Hello readers! *drops onto knees and apologizes profusely for long wait* My summer has been crazy busy so far, but writing IS a priority and I promise to knock out as many chapters as possible!

Summary time!

In the last chapter Jace and Isabelle had to deal with the disastrous aftermath of the final Collaboration performance. Izzy faints and Jace is the hero of the night! But everything comes crashing down the next morning when he gets a call from Clary after speeding home without a word to her! And even after all of this, Jace finally confronts Isabelle on a few...issues that she's been dealing with. Cliche? Possibly. But Izzy's got her own battles to fight-will opening up to Simon help her win? She took that leap last chapter when Simon showed up work on their dreaded Chemistry project, and to Simon (and Isabelle's) surprise, Clary and Jace have some "calculus" (yes, math) work to do of their own, sparking a few emotions with Simon and leading Isabelle to begin to open up in a way she never thought was possible. That was only the beginning. (And don't worry, Jace and Clary DID study ;)

For my Jace POV lovers out there (there has to be a few, right?) this is your chapter! It was very hard for me to write this chapter, both for trying to capture the emotions correctly and for, well, you'll see.

This one is a little bit shorter than usual, only because when I originally wrote it there were about 10 more sections! It was close to 30 pages long and 10K words-UNFINISHED. So this is part 1 of a 3 part "chapter". Please enjoy!


Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays

(Part 1 - Monday)

JACE

Math was an easy subject. Always had been, always will be.

I was uncomfortable and half asleep, almost drooling in the rickety desk of my Algebra I class. Isabelle, who was actually paying attention for once, had to keep poking me or coughing loudly so that I would stay awake. It was our job as best friends to keep each other's heads from slamming onto our desks. A pact we'd made two years ago after Trevor Anderson's unfortunate accident during an insanely boring 6th grade lecture. The kid's nose never looked the same—and you can't save everybody—but Isabelle and I were determined to make it through the worst of 8th grade. And we'd been doing pretty well. Our last year of middle school was almost halfway over.

Today was a Wednesday. Such an odd day, Wednesday. Almost to Friday but still too far away to start slacking—it was a slap in the face to both students and teachers. But this Wednesday was special, it had meaning, and not just because it was 3 days to winter break.

Last Wednesday was my parent's 15th wedding anniversary, and this year they decided to fly off to Cancun to "renew their vows". Just thinking about it made my stomach churn in an extremely-gross-but-also-really-adorable kind of way. Gross for obvious reasons, but still cute because my parents really loved each other. I could see it in my mother's eyes whenever she looked at my dad or caught sight on the shiny new ring on her finger. And I could see it on my dad's face whenever he thinks I don't notice how they watch dumb movies together. All cuddled up, insisting that they stay as close as possible even though there's plenty of space left on the couch.

I understand love about as much as the next 14 year old boy, but this Wednesday was special because today were coming home.

The Lightwoods heard me raving about it all morning….Not that I didn't appreciate staying with them while my parents were away. They were my family, and I'd had plenty of fun helping Max with his first grade vocabulary, or spying on Isabelle while she gossiped over the phone. Though, the best part was having "guy talk" with Alec every night. After dinner he'd work on art assignments in his room while I drilled him with questions the special high school he'd gotten accepted to—the same one Izzy and I would be auditioning for in a few weeks. I was nice. It always was.

But I was ready to head home to my family. My real family.

So, honestly, I could care less about multiplying binomials with FOIL, and just like every other middle schooler—slackers and geniuses alike—my attention was already at the door before the knob completed its turn.

No. I don't like this.

The school principal dragged himself in. The class fell into an immediate hush.

We all watched with eager expression as he walked up to our dinosaur of a teacher and whispered a few short words in her ear. Mrs. Tillman gasped slightly at whatever news the principal had—gladly—interrupted class for, and all the students were on the edges of their seats, awaiting the most exciting part of the show. The Moment of Truth. That agonizingly long minute when the two adults singled out the troublemaker with a simple, sentencing glance. Maybe today would be the day Jared Hall got caught for flinging bacon bits into the cheerleaders' hair. Or maybe they'd figured out who'd deflated all the basketballs last month. But Jared was safe, and nobody was in trouble, because their somber eyes landed on me.

