Chapter 8- Day 2 Part 3
Do you guys watch NigaHiga? Because in his latest video when he does the beer commercial he looks so much like I picture Magnus to look.
Sorry I haven't been updating regularly. I just have a lot of AP homework to finish before the end of the summer.
Thanks to Guest, Guest, Guest, MorningAngel9, .fangirl-17, wow, TheDauntlessNephilimTribute, Derpface 32, MariFzeka286, X FallingAshes x, Iresha, BloodStainsOnMyKisses, Guest, Mara fray, Limepop2, GirlInHerOwnWorld, and im-a-troll. 17 reviews! I'm so happy.
Without further ado, the next chapter.
Jace September 22nd, 2013 7:00am
Kaelie had left me about 100 or so texts, voicemails and missed calls. Shit, I completely forgot about her. Oh well, one of her texts said she caught a taxi home. And another one said she never wanted to see me again. And yet another one was begging for me to call her.
I sigh, tossing the phone away. I couldn't get the look on Clary's face when I told her to leave out of my head. But if it really was hurt that I saw in her eyes than I'm going to have to do a better job at avoiding her like Magnus said. Speaking of Magnus, how did he know about my curse?
"Jace," Isabelle appeared at my door, fully dressed.
"Hi, Izzy, awake already?" I asked, trying to sound as normal as possible.
She shook her head, "Where's Clary?"
I swallowed, "She isn't here, she went home."
"Why?" Isabelle scratched her head.
I changed the subject quickly, "Want breakfast? You're probably hung over."
"What happened to Clary?" she repeated.
"She went home," I insisted.
"Why?" her voice rose, "You did something, didn't you?"
I shoved past her, "It's none of your business," I say roughly, getting irritated. Why did she have to ask so many questions.
"I really liked Clary," Isabelle said after me, trying to get my attention as I angrily stomped downstairs, "She's not like those sluts that you always bring home. And she was so much better than that bitch Seelie you were seeing."
"It doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters," she grabbed my arm, "What were you doing with her anyways? You guys went home early."
"Nothing happened, okay? We didn't sleep together. I just brought her here. That's it," and suddenly the kiss popped up in my mind. And how she drew away right after.
"I swear, if you hurt her-," Isabelle threatened.
"I'm trying not to hurt her," I yell, "I made her leave so I wouldn't hurt her."
"But what about her stuff?"
"I'll bring it to her friend's house later," I growl. But that was going to be a problem because Clary is probably there and Rat-face probably hates me. Well that's the only option. I don't know where she lives.
Stomping into the kitchen and throwing open the cupboards, I look for food. Something to get my mind off of Clary.
"Do you like her?" Isabelle crosses her arms, standing her ground in the middle of the kitchen.
Yes. "No," I insist, shaking my head.
Isabelle's eyebrows shot up, "You do, don't you?"
"I don't," I lie. Clary was… different. I guess. But I can't do that to her. I can't make her love me back.
"What about that girl you brought to Pandemonium?" she asks.
"I forgot about her at the bar, and she's mad at me."
"Then apologize. Jeez, Jace why do you always treat girls like shit?" Isabelle demanded.
That's how I found myself dialing Kaelie's number five minutes later.
"Kaelie?" I said, watching Isabelle tap an impatient foot on the ground.
"Jace?" Kaelie screeched in disbelief, causing me to wince and pull the phone away from my ear, "Where the hell were you?"
I didn't answer that and she went on, "Sorry, I was just worried," and then her voice went low and seductive, "And we never got to spend the night together." I basically heard the wink through the phone.
Kaelie was annoying, clingy and way too eager. But she was just an innocent human being. Okay, scratch the innocent part. She wasn't too innocent. But it's not like she did anything wrong. I couldn't just kill her. Could I?
She was still babbling and I cut in, "Kaelie, I think we should see other people."
She stopped, "What?!"
"I think we should break up," I rephrase. Were we ever really together?
"But- but why?"
"Goodbye, Kaelie," I said into the phone before hanging up and putting it on silent.
"Happy?" I grumble at Isabelle.
"No," she snarls back, "What about Clary?"
"What do you want me to do?" I ask.
"Go to her friend's house and go see her. I'll come with you," Isabelle picked up her bag, "Just to make sure you don't say anything stupid."
My feet shuffled awkwardly on the shaggy carpet of the hallway as I stared at the large faded number 17 on the door. Isabelle nudged me and I reluctantly rang the doorbell. There was a crash and then a male voice (probably Rat-face) cursing before coming to open the door. Simon swung the door open, saw me and slammed it in my face.
"That went well," I mutter, turning to go back to the elevator.
