liked her, much like how she felt after spending a couple hours with Isabelle.
"I have met a few." The girl hastily took Clary's phone and entered in her number.
"Text me sometime!" She smiled and turned her attention to the teacher who started talking immediately, and Clary had to struggle to pay attention. She understood about half of what he was saying, but understood the basics of the lesson.
That had to have been the weirdest girl Clary had ever met.
There will be more Clary and Jace in the next chapter, I promise. Kaelie is who I want to be when I grow up.
