"Hey Jace," Clary greeted him, sliding onto her stool next to him in their art class, which Jace had signed up for last week, after being told he had to take an extra class to boost his GPA.
"Hey Clary," he replied. The class were immersed in chatter and by now they were beginning to accept that for some strange and unfathomable reason the antisocial outcast had been befriended by Jace Lightwood. Simon was sometimes factored into the conversations about their friendship too, but most people ignored him.
"I have something for you, actually." Jace said, surprising Clary and her eyebrows rose.
"I know you, well, not to be rude, but I know your family don't have a lot of money and I wanted to give you one of my old sweaters and some of Izzy's' things too. I left them in my locker."
"Jace!" Clary cried, "You can't give those to me!"
"Why not?"
"Well, I-" Clary faltered, "I don't want them."
Jace furrowed his brows and cocked his head to the side, "But I'm offering you them."
"Well I don't want them!"
"Clary, just take them."
"No." Clary protested, turning back to the easel in front of her, glaring at it.
Jace smirked, "You'll burn a hole into the canvas if you're not careful."
Clary would've flipped him the finger, if she had been that brave. Jace kept staring calmly at her, his eyebrows raised as if he knew she'd relent to his offer and that infuriated her. He didn't know her, or her family, not really.
The whole lesson passed before Clary turned to Jace, which was far longer than he expected it would take. Clary had been mulling the offer over in her mind, weighing her pride against what she really needed.
"Sorry," she muttered, "I shouldn't have ignored you. It was nice of you to offer."
"So you'll accept?"
She nodded, knowing that it would benefit her greatly to wear new clothes.
"But Isabelle won't miss them, will she?"
"She won't even batter one perfectly mascaraed eyelid, she has too many clothes as it is, and I have enough sweaters – trust me."
She sighed.
"Don't worry about it," Jace assured her again and tried not to give her a sympathetic look, which he always tried to avoid sending her way, not wanting to alienate her because she was poorer than the rest of them. Simon told him (while Jace was actually listening) that her house was practically empty and she didn't have a desk or even a wardrobe.
What kind of friend lets the other live like that?
"Oi! Jocelyn!" Valentine boomed from the living room where he sneered at the opposing football team, resenting the fact that they were winning. Clary was busy washing the dishes which had begun to mold over.
"What!?" Jocelyn yelled back, emerging from the bedroom.
"Fetch me a beer!"
"We ran out!" she shouted back, not bothering to check.
"Clarissa, fetch me a beer!" he tried again, throwing her his dirtiest look. She nodded and scampered to the cupboard, appraising the growing amount of food being stashed away. Jocelyn had gone shopping, Clary must remember to thank her – very grateful that she had spent time to think of it.
Clary had no money herself to spend on food. She was not yet sixteen, despite feeling as if she was twenty already, and so could not get a job.
Two weeks' time that would change and she'd finally be able to afford to buy herself food and clothes and maybe even some more pens for school. With sudden sadness she remembered the bills and rent that would need to be paid. Perhaps the clothes could be sacrificed.
Jocelyn was right. There was no beer.
"Sorry we're out of beer." Clary informed him, voice shaking as she anticipated his anger.
"Well? Is there not any alcohol at all?"
"N-no."
He growled, turning back to the TV with surmounting anger and Clary returned to the dishes apprehensively. He was craving alcohol, was highly irritable without it and his favorite team were losing. Clary knew only to brace for the pain. Hopefully his team would win and he would be too lost in triumph to remember Clary's vulnerability.
It happened. Sometimes. When she was lucky.
They were losing, really badly, by the time the last plate was put away. He was getting really angry by this point, pacing the floor with thundering footfalls, hands fisted tightly at his sides.
His veins stood out with the tension.
Clary crossed her fingers behind her back, watching with dread as the last few minutes of the match meant another penalty given away and another stolen point. Valentine roared with an inhuman intensity as he turned and threw the armchair across the room before his eyes met Clary's.
She was quaking under his gaze, as if the weight of the world fell atop her shoulders and her legs were giving out. He had already reached her, a hand latching itself around her chin – squeezing so painfully tight.