"Oh, no," Isabelle protested, hooking an arm around my elbow, pulling me back to the door. She knocked a little too forcefully and Simon opened the door again. His mouth was open, ready to yell at me and then he noticed it was a girl there instead of me.
"Who are you?" he asks her.
"Isabelle Lightwood," she replied crisply, but not rudely, "And my brother, Jace, is here to apologize and give Clary her things back."
I heard the couch creak and saw Clary's red framed face peek up at us from behind the couch. Isabelle waved and smiled weakly. I untangle my arm from Isabelle's and hand him the clothes.
"Can we come in?" Isabelle asks and I feel a deep sense of dread as Simon considers the question.
With a pause he finally replies, "Come on in."
Clary September 22nd, 2013 7:30am
After breakfast (the best stuff I've ever eaten in my life), Magnus gave me clothes. I should find it weird that Magnus had women's clothing in size S and size 2s but give everything that happened in the past couple of days, I can't really bring myself to find anything weird. They were nice clothes too. It looked like something I would usually wear, but Magnus seemed to have much better taste than I did. He gave me a blue and white striped sweater, insisted on giving me a light gray beanie, gray jeans, and blue flats. He also said I didn't have to give the clothes back because he didn't need them (duh, he was a guy and he's not a drag queen really… well, the makeup kind of gives mixed signals). But Magnus did usually dress sharply in men's clothing.
"Catch a taxi back to your friend's house," Magnus told me, pressing a ten into my hands along with a white business card, "And call if you need anything else."
This was a strange request because when I looked at the business card, it only had his name on it and underneath "High Warlock of Brooklyn" and underneath that "Clary's friend" in his pointed handwriting. I'd slipped it in my bag.
"Simon," I knocked before unlocking the door with my key, putting a hand over my eyes, "Please don't be naked."
He didn't reply. Huh, must be still sleeping. I wasn't really hungry after the bacon, omelets, pancakes and hashbrowns I had for breakfast but I might as well cook for Simon too. Besides, if I planned on staying here for the next day, I have to be extra nice. I already stayed here once.
I still felt a little funny but it wasn't as bad as before.
"Clary?" Simon groggily stumbled into the kitchen, "What are you doing here at seven in the morning?"
He was still wearing last night's clothes. He must've had a gig or something.
"Don't really have anywhere else to go," I explain, stirring the eggs, "Do you mind? I'll make you breakfast."
"It's fine, I was just about to wake up anyways," he clears his throat, "What have you been up to?"
"Nothing," I tell him. Would he judge me about Jace? How would he react to Patrick almost raping me? "I went clubbing last night," I allow.
"Where?" he asks.
"Pandemonium," I grin and he rolls his eyes. I know how he feels about that place.
I turn on the oven carefully. "So where's lover boy?" Simon tried to act nonchalant but I could tell he was trying to ask me this question the whole entire time.
"Well, um," I open my mouth and then closed it a couple times, "It's a long story."
"I have time," he prompted. I swallowed hard before diving into the story, telling him about how I knew Jace before and how he saved me and we kissed and then I saw the lipstick and he told me to leave and never come back. I was never really good at hiding things from Simon.
Simon frowned as my story finished, "That jerk!"
I bobble my head in agreement, "Well, you know, that's life, I guess."
"Clary," Simon whispers, his voice lilting in question, "Are you okay?"
I take a deep shuddering breath before answering as brightly as I could muster, "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? I barely knew the guy anyways."
I serve up the eggs in silence. Even though I was the one sitting there while he ate, Simon was looking at me the whole time, as if making sure I was okay.
"There's a Harry Potter marathon on HBO today," Simon said, changing the subject. He was trying so hard to make me happy and I wondered again why I couldn't fall in love with him. He's so nice to me, but I don't feel anything. It's not fair!
I make my way to the couch, Simon in tow. Pretty soon, we were laughing at the broom hitting Ron on the head.
My happiness just had to end when the doorbell rang.
Simon jumped, knocking over a vase. It didn't break but it made a loud noise. I guess he doesn't get many visitors.
He opened the door to get it and you'll never guess who it is. Jace stinking Wayland and Isabelle. Isabelle I didn't mind, she didn't do anything wrong. But Jace! Who tells someone never to see them again and then goes looking for them within the next three hours? That's absolutely ridiculous. I wanted to bless Simon when he slammed the door in his face.
Then they knocked on the door again. Simon gave a look that said "I'll get rid of him."
But it was Isabelle who stood there, Jace a little off to the side, being held there by Isabelle's arm. There was a muffled conversation and I leaned up a little to see what's going on. My clothes. Oh… I almost forgot about those. I had Isabelle's in my bag too.