I only caused trouble at home. To my teachers I was just loud, straight-A Jace Wayland.

They made eye contact with me, but didn't say a word as they left the room. They didn't need to look over their shoulder to know that I was following them, and didn't bother to quiet the class when they all let out a round of accusing "oohs". Mitchell Redfern wouldn't stop laughing like the idiot that he was, and I could feel Izzy's eyes burning into the back of my head. Probably smirking as I trailed behind the teachers like a rat to the Piper.

They both sighed as the door slammed shut.

Mrs. Tillman looked unbelievably uncomfortable in her floral dress, shifting awkwardly in her worn out loafers and breathing quite loudly. Not to mention that this was the first time I'd seen Mr. Williams outside of his ice cold office since this year's class orientation. That was 3 months ago, and it was evident that this was a dangerously rare combination.

What the hell did I do?

They exhaled again, though this time it was closer to a shudder. And even my teacher, despite her usual lack of emotion, put a wrinkly hand on my shoulder. I was too scared to shake it off.

The principal's voice was low and raspy. "We got a call today…." He started, "from the local police."

Mrs. Tillman's focus was on the floor. They wouldn't meet my face no matter how hard she tried.

"The Lightwoods are on their way here. If you want to go home with them, that is."

No. Stop this shit. Now.

The cold rush of fear emanated from my stomach, but the looks on my teacher's faces did nothing to make the ice ebb like they were supposed to. Teachers were supposed to care. They're supposed to make everything right—but this was wrong. Everything about this encounter was wrong. We all knew it.

"Why would I want to go home with the Lightwoods today?" I asked skeptically, giving the adults a sideways look. "My mom and dad are on their way home right now. They land at 1:45."

There was no response.

Ice ran in my veins now, instead of blood. "They told me that they would be on time to pick me up from school." My view shifted. "Unless they're delayed."

Mrs. Tillman put a hand over her mouth at that. She spun away from me, her shoulders hunching in a sob.

Make it stop.

Mr. Williams continued to stare. My algebra teacher was halfway down the hall.

"There was a delay, right?" The walls began to quake. Everything was crumbling right before my eyes. "Please tell me there was only a fucking delay. Please!" I begged.

He shook his head, denying me.

Oh God, no.

My stomach rolled.

"Jace." He said slowly. "There was a problem today—a malfunction with flight NK948. It was a small aircraft on a small airline…" He blinked a few times. His eyes looked wet. "The flight was from Cancun to Dallas/Ft. Worth…"

No. Stop it, Jace. Stop this.

"Jace? Do you hear me?"

I nodded once, a lie since the ringing was drowning out his voice.

"There was a crash." He said, and added solemnly, quietly—

I didn't hear his voice. I just read his lips.

"No survivors."

My entire body was numb.

I didn't hear the clang—didn't even feel my skin tear—but my principal looked startled as he glanced at the red smear on the locker and then the wound on my left hand. My math teacher was nowhere to be found, and the kids were still in riot. I was a part of a different chaos. I was fighting to hold myself together, but I could feel my muscles fatiguing and my knees beginning to buckle right as the realization set in.

They're gone.

They're gone and they're not coming back.

So what does that make me?

The tears stung, and the adults just watched as I ran to the bathroom and threw up what felt like 3 days' worth of lunch.

Jace!

Isabelle's voice was loud and clear when she came and got me 10 minutes later, cussing out every other guy in the bathroom as she barged through the door. We both went home early that day. Our winter break started early.

Things were never the same after that.

Today was a Wednesday. December 10th. Three days before winter break, and special for all the wrong reasons.

December 10th was the day that ruined my life.

God damn it, Jace!

WAKE THE FUCK UP.

XXX

I jolted. My foot connected with something warm, and about a million things to fell to the floor.

One of them was Izzy.

"Jeez." She stood up, brushing off her slinky silk pajamas as if they were instantly dirtied by one trip to the floor. Her irritation quickly evaporated into sympathy.