"I want beer," he hissed demanding the impossible.
"I'm sorry we don't-" she couldn't finish, sentence made abrupt by the stinging slap across her cheek, rising tears to the surface. She staggered backwards, almost knocked off her feet and clutched the cold counter by her side, holding herself steady.
"Why not!?" he seethed, once more grappling her, by the shirt this time, drawing their faces close. She was muted into silence, aware that no answer could be given to assuage his rage. "ANSWER ME!"
"N-n-no money," she stammered, the words unleashed in one frightful, last ditched attempt to save herself. He threw her recklessly to the ground, causing her to fly in the air for one momentary second before pain exploded from her back and head. The counter was hard and rough behind her where she lay.
His heavy booted foot came in contact with her soft stomach and she gasped, the wind knocked out of her and heaved, empty stomach sparing no contents.
"It's always fucking money! You and Jocelyn are so needy!" he punctuated with another well aimed kick, "its food one minute, what do you want the next? A fucking car!"
He reached down and grasped her hair, pulling her upright in front of his grotesquely contorted face.
"I do so much for you!" he spat, "I provide a home for you – the least you can do is give me some fucking beer."
She held her breath, but she needn't bother as he stole it from her with a punch to the gut, making her crumple against him before he pushed her violently away from him onto the floor.
"I never wanted a kid you know?" he sneered, looking down at her with fuming hatred.
Clary knew.
"Clarissa, what are you doing?" Jocelyn asked with a laugh, tickling the little girl wedged in between the cupboards, hidden poorly behind the door.
"I'm hiding," Clary whispered, her hands cupping her mouth to be more secretive.
"From who?" Jocelyn asked, "Were you playing with that kid across the street again."
"Dad," she replied, glancing up at her mother apprehensively. She wouldn't be angry, would she?
Jocelyn's face hardened, turning grave. The five-year-old noticed.
"Don't be silly!" Jocelyn cooed, eyes avoiding Clary's wide green ones as she lifted her out of the gap. "Were you playing hide and seek?"
"No…" Clary answered honestly, placing her head on her mom's shoulders as she was carried into the living room. "It was scary."
"Don't be silly, Clarissa, I'm sure he didn't like you hiding from him. He must've felt sad that you ran away."
"Hey darling," Jocelyn greeted her daughter, sliding onto the bed next to where she lay. Clary felt the bed dip and stiffened, breaking her gaze away from the ceiling where she had been counting the plastic stars that they had all put up there a long, long time ago.
"Hi," Clary whispered, feeling the fresh forming scab on her lip crack and split with the movement.
Jocelyn sighed, then smiled warmly, raising a finger to brush a stray piece of hair off Clary's forehead. Clary flinched and quickly sat up so she could scoot away from Jocelyn and lean against the wall.
Her mother looked hurt, her eyes sad and lonely.
"Sorry," Clary murmured, the lips of her mouth turned up slightly in an apologetic smile. Her face felt sore when her cheeks moved, the left side of her face still tender from the slap.
"How's school?" Jocelyn asked, drawing her legs close to her chest as she wrapped an arm around them.
"Good," Clary answered, "I've made two friends."
Jocelyn perked up.
"Tell me about them."
Clary could see familiar green eyes blinking back at her and she smiled, despite her bruised cheek, relaxing at little.
"There's Jace," Clary obliged, "He's really nice…and funny."
"What does he look like?"
"Blonde," Clary replied, "and tan, he's got the nicest eyes too."
Jocelyn smiled teasingly at her.
"Sound like someone has a crush!" she sang, "I bet he's handsome."
Clary blushed, gazing down at her fumbling fingers and shrugged.
"I guess he is."
Jocelyn stretched her legs out onto the bed, wiggling her toes a little in mock childishness, Clary shifted an inch away from her, reluctant to let their legs touch.
"And what about your other friend?"
"His name's Simon and he's so friendly, he has brown hair and glasses," Clary explained, "He likes comic books and science."
"Sounds like a geek to me," Jocelyn scoffed, "Or a bit like Luke."
