Hiii again. Okay, so, the hidden message actually has nothing to do with this chapter, but I put it up anyways. Also, my friend sent me a text telling me that the email notifications weren't letting her sleep, and then I laughed about it for ten million years. I'm the worst. Anyway, thanks to IWriteNaked for beta'ing, and I hope y'all like this chapter.


"I Wish You Would"

I wish you would come back
Wish I never hung up the phone like I did
I wish you knew that I'll never forget you as long as I live, I
Wish you were right here, right now, it's all good, I wish you would


He drove past her street each night.


Even though she went out with Isabelle nearly every day for the past two weeks, Clary still missed Jace.

He had rooted himself into her life, had become a part of her soul. He had gotten under her skin and made his way into her thoughts, and she couldn't shake his presence away, no matter how hard she tried.

It frustrated her to think that she hung up the phone. Clary shut him out once and for all, and sometimes she would go twenty-something hours without sleeping because regret ate her up and made her stay awake. It was killing her, she thought. She tried to go out with Isabelle and shake off her worries and the last remaining traces of him that held on to her, but she couldn't. He was still there, everywhere she looked.

She wished she could tell him a lot of things. Sometimes, when she couldn't fall asleep, she would play possible conversations with him in her mind. She always told him things like I miss you and you were the greatest thing to happen to me and I will never forget you in a million years. As cheesy as those were, she felt all of them. Clichés were clichés for a reason.

"You can't dwell on the past," Isabelle would tell her. Their conversations became almost like a routine: Clary would tell Isabelle all the things she wanted to tell Jace, and Isabelle would tell Clary, in her own words, to get a grip.

She wondered sometimes if he ever thought of her, if he ever went to sleep with her name on his lips. It happened too many times that she would spend her nights thinking of him, with her phone in her hands and his number in her mind. She had deleted him from her contacts, but she had memorized his number. There were times in which she typed it in, hands shaking, but she never called. She wanted to tell him to come back, but she never did.

She couldn't call.

Because, aside from a whispered I'm sorry, what else could she give him?


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