I hated it. I hate the sympathy. I hate the eyes. I hate the hugs. I hate today.

But the whole house knew the date, so the eyes and hugs wouldn't stop until clear into the 11th.

"You gonna be okay?" She asked, gingerly climbing next to me on my bed.

I twisted towards my single window, away from her. She pretended not to notice. "Yeah," I croaked. "I'll be fine. I'll find a way to be fine." But my assurance didn't make her leave. I wanted her to leave.

"You want to talk about it real quick? Before we get ready for school?"

I stayed silent. When she put a warm hand on me, I flinched.

"That was a pretty nasty dream you were having." A small smile. "I came down the hall expecting your music and heard you yelling instead, all sweaty, and thrashing, and…."

She caught sight of my face and rethought her words.

"Well, it was nasty. But it's just another Monday, right?"

She smiled. It was as fake as Celeste Delgrado's new chest.

I glared at her. "It's December 10th."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know it's December 10th that's why I'm here!"

"Well, that's nice and all but I can handle myself." I made sure not to meet her stare as I stumbled out of bed. I heard her shift behind me. "Don't worry, I won't take a blade to my wrist like other people would." I injected as much venom into my words as humanly possible. "There's no way I'm that weak."

It was harsh, and I knew it. Maybe now she'll leave me the hell alone.

Silence. And she kept her stance.

No such luck. She's staying.

Her white skin was splotched with angry patches of red while she spoke through clenched teeth. "This is no way to handle your problems, Jace Wayland."

I laughed; something dark and mocking that rattled my chest as my fingers clutched the cool porcelain of the counter. My eyes were dark and crazed. "Yeah, like you can talk about handling problems!" I don't know when I made the decision that I needed to hurt her, but I wasn't holding back. "Maybe you should keep your mouth shut on this one." Maybe I should've but I didn't. I should've held back and kept my mouth shut but I didn't. Some sick part of me wanted her to feel terrible, wanted her to get out, and I regretted every word I said right as I said it. But I still dropped my voice low and glared. "Last time I checked you're 5 pounds shy of dead and slicing your wrists like bread, Isabelle. I mean, look at you! It's awful!" I scowled at her in disgust. "You're losing muscle, it looks like a bear caught your arm, and you can probably count your ribs for fun. What?" I gave her that head-to-toe look that she hates. She shivered. "Do you really think guys find that attractive? Because they don't, so you can kiss that sex appeal goodbye. And do you honestly think Mrs. Wise and Ms. May don't notice? No offence, but you probably won't get cast in any dances anytime soon. Not until you gain a few—eat a sandwich or something, gosh!" I rolled my eyes and wanted to die. I've never said anything this horrid and offensive to anyone, but the words kept coming like vomit. Like a faucet I couldn't shut off, even if I wanted to. And I wanted to.

But some part of me didn't, and it won. "By the angel, Izzy. You're skinny, and broken, and scary, and sick, and frankly it's not that cute, so I have no idea what's going on in that twisted little head of yours. I'm not the crazy one. You've got the major issues. You get the Torment Title, not me."

I didn't just cross the line. I'd crossed about 5, set them on fire, and spat in their direction. She should be clawing out my eyeballs.

Instead she screamed, her voice cracking with frustration, and I winced. "I'm crazy? Me?!" Izzy shot out at me like lightning, surging off the bed and catching hold of the collar of my ratty t-shirt. I screwed up my and waited for the assault that never came. "Really?! At least my parents aren't dead!"

Low blow.

We were screaming now, and the idea of stopping, or being polite was long gone. "Well at least I can eat like every other person! Like every other normal and sane teenager, unlike you!"

Her fist tightened. A seam popped and the fabric tore. She might be down 15 pounds but she's still strong as hell. "I cannot believe you would bring that up right now!" She hissed. "Will you ever fucking let that go?!"

"To hell I won't!"

"Why the hell not, Jace?! Because for the last few weeks you've been a major asshole to me for no reason."

"God, Izzy, there is a reason!"

