A/N: I'm back! Did you miss me? ...no? Okay. Well, I was going to post yesterday but I had a ton of Chorus work to do. Sorry about that. This chalter is fairly short and may confuse you guys, but...I'm trying to work with what I have.
No, I did not forget about the prank war. :)
Enjoy.
Chapter 7: Sober
Clary's hand was gripping something. She tried to see what it was, but as she pried her eyes open, a white blinding light forced her to close them. Her head pounded. Slowly, she tried opening her eyes again.
Gold. Gold was surrounding her. Clary blinked. The world came into focus. Someone was lying next to her. She golden curls were so familiar. The curve of the lip and slope of the nose. Jace.
Last night came rushing back to her. Only bits and pieces, though. A warm hand in hers. The buzz of alcohol. Dancing in a sweaty crowd. Letting go.
Clary pushed away from Jace. Unfortunately, his eyes popped open.
She didn't even give him a moment to speak. "Why the hell am I in your room?" Her voice sounded dusty and cracked.
Jace groaned. "Five more minutes."
Clary shook him violently. Her head was pierced with pain. "No, Jace! I need to know what happened! Did we—"
"Have sex?" Jace smirked, eyes closed. "Yup. And let me tell you, you certainly are—"
Clary hit the back of his head. Hard. "I know we didn't have sex, dipshit," she hissed. "But didn't we do anything else?"
"Well, as I was saying, you gave me a—"
Clary hit him again. "Oh, shut up! I'm being serious."
Jace sat up, rubbing his head. Golden curls fell around his face messily. "No, we didn't," he said. "You were drunk, I know that. I just found you in my bed last night. I think I was too tired to do anything."
"Oh." Clary moved a hand to her lips. "Did I make out with anyone last night?"
Jace's eyes flashed with rigidity for a moment, but it was gone a second after. "Not that I saw. " Jace shrugged. "Not entirely far fetched. I mean, you could've. I wasn't exactly sober. Why?"
"I...remember kissing someone." Clary shook her head. "It doesn't matter, though."
"Right." Jace's voice was slightly uneven. "Well," he said, getting up from the bed. "I'm going to get some Advil." He threw on a shirt and stepped out of the room. Clary watched his retreating back. Something wasn't right. Something just didn't add up.
Clary swung herself out of the bed. Her head spun when she landed on her feet. She pressed her palm against the wall to steady herself. Never drinking again, she thought wryly.
She tiptoed across the landing to the stairs. She stopped at the hushed voices around the corner.
"You're welcome," Jace said. Heels clicked on the wood floors.
"You know, you didn't have to do anything." Isabelle's voice was more of a whisper, probably due to a hangover. "You could've just had a drink. Let loose, for once."
Clary heard Jace sigh. "You know I can't do that," Jace said firmly. "Besides, who knows what you would've done if I weren't sober."
"Me?" Isabelle's tone held question mixed with suspicion. "You mean Clary."
"No, Iz." Frustration filled his words. "Not Clary."
"Oh, come on. I've been telling you for years that—"
"What I want and what I should do are two completely separate things," Jace said shortly. "We're not discussing this, Isabelle."
Those words. Clary's head swam. She'd heard those words before, coming out of his mouth. They were as fresh as peppermint in her mind.
"What I want and what I should do..." Clary gasped. She covered her mouth quickly. Those words were from last night. The warm hands. Insistent lips.
"Fine." Clary could imagine Isabelle throwing her hair over her shoulder as she said that. "But you two...I'm telling you, Jon wouldn't kill you."
"No," Jace deadpanned. "He might. That's not the issue. I have to give this medicine to her."
Clary's heart started pounding. She ran quickly and lightly back to Jace's room, launching herself in his bed. She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Jace came through the door. He set the pills and water on the bedside table and backed out, shutting the door after him. Clary blindly reached out for the pills and swallowed them dry.
Jace was a mystery, that she always knew. Some mysteries couldn't be solved. Well, luckily for Clary, she was stubborn.
Jonathan was livid. Well, he would've been if he hadn't had a severe hangover. "You slept where?"
Clary sat down on their living room couch. Somehow, they managed to stumble their way back home. Their parents were away currently, leaving them alone on a Saturday, "In Jace's room," said Clary. "I was drunk, and clearly didn't know what I was doing."
Jon snorted. "Oh, I'm sure your subconscious led you there."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Clary's voice grew in volume. "If you were so concerned for me, you shouldn't have let me come to the damn party. Hell, you shouldn't have drunk the entire state of New York! Don't give me shit about not trusting me, Jonathan. You can't be trusted with your own damn liver." She turned to leave, but Jonathan gripped her shoulder tightly.
Jonathan's eyes softened. "Clary...It's not that I don't trust you. I don't trust Jace. I see the way he looks at you."
"Well," Clary said, shoving his hand off of her, "news flash. He doesn't look at me, and I sure as hell don't look at him." She stormed away, leaving Jonathan frustrated.
She immediately reached for her sketchbook when she got to her room, flipping the pages violently. There was Jace, Jace, and more Jace. He covered every inch of the second half of the book. She was angered, more than anything. She was positive that Jace was consciously with her last night. More than anything, she was puzzled as to why he would lie about being drunk.
But the strangest thing to her, by far, was the unfamiliar streak of black paint across the back of her sketchbook.
A/N: Well, there it is!