chapter 7; sleepless
"Who says I can't get stoned, turn of the lights and the telephone, me in my house alone..."
Clary hummed, her fingers gently plucking the strings on her guitar, jumping from chord to chord. The room was slightly dark, the sun having set behind the New York Skyline. Beside the hard bench she was sitting on lay a silent, sombre grand piano, shining slightly as the lights from the hallway broke through the crack in the door, and filtered through the window. Absentmindedly, she finger-picked her way into the chorus, hopping to a G - chord, her index dancing across the E string, landing on the third fret.
"It's been a long night in New York City, it's been a long night in Baton Rouge..."
Her voice grew bolder, low and scratchy in her John Mayer impersonation, and she sang louder, the sounds rolling of her tongue. She ended the chorus off with a low A, hovering slightly before she launched into the next verse. Her voice was still soft, but she was louder, more confident.
"Who says I can't take time, meet all the girls on the county line, then wait for fate to send me a sign..."
She was about to repeat the chorus, when she heard a soft knock on the door of the music room. Stopping abruptly, she let the E minor chord play out as she called out a small "come in". She leaned the guitar on her knee as she watched Isabelle open the door and step through its threshold. Her long, silky black hair was tied back into a ponytail, and she wore an expression of mild curiosity and something else Clary couldn't quite recognize. Wistfulness, perhaps?
Isabelle flicked the light switch on and nodded towards Clary, gesturing to the seat beside her on the hard leather bench. Clary smiled, and patted the space beside her.
"Isabelle?"
The black-haired girl sat down, her gaze never leaving Clary's. "Since when do you play?" She asked, gesturing down towards the guitar. The redhead shrugged, softly tapping the wood instrument with her fingers.
"I think I started about a year ago. Luke had one he lent be before he and my mum left to travel." Clary studied her friend's face, noticing the regretful and slightly pained expression as it returned. She sighed. "Izzy, what's wrong?"
Isabelle's shoulders sagged a little, but her dark eyes never left Clary's green ones as she grimaced slightly. "It doesn't really matter," she said eventually, but her tone of voice indicated that it did. Clary sighed again, and leaned the guitar against the piano, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Just spit it out, Iz," she said, her voice soft yet commanding. Isabelle nodded, her black hair falling over her shoulders slightly as she finally broke her gaze from Clary's and looked straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the door.
"I just...I just don't understand," she admitted, her eyes downcast as she stared at crack between the door and its frame. "We used to be so close, and then when you left I told myself it was because of Jace, because he'd been such an arrogant jerk. I thought you'd come back in a month, maybe two...And - " her voice cracked slightly, and Clary winced, "and when you didn't, I told myself you'd write, you'd call, you'd somehow be in touch...But you weren't. And then out of the blue, my mother tells me Clarissa Fray is going to be staying at the Institute for a while, while she and dad saunter off to Idris for stupid Clave meetings...And I had to learn it from my mother, and it broke my heart because I realized maybe it wasn't just Jace you were running away from. Maybe you were running away from me, too."
Clary sat silently, stunned, as she watched Isabelle's face. Refusing to meet her eyes, the girl before her leaned into the piano, her shoulders pulled forward so that she was turning her back to Clary.
"Izzy," Clary said, softly. She ignored her, brushing her hands over the keys of the piano.
"Isabelle," Clary said, louder. "Isabelle, look at me." Slowly, the raven-haired girl turned around, her eyes settling on Clary's. Clary reached out and grabbed her into a hug. Isabelle's hands twined themselves around the redhead's waist and she rested her head on Clary's shoulder, shaking silently. Clary realized that Isabelle was crying.
"Izzy, I didn't run away," Clary began, but she felt her friend's body stiffen underneath her. Isabelle pulled away quickly and eyed Clary with a mixture of compassion and anger.
"Don't bullshit me," she said, and her voice was hard. "Or yourself," she added as an afterthought. Clary sat, silently, as she thought back.
Had she run away? She had wanted a fresh start. She had been too emotionally invested in Jace and wanted a new beginning. Did that count as running away?
"You might not see it like that, Clary," Isabelle interrupted, reading Clary's thoughts, "but you avoided confrontation. You were in way too deep with Jace, so you left without saying anything, to anyone. That counts as running away, even if you have some other bullshit way of putting it. People usually call them 'Fresh starts' or 'starting over phases', but its all the same, really."
Clary shrugged, and frowned. "Well, if you put it like that..." she muttered, defensively. Shaking her head, she continued. "Honestly, Izzy, in my mind I wasn't running away, at least not from you. But when mum and Luke moved to Idris because the Clave wanted him on the council, I had no one else in New York except for you. And at the time, living in the Institute wasn't a pleasant option for me."