"Oh really?" She roared. "Because I'm your 'baby sister'? Because I need to be protected, and watched over, and babysat 24/7 while you're trying to force me into something that I can't fucking do? Just listen to yourself! You're a mess Jace! A goddamn mess if you think for one second that putting me through hell will help you through yours. Well you've got another thing coming "Mr. Perfect"! Life doesn't work like that—you can't stomp all over people and think it'll actually make your problems go away!"

The rage inside me was starting to swell. My left wrist twitched. This was very bad. If she said one more thing—

"So quit being such a crybaby and tell me one good reason why—!"

She gasped as my palm rang against the counter, and I kept it there so it would never reach her face.

That was the last thing I wanted to do. I'd jump off a building before I'd lay a single harsh hand on her.

But I don't think she realized that. Her face contorted, but she kept shouting. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Are you—?"

"JUST SHUT THE HELL UP, ISABELLE! Shut your mouth for one freakin' second! Can you even do that?!"

I yanked at her shoulders but she didn't flinch. "How the hell could you know what I've been through?" The heat rushed to my face as my voice cracked. "How could you possibly know what's going on in my head every day, Isabelle? You can't. And as far as I know, you're a hot mess also." I pushed her aside, a little carelessly, but she didn't stumble like I wanted her to. I paced the room and she stood still. "So yeah, I am a mess! I'm not Mr. Perfect! I am putting you through hell and I won't let it go because you're my sister and I fucking care about you!"

"Well did you ever think that maybe I care about you, too Jace?!"

I stopped mid stride, caught in a bout of speechlessness. Now my face was red, and at this point I'm surprised that Mayrse hasn't broken down the door yet, or that Max hasn't popped in quietly to say something that'll make us all feel better, or even that Robert hasn't grumbled something about "coexisting peacefully" before leaving for work.

No, we were on our own. No parents, no siblings. And Izzy, just like the firecracker she was, was still exploding.

"God you are so infuriating!" She was pacing and screaming now, too, making a point to chuck pillows and sheets across the room whenever they crossed her path. Also making sure that everything solid was aimed at my face."How could you forget that I actually give a shit about what you feel? I'm the one that came and saved you 4 years ago. I'm the one you cried on all night long. I'm the one who let you sleep in my bed until the nightmares stopped and had to fend off all the dickheads that tried to get under your skin until the start of freshman year. That was me, Jace! And don't try to deny it because I know just saw it! Still dreaming about it every year like the coward you are!"

My heart skipped a beat at the sound of that—her words hurt as bad as mine did. But I didn't mean what I said, not really.

But I can't help but think she meant every hurtful word she said.

And she was absolutely right.

There was a moment of stillness, quietness. Someone who didn't know might actually call it peace—

But it was only the eye of the storm.

"Get out." I growled. "Leave. Now."

"Gladly." She sneered, and flew out the door, glaring at me all the while.

Izzy whirled on me at the last minute, her figure only grazing the threshold out of my room. "You've changed," she said cryptically. "Since the crash you've been different, and maybe you haven't noticed it yet." She leaned her slender body on the doorframe, eyeing me with a cold scrutiny. "Or maybe you have."

I have.

I've been running wild, but nobody's bothered to reign me in.

"But I'm trying to help you," she went on. "That's the whole point of the bet. I was hoping you'd see that by now. But you're just too stupid to get it." She brushed her hair over her shoulder, and I found a seat on my bed with my head in my hands. "Clary was supposed to pull you in. Change you back."

"Back to what?" I mumbled to my feet. "Aren't I too far gone? Isn't that why you set me up?"

"I set you up because I think you can change, Jace. That December 9th boy is in there somewhere, I know it. And I bet Clary knows it too." She picked herself up, and just when I thought she would come and sit next to me, or comfort me, or apologize, she did the exact opposite. She backed away slowly, her glare still on my disheveled figure. "The only difference between me and Clary is that you love her. You love her differently than me and every other girl you've tossed. So if you think I can't help, then that's perfectly fine because you have her." She said the word with an icy rage. "You always have."

We took a collective breath.

Everything always comes back to this. Our stupid decision we made when we made when we were 16—something that, obviously, still tears us apart.