"Oh," Clary said, examining a bruise on her forearm it was a deep and ugly purple, also extremely sensitive to touch, she discovered with a hiss. Her mother's eyes glanced down to it.
"I might move in with him soon," She told Clary, "He's going to rent out a nice apartment above a bookshop, once he sorts out his debt."
Clary nodded.
"Would I come too?" She asked apprehensively. Jocelyn laughed and grabbed her hand, rubbing her knuckles with her thumb.
"Of course," she said, "I promise. Once I get better."
Clary nodded again. Jocelyn's phone rang, cutting through the silence with its shrill register.
"Hey Luke!" Jocelyn exclaimed as she quickly answered, all smiles and happiness, "Oh I'm not busy," she said, sliding off the bed and out the door. Clary watched morosely as her mother went into her bedroom, grabbing her jacket and then her keys from the counter with a jingle. "I'll be right over," she promised, opening the front door before turning around and throwing Clary a backwards glance. She blew her a kiss and a wave before she was gone.
Clary sighed.
Jocelyn was here one minute and gone the next, just when Clary thought she was finally staying. But then, she thought now, maybe you never really had someone. Maybe, no matter how much you loved them, they could slip through your fingers like water, and there was nothing you could do about it.
"Clary, look at the faeries! Aren't they so pretty!" Jocelyn exclaimed, pointing to things Clary could not see, but her mom was happy. She was hardly ever happy anymore.
"Yeah." She replied, trying to pretend she really could see them.
"Do you like the blue one? Or maybe the green?" her mom grasped the thin air, smiling at something she thought was on the tip of her finger.
"The blue one is pretty," Clary obliged. She didn't want her mom to feel crazy.
"Nonsense," her mom chastised her. Clary sighed and hunched her shoulders. "It's beautiful!"
Her mother's glazed eyes unfocused and then refocused on Clary's face. Clary hated it when her pupils were this wide and…lifeless. Valentine said it was because of her special happy medicine. It wasn't happy for Clary.
"Oooh what's this?" Jocelyn exclaimed, hand brushing her daughters face. Clary's breath hitched, wondering whether her mom had finally noticed the black and purpled bruise that marred her face and made her left eye sore and swollen.
"She likes you! Look she's tickling your nose! Can't you feel it?" Jocelyn mused, pinching Clary' nose. Clary tried to stop the tears pooling in her eyes and forced a laugh.
"It tickles," she lied, trying to smile.
"Oh, I do love your smile my dear," Jocelyn complimented, "Boy, I am hungry! Clary, get the faeries to help you make dinner! Evelien says she will!"
"Yes, mom." Clary sighed, moving over to the kitchen counter to cook pasta. She struggled to lift the pan, the weight more than her skinny nine-year old arms could hold.
"Aren't you going to thank Evelien, Clary that's rude!? Apologize!"
"Yes thank you, sorry Evelien." Clary muttered, filling the pan with water. Jocelyn went quiet. Clary knew the stages well.
She'd be happy and crazy, and then she'd get sad.
"Does anyone love me?" Jocelyn mused, staring at the blank wall, sinking into an armchair.
"I love you, mom." Clary responded dutifully, grabbing some minced meat to make spaghetti. The sentiment wasn't returned. Clary ignored the aching feeling in her heart.
"What am I doing?" Jocelyn asked rhetorically "Got myself knocked up with that bastard, got a fucking kid. What did I do wrong?"
Clary smiled tightly, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"I don't want a kid!" She wailed.
Clary knew. She wiped her good eye with the palm of her hand, quickly pouring the sauce onto the meat, leaving it to cook before mixing the ingredients together.
"I'm hungry," Jocelyn complained with a pout.
"Dinner's nearly ready," Clary rationalized, stirring the food.
"I want it noooow."
Clary had no reply, except to finish up and dump it onto two plates, giving one to her mom before she retreated back to the kitchen to eat, staring at the wall monotonously as she ate. The food tasted ashy in her mouth.
Deep down her mom loved her. She was her little girl.
Yes, Clary was sure her mom must love her, even if only a little.
A little would be enough.