Isabelle frowned slightly and shook her head. "But I still don't understand. I mean, I know you broke up..."
Clary eyed her speculatively and paused, Isabelle's unanswered question floating across the room. Finally, she muttered:
"What did Jace tell you?" Clary's fought her mind as it flashed a warning sign. She had to get this off her chest - for Izzy's sake, as well as hers.
"Well, nothing, really, but I know what I saw," Isabelle mused, her eyes still downcast. "You guys were more than in love...It was like you were obsessed. It was kind of scary, frankly. You spent all your time together, you finished each other's sentences, you didn't hang out with your friends anymore." She paused, and swallowed, as if she didn't know how to go about finishing the rest of her story. "And then you had the fight, the one where you went out to hang with Simon and Jace became an overprotective, jealous bastard. And then you left the next night."
Clary nodded, dropping her eyes to the ground. "It was a little bit more complicated than that. During the fight, we said some things..." She furrowed her brow, and heard Isabelle shuffle uncomfortably beside her.
"Clary, if you don't want to talk about it..." She started, her eyes slightly watery. Clary shook her head.
"No," she stated stubbornly, clasping her hands together, "I want to." She took a deep breath and continued. "He said some things about how I was a danger magnet and how I he was tired of constantly having to watch over me. I told him he was an overprotective jerk, and by the end of it I stormed out. We didn't...We didn't break up, though."
Isabelle's brow furrowed. "I don't understand...If you didn't break up...Why did you run away?"
Clary inhaled loudly, her eyes still focused on the wooden floor. "Well, the next night I came home. I spent the day at Simon's parents home...I hadn't seen him in so long, it was nice to talk to him. He convinced me to talk to Jace about our issues - you were right, we were way to obsessed with one another. And I knocked on his door, but he wasn't there. I checked everywhere - the library, the training room... Eventually I found him when I opened the door to my room. Except he wasn't...alone."
Clary winced as a memory of a shirtless Jace lying over top - No, she said, firmly. It's in the past. I'm over it. She turned to peer at Isabelle's expression, a combination of horror and confusion and disbelief.
"Wait - are you saying he cheated on you? In your room?" The girl's voice was dripping with anger, but also regret. "Oh, my god, Clary! No wonder... Holy fuck!"
Clary nodded. "Yeah," she offered, although she didn't really have to say anything. Isabelle had said it all. Suddenly, she got up off the bench, brushing her grey-rinsed jeans off absentmindedly as she picked up the guitar. "Well, now you know," she muttered, her eyes searching in the darkness for the pick she'd had minutes ago. "Look, don't bother Jace about it, kay? We already talked about it..." Liar. "And we've agreed that its in the past."
Isabelle nodded, her expression solemn. "Thank you for sharing, Clary." Her eyes were slightly rueful as she eyes the instrument in Clary's hands. "I think I understand." She got up too, her elongated legs wobbling ever so slightly on her heels as she regained her upright balance. She sighed, and pulled Clary into a hug.
"I wish it didn't have to be this way," she muttered into the redhead's ear, holding her tightly. "I wish I could have been there when you started to play guitar, and when you attended your training...I just wish you hadn't become so distant. You were the first, and the only, girl friend I've ever had. I really wish this all hadn't happened."
Clary nodded as she broke out of the hug, slightly uncomfortable. "I missed you too, Izzy. But I don't regret it. It was for the best. If I hadn't left..." I never would have seen Raziel again. I wouldn't be where I am now.
Izzy nodded, misreading Clary's emerald eyes. "Yeah. You guys would have killed each other, or worse."
-x-
Clary was lying on her bed, her hands behind her head as she stared up at the ceiling. It was four in the morning, and try as she might, she couldn't sleep.
Sighing, she rolled over to the side of her bed and slipped her feet into a pair of soft flip flops. Rubbing her eyes, she got up and headed towards the door, her vision blurred by the darkness. Tugging a pair of shorts over her underwear, she opened the door and made her way blindly across the dark corridor, stopping at elevator.
Five minutes later, she was sitting in a bright kitchen, a cup of hot chocolate cooling off under her nose as she hunched over her tattered copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream resting on the counter. She was so absorbed and exhausted she didn't hear the footsteps as someone came into the kitchen until they breathed down her ear:
"Shakespeare, eh?"