"I'm taking Alec's old car, so don't wait up." There was no emotion in her voice. "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm sure she'll listen." She turned now, her words coming out in a low, sardonic mumble.

"Have a nice Monday."

XXX

Her eyes slid to mine. "You look distraught."

I am distraught. "I'm not distraught." That was a lie.

She glared at me with green slits. "Yes you are." She insisted.

Silence.

There was an unexpected lift to her voice, light and bubbly, and she grinned when she spoke. "Well, are you gonna start talking or what?"

"I'd rather not."

"Oh, I think you would." She flicked a paint covered brush at me, almost purposely splattering me with a loud and vibrant purple. "Now, don't be shy. What's on your mind, Wayland?"

I exhaled. If only she knew.

We were alone in the warm and messy painting studio. The industrial room was lit with a comforting ambiance. Large windows made up the back wall that looked directly into the growing sculpture yard, and tables and stools filled the space to the point where it could be considered junky and suffocating. But Clary loved it here, and I couldn't stand to be around my so-called "friends" today. I didn't need to think twice before slipping into the room to join her instead of making a scene in the lunchroom across the hall.

She was already working when I walked in. Paint was smeared over her pallet, as well as her hands, and her attention rarely left her canvas. Mine rarely left her, but she never knew it, which was alright with me.

20 minutes in and Clary's lunch was still left untouched, as was mine, but she was only preoccupied. I on the other hand was a breath away from another mental breakdown. "What day's today?" I asked to make a point. She wasn't going to give up until I told her. I'd accepted that when I sat down—and I was doing exactly what Isabelle had told me to do, even though it probably pissed her off beyond belief.

"Today? Monday." She said blandly, still distracted by whatever was on her canvas. Her brush swirled silently, and I wondered how long I would have before I lost her to her work completely. Clary glanced in my direction. "What, you hate Mondays?"

I slid off the paint stained stool, managing to scatter three others in the process. My pacing was getting a little out of hand today. I noticed the ache in my fingers as I twisted them for the thousandth time, and my voice strained out of my lips. "I hate this Monday."

Her paintbrush paused. "Why?" She focused on me for a moment. "Isn't today just another Monday?"

I grimaced. Of course it was.

"Jace, stop pacing, it's making me really anxious."

"Sorry, sorry. I'll let you focus." I clattered into a seat. It was small and plastic but actually had a back to it unlike the stools. Blue and white streaks haphazardly coated the plastic, but I barely noticed. My mind was thinking of everything, except logic.

"What is it you're working on again? It's for your winter break project right?" I needed some kind of distraction. Any kind, even if it was annoying everyone around me by asking meaningless questions. So be it.

"Answer my question first."

Of course, Clary had a one track mind.

"You are really stubborn, Fray."

"And you're still trying to be elusive by dodging the question. Answer me!" A slight giggle escaped her lips. "Not a normal Monday, elaborate."

My hands dragged down my face, stopping mid track and wiping frantically, suddenly afraid I'd created a rainbow from my chin to my cheekbones. "Maybe it's normal for you." My head was in my hands. I didn't care about the paint anymore. "Or Josh, or anybody else who doesn't know what happened on—" My words stuck in my throat like I was choking on my own tongue.

When exactly was the last time I'd told anybody why I hate December 10th?

I'd told Clary about the crash after she damn near forced it out of me, but not the date, not the reason, nor the day, or the occasion. Nobody knew the details except the Lightwoods, and save for an aunt or two, they were the only ones that came with me to the funeral. But other than that….I haven't told a soul. Everyone that knows was there when it happened.

I was out of the chair again, and this time my hands were shaking.

"Jace, stop that." She was across the room in an instant. Warm fingers caught mine, coaxing them down into a quiet tremble. "Nothing is normal if it makes you this antsy. Please just tell me what's the problem—Jesus." A hand floated to her hip sassily. "I think you're the stubborn one. You need to let me in, because if I'm trying to help you find the old Jace from before the crash—" She gulped, and it only took a second before she remembered, her eyes passing over me with none other than…sympathy.

I let it slide this time. For some reason it wasn't as sickening with her.

