Clary

The moment Jace walked into the room, I knew something was wrong. He looked sleep-deprived, his shoulders sagged, and he walked with a limp, but the most shocking thing was the huge purple bruise dancing along his chin. Purple…turning to black. I was surprised he could still talk. Actually, just him being here was a huge turn on.

Not even caring that we were at the Institute, I jumped up from my seat, slammed the door closed, and stood in front of him, nervous. "You…" I gestured to his bruise. "Don't tell me another fight."

He didn't bother to deny it. Instead, he sent me a sidelong look, and pointed to his bruise. "Kiss it better."

How is it possible that someone could look so hot even after looking beat up?

"Clary," he said again, tone low, warningly. "Kiss it better."

I let my lips brush over it. Even though it was the lightest of touches, Jace gave a shaky sigh, and turned his head and kissed me, cupping his hand around my neck to draw me closer, running his tongue across my lips.

I pulled back. "Yeah, right." And poked his bruise. He hissed out a breath of pain. "Tell me."

Jace raised his eyes to mine and I knew, from the stone hard expression, that he wasn't going to give up without a fight. And knowing his weakness, I smiled. Jace eyed me suspiciously.

Placing my hand on his bicep, I started massaging gently. The effect was instantaneous. Jace's eyes flickered close and he pressed a kiss to the crook of my elbow. My knees shook, yet I managed to stay on my feet. My hands traveled down, with a mind of their own, feeling his hard muscles, his abs, under me, unresisting when I pressed down. No inch of fat whatsoever.

Unbelievably hot.

Jace was drunk in my touch, eye closed, peppering kisses absentmindedly up my arm. As hard as he was trying to hide it, little moans were escaping his mouth, as well as short hisses. And before I knew what I was doing, my hands were on the hem of his shirt and my fingers were lifting it higher and higher, until Jace shucked it off entirely and threw it to the other side of the room.

And I froze. Staring at his chest. Because covering his chest were scars, billions of them, small and large, and huge bruises purpling his skin. I knew, from one glance, that it'd hadn't been from one fight. It'd been from something else. Something way more serious than I'd thought.

"Jace," I whispered. "What happened?"

His head was ducked, his hair falling into his eyes, hiding his expression from me. He shook his head, mute.

I took in the whole thing, and lightly trailed one finger over a scar across his collar bone. He took in a shaky breath, stiffening, as I ran my hand down his chest, tracing his scars gently. "Who's doing this to you," I whispered, my voice cracking, feeling unbelievably sad as tears welled in my eyes, because no one, especially Jace, deserved this.

"My dad," Jace whispered, so soft I almost didn't hear him. He ventured a look up when I didn't respond, because I was shocked speechless.

Abuse from a parent. Jace.

I was pretty sure my own horror was mirrored in Jace's eyes, but when he spoke, I knew it wasn't because he was afraid of his dad. It was of me. "Are you ashamed of me?" he asked, sounding so vulnerable that a tear escaped from my eye. Jace – cocky, arrogant Jace – had been stripped of his hard armor, leaving behind his vulnerable, unprotected heart that with one word, could be shredded beyond repair. And I'd been the one to do it. "Aw, Clary," he said, voice cracking as he reached up to catch a falling teardrop. It glistened on his finger like a newly-cut diamond. "Don't cry. Please don't cry."

I couldn't help it. More tears rolled down my cheeks. "No," I cried, shaking my head. "No, I'd never be ashamed of you."

Without a word, Jace wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in for a crushing hug, warm and safe, his face buried in my hair. And despite the bumpy scars on his chest, he still felt like Jace. It was because, I realized as I cried into his chest, he was Jace, no matter what he looked like, or how he was torn and pushed to the ground, he'd always be able to get up again, and he'd always be Jace. The Jace I'd always known.

Jace didn't say anything as I cried. He just let me be, without trying to hush me, or calm to down. By the time I'd gotten a hold of myself, it was already almost an hour. Jace kissed me lightly on the cheeks – still wet, but he didn't say anything – and got up, pulled on his shirt. He reached for the door handle.

"You have to report it," I said quietly.

He stopped in his tracks, back to me. "I can't."

"You have to do something about it! You can't just let him beat you up and tear you down like that!" Now sadness was disappearing, replaced quickly by anger.

"You don't understand!" Jace said, whirling around, eyes blazing. "I can't tell anyone!"

"You told me."

He stared at me for a long time. "Yes. You're the only one I've told it to, and I plan on keeping it that way. I'm sorry, Clary," he said, picking up his backpack and turning for the door. "Believe me, I would have told a long time ago if I could, but there's a reason why I can't. Something bad is going to happen if I do."

And then he was gone.

Jace

Clary.

Beautiful.

Lovely.

Kind.

Caring.

Smart.

Compassionate.

She dominated my thoughts, day and night. Her face when she saw my body, her expression as she swore her acceptance of me, her eyes as she fought against me. Everything about her seemed so impossibly right that sometimes I would spend hours doing nothing but staring at the ceiling, wondering how on earth I'd gotten to meet such a wonderful girl.

Why? Why me? What did I do to deserve someone like her?

I wasn't a good person. Hell, if anything, I probably deserved a slut who treated her potential bed-mates as shitty as I did.

I didn't want her to cry, and I'd made her cry. Believe me when I say this, but no amount of words can describe the guilt that weighs down on my conscience to know that I'd made her cry. God, I'd been so caught up in the moment when she was touching me that I'd acted without thinking, something I hadn't done in a long time. With her hands on me, the shirt had just felt way, way too hot and tight, and nothing felt good until it was completely gone. That was when I'd noticed she'd stopped moving, and reality hit me.

I now sat in front of my Biology textbook, frantically studying for the test on Tuesday even though Clary's mind was everywhere I looked. Every word looked like Clary's eyes, every picture like Clary, every letter like her mouth. I imagined Clary's voice reading the passages to me, and everything became clearer.

I wanted desperately to ace this test, to make Clary happy and, most importantly, proud of me. I never want to see her broken and sad face again. I always want to see it shining with happiness. Because just having her happy, I'd be happy too.

*Because a girl like you is impossible to fine, you're impossible to find….* Fall for you by Secondhand Serenade. Best song ever!33

Eeek! Clockwork Prince comes out in three months! And Silence is out next month! (Hush, Hush anyone? Patch3333)

Reviews are always always welcomed! XD