Clary jumped, nearly falling off the stool, and her left arm colliding with the mug of hot chocolate as she struggled to steady herself. She watched in horror from her half-crouched recovery pose as the warm liquid spilled out of the cup and hurdled its way towards her beloved play. She reached for it, but before she knew it had been lifted from the counter. Swearing under her breath, she peered up at the grinning face of Jace Wayland.
He was clutching the book open with one hand, the other strewn across his forehead in a fake melodrama. He was arched backward, his knees slightly bent, as he cried out a soft:
"Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell;
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet grace must still look so!"
Clary straightened herself out and grabbed a tea-towel, smacking it against Jace's arm as she went to clean up the chocolate spill. "That's from Macbeth, not A Midsummer Night's Dream." She ran the cloth over the wet counter, her mouth pressed into a hard line.
Jace dropped her play by the fridge before he reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of vodka, setting it down on the counter. "That must be why Hodge threatened to fail me in English Literature. Not that anyone cared," he said jokingly, pulling out to shot glasses and setting them on the newly-wiped counter. "Couldn't sleep, huh?"
Clary nodded absentmindedly, playing with the hem of her camisole, and silently wishing she was wearing a sweater, something more covering. Jace poured some vodka into the shot glasses, before pulling out spirits and mixing them together until he had some colorful concoction. Grinning, he handed one to Clary.
"Drink up," he said amiably, "It'll knock you out cold, and it's delicious."
Clary reached for the drink tentatively, looking into Jace's eyes for some sort of trick. Jace simply smiled and swallowed his in one gulp, showing off. Clary smiled a little, before doing the same.
She gasped as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. He was right - it was delicious. She smiled at Jace, who was pouring another round already. "These are really, really good," she said after her second, her brain comfortably fuzzy after the drinks. It wasn't enough to get drunk, but enough to take off the edge she so desperately wanted to rid herself of.
Jace smiled and wriggled his eyebrows. "It's called an Angel Tit."
Clary snorted, and swallowed her third. "Only you would go looking for the most inappropriately named shooters, Lightwood."
Jace grinned cockily, and Clary felt a tingling in her fingers as he brushed past her. Just the alcohol, she thought stubbornly. Its just the alcohol. She knew she should refuse the fourth, but after his golden eyes met her emerald ones and her hurt fluttered involuntarily, she chugged the alcohol down as quickly as Jace had whipped it up. Screw the consequences. Tonight, all she wanted to do was forget, just for a little while, and live.
"Did you hear anything from Razzle-Dazzle yet?" Jace asked a couple minutes later, his voice slightly shaky as he sat on the other side of the table, the bottle of vodka sitting comfortably between them.
Clary raised her eyebrows. "You mean Raziel, right?"
Jace nodded absentmindedly, playing with the ring on his index finger. Clary recognized the ring, and winced.
"Um, no," she said quickly, averting her eyes from the treacherous piece of jewelry that had once been hanging across the chain on her neck. She remembered flinging it at Jace when they'd had the argument. "It's quite frustrating, actually."
Jace cocked his head to one side and poured them both a glass of pure vodka. "How so?" he asked, his hand playing with his glass as he sloshed the contents lightly.
Clary groaned. "It's just - I have no fricken idea why I'm here, or what I'm supposed to do! And all I can think is that there's something in New York - some big test or obstacle or whatever, and he wants me to get over it."
Jace stared at his glass for a little while, before pursing his lips. "Do you think those demons who attacked you had anything to do with it?" he asked, his voice careful and his eyebrows furrowed. Clary started slightly at his suggestion, but considered it for a little while before responding.
"Perhaps. I hadn't given it much thought, to be honest." She nodded her head again. "Yeah, I think you're right. I'll look into it - it'll give me something to do."
Jace grinned up at her and lifted his glass. "I'll help you," he promised, and she met his glass with a slight tink! before drowning down the alcohol.
"Mhh," she sighed contentedly, her eyelids becoming heavy. "Tomorrow."
And with that, she felt her world and the bright lights from the kitchen slip into oblivion as sleep claimed her tired mind.
song: John Mayer "Who Says"
sorry it's so late. Really.
Thank you for your reviews! I've decided to respond to them all and include a spoiler or peek or whatever-you-want-to-call-it. :) So please review, they make me update faster... :)
Thank you for everyone who has reviewed, subscribed, or added my story as a favorite. You have no idea what it does to come across an author and notice my story as one of their favorites :')
I hope you liked the explanation with Isabelle - I felt it was long overdue. Also, all in Clary's POV because some people requested I try to show more insight to her feelings with Jace. She's denying them right now, but you see them here and there...If you want anything, please let me know! Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated :)