"Oh." She breathed.

I nodded slowly and forced a smile, letting her hand go while I maneuvered around the minefield of stools until I made it back to my blue and white school spirit chair. My fingers found my hair, and then fell to my lap with a dull smack. "Oh is right." My smirk was chock full of sarcasm.

She sat, and then stood. Started towards me, and then kept her place. Clary was uneasy, indecisive, and it was showing as she gnawed on her nonexistent nail beds. "Today is not a normal Monday." She mumbled around her fingers.

"Not for me." I replied, starting to rise out of my chair and then falling back into it at the last minute. An unpleasant scraping noise broke through the now awkward silence. Her baffled stare was still glued to the floor. "It's a normal Monday to everyone except the orphan, isn't it?"

She glowered at me, eyes off the floor and snapping to mine like a rubber band, green and blazing. "Jace Wayland you are not an orphan."

"Aren't I?" I twisted my head away from her. "I mean, sure, I may have a few 'siblings' and good 'parents' but they're not mine. Not really. They're no papers that say I'm theirs, so that makes me…nothing. An orphan—the Wayward Wayland." I smiled darkly at my own joke, but she wasn't buying it. If sarcasm is my mask, and it was, she saw right through it every time.

Her fists clenched at her sides, and her eyes slowly squeezed shut as she spoke. "You are not nothing, you are not wayward, and you are not alone. Alright?" Now she moved, closing the crowded distance between us and jabbing an orange finger into my chest. "Everyone on this earth has their own inner demons that come out at night. I have mine, you have yours. But we deal with them, we conquer them, we don't have time to let them get the best of us." Clary paced away from me. She was acting an awful lot like me. "I get it. I'm sorry. And it's okay to be upset. But this pessimistic sad shit is crazy. It's no good for you, and it's definitely no good for people who care about you—like me. It only pisses them off, so cut it out."

Well, isn't that something I should tell Isabelle?

It would be so much better than my previous attempts…

I shook my head, dismissing the thought. There's no way she would actually listen to me after this morning. I did care about her, and it scares me to hell that we're fighting like this—especially today—but despite the severity of our feud, among other things, I found myself grinning and managed to bring the sarcasm back in.

"You care about me, Fray?" I raised an eyebrow with a slight smirk, taunting her. It was meant to be a joke, but it didn't sound that way when I said it. My voice cracked at the very end, giving me away. I didn't care and she didn't notice, but I made sure my voice was steady when I spoke again. "One month ago you were calling me, quote 'an inconsiderate ass' if I'm not mistaken. And I'm not."

I met her eyes directly. They were still raging when she folded her slender arms over her chest. "You are an ass and you're not mistaken." She said quickly with her back to me. She spat the words over her shoulder. "But for your information, I also was cursing you out for making me wait in the cold when you never came after the show."

I scratched the same, now sore, spot on my head that I'd been scratching all day. "Sorry about that."

She waved her hand and rolled her eyes. "It's in the past."

"But you care about me?"

"You are such an attention whore."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. But most girls leave the 'attention' part out. It was more accurate that way."

She chuckled. "I bet."

I nodded.

Clary uncrossed her arms and leaned against a table. "That sucks ass, Jace." She said, suddenly somber. "I'm really sorry."

I know.

"It's okay, Clary."

It wasn't.

I closed my eyes and tried to pull myself together. Again.

There was a hand on my shoulder, and a light squeeze as she found her way into my lap, and her warmth—her presence—was surprisingly settling. Clary rested her temple on my chest. Her hands were gentle, almost featherlike around my neck, and her uneven pulse drummed along with mine. I buried my nose in her curls while my arms wrapped around her. She smelled like apples and paint.

"Alright, so maybe it's not okay right now." She breathed into my shirt.

Clary didn't move, and she didn't need to. She was maybe the only girl that fit perfectly in my arms, and I liked it this way.

Her eyes found mine. "It's not okay. You're not okay, are you?"

I shook my head, in answer and in awe. "You really can see right through me."

"I told you I was observant, and you didn't believe me."

I started to sway with her. "I believe you now."

I felt her tiny chest rise and fall against my own. "Hey, I'm sorry about what I said. That was a little harsh. You didn't deserve the inner demon spiel."

I groaned slightly. "You were right though."

"I know I'm right." She muttered with pride. "Those are just the things I'd learned over the years. I thought I'd spread the knowledge."

I unlocked her arms from around my neck and turned her torso to match mine. Now she was straddling me. We thought nothing of it. But if either of our faces moved as much as a centimeter, we'd be lip locked for who knows how long. We thought everything of that.

It hurt to stay still. We stayed.

My breath stirred the stray curls that escaped her braid. "Thanks for sharing what you know."

She was dazed and it was adorable. "Thanks for listening."

"Thanks for helping."

"It's no problem."

"None at all?"

"None." Her breathing sped up. "Not with you." My arms tightened around her waist and she pressed against me in response. "Will you be alright?"

I was just as dazed as she was. "I'll be fine."

"Alright." She was breathless.

"Alright." So was I.

And then, all at once and without warning, we moved.

XXX

So, Isabelle, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to explain our first kiss.

No few sentences will ever do it justice-it's still difficult for me to comprehend how the happiest moments derive from those low points of indescribable pain. Before today I didn't even think it was possible to be so happy and feel so loved while also feeling like you're shattering into a million pieces all at once.

But then again, before today I'd never kissed Clary Fray.

So even if the next few paragraphs come out a mess—it'll help me remember, and it might help you understand. But if the paragraphs sound perfect and are dripping with an unbelievable eloquence—then it'll make you want to kiss Clary Fray. I promise.

And let me just say, Clary is a fabulous kisser. You won't be disappointed.

But try to imagine this:

You've got that tight feeling in your chest—the one that's both bliss, and sorrow, and an entire plethora of emotions and feelings swirling and slamming inside of you. It's just like that—and it's as if the only way to let it out is to show that person you love exactly how much you love them right at that moment. No hesitation. No worries. Just kissing them like the world is about to end and holding them as if you'll never see her another day in your life.

It was like that, except more beautiful because we both felt it.

Her inner demons had surfaced, whatever they were, and I was her outlet. She was mine. And when our lips met for that first lung-shattering, heart-stopping, lusty, and perfect kiss—an embrace that was all lips, and hands, and chests, and bodies, and hair falling out of braids, and paint smearing all over your favorite shirt, and not caring about it one bit—it was like I was exploding. It was like I was flying. I was so happy it hurt, and she could've stayed on my lap for the rest of eternity and I wouldn't have minded at all.

And by the way she was kissing me back, Clary wouldn't have either.

I don't think she ever got a chance to finish the painting she was working on, but she managed to create another beautiful work of art on something besides canvas—90% polyester and 10% cotton-blend. And I don't think that minor setback bothered her at all. And it makes me ecstatic, because I'll know where to find her at lunch tomorrow—and it may have only been a semester—but I know I will never love her any less than I do right in this moment.

For 4 years December 10th has been sour—it's never been good. Not once. But now, with Clary, it's an acceptable bittersweet. This Monday was special, this date has meaning. It's something different now—a symbol of birth and not death—and you can't tell me that it's not worth remembering and not worth sharing with you. Even if it pisses you off. I don't care—you're making me do this anyways—but I don't care.

I was vulnerable today. I let someone fix me.

And for once, I'm okay with that.

I exhaled and shifted awkwardly under the covers.

This bet may have been the dumbest bet of all time, and this pointless paper requirement was insane, but right now as I'm closing up my laptop and crawling into bed, I can't help but think that maybe it was one of the best things that's ever happened to me. Izzy couldn't have been more right—Clary's been fixing me and I didn't even know it.

I snapped off my light and slammed my head on the pillow. It was 12:01 a.m.

Tuesday. I'd managed. I'd made it.

Another December 10th in the past.


A/N:

Rough, right? Section 2 killed me I swear...

It had its happy moments, and there's more to come! Hoped you guys liked it!

Reviews/Follows/Favorites make me happy and it'll make you happy too!

Thanks,

Sam Xx