"Come on in," I heard Simon say.
The tension in the room when Jace stepped in was palpable. Only Isabelle seemed not to feel it, or care. Simon looked like he wanted to murder Jace and I would probably help. Jace was standing there awkwardly, looking very much like he didn't want to be here. I stood up, reaching for my bag and taking out Isabelle's clothes.
"Here," I hand the clothes to Isabelle, "Thank you so much for letting me borrow them. Bye."
And with that, I left the apartment.
I made my way to the Guggenheim. I used to come to the Guggenheim with Dad, and I loved it. There was some big party that Dad was invited to and we bought a dress for me out of velvet and satin ribbon and I got my hair pinned up and everything. Everything was so beautiful, so interesting in there and that was when I decided I loved Art. That was when I was 7. I told Jace about it, I think.
As I walked through the front doors, I almost doubled over. There was a sharp feeling in my stomach, twisting and twisting, not like a cramp. It was worse. I felt nauseous and like I was bleeding out at the same time. I gasped for breath.
"Excuse me, miss, are you alright?" someone came up to me. I looked up and nodded, the pain receding. I looked up at the man who was supporting me. He had black hair, and green eyes, sharp features and a lop-sided smile.
"Thank you," I breathe.
"No problem," he grins, "I'm Chris. Chris Nordstrom. I intern here. Would you like a tour?"
"Clary Fray. And yes please," I answer and we begin walking through the museum.
He was really nice, and he knew a lot about Art. He was really appreciative most of the styles but wasn't too big of a fan of cubism, which apparently was blasphemy so excuse him for saying so. And he was really funny.
"We have a new exhibit," Chris continued, "Frank Lloyd Wright's tribute exhibit. It's really cool. I was going to study becoming an architect but it didn't work out."
We stop at Vincent Van Gogh's Landscape with Snow.
"Do you like it?" Chris asks.
"It's one of my favorites," I smile, "I love Impressionism."
"Me too," he tells me. Then he clears his throat, "I was wondering, we could maybe go for dinner tonight, if you're up to it?"
My eyes widen in surprise, "Y-yeah, sure."
"Here's my number," he hands me a card, "Can I pick you up?"
"Sure," I smile, "I'll text you my address."
There was a low buzzing sound in his pants, "Sorry, gotta go," he grins sheepishly.
"Bye," I reply and then he leans down and kisses me at the cheek. It's a tender gesture and it leaves me feeling warm.
"Bye," he answers before turning away and answering a call.
Jace September 22nd, 2013 9:30am
As soon Clary left, Isabelle and Simon both turned to me, glaring.
"What?" I yelled indignantly. Isabelle hit me.
"You see? This is why you have a reputation!" Isabelle yelled at me.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Simon shouted before calming down. I should've seen it before it happened but Simon punched me in the face.
"What the hell was that for?"
"You hurt Clary," Simon growled, "And anyone who hurts Clary gets hurt by me."
"What do you guys want me to do?" I holler back.
"Apologize to her," Isabelle hissed.
"That's what I came here for and she didn't let me say anything before leaving!"
"Give her flowers," Isabelle suggests while Simon scowls in the corner of the kitchen.
"I don't even know where she is," I protested, "And she obviously doesn't want to see me."
"Go. Get. Flowers. Now," Isabelle ordered and I huffed, leaving the apartment.
"She's probably at the Art Museum, Guggenheim," Simon calls out after me.
Am I really leaving those two alone together? They're probably plotting my painful death.
It turns out that there was a flower shop just at the end of the street. Dorothea's Flowers and Café. It looked really old, antique. I pushed the door open with a ding and a small ringing from a wind chime hanging above me. It smelled really fresh and flowery here. I was overwhelmed by it. There were flowers in a small greenhouse to my left and then a small table area surrounded by antique clocks to the right.
"Welcome, welcome," a cheery, deeply French accented voice greeted me and a slightly pudgy aging woman covered in jewelry and scarves appeared from the greenhouse, "I'm Madame Dorothea, how may I help you today?"
"I need flowers, for a girl," I explain.
"Ah," Madame Dorothea chuckled knowingly, "What would you like the flowers to say, my dear boy?"
"To say?" I hesitate, "I was thinking just roses."
"Just roses?" the lady asks incredulously, "You have to be a little more specific. If you love her, then you must give her a message in the flowers."
"A message?"
"Yes," she looks at me expectantly, "What would you like to say to this girl you love?"
Love? "I, um, I want to tell her that I'm very sorry for what I said to her, and that I'm sorry we can't be together."
Dorothea pursed her lips, looking at me with sympathy, "I have just the thing my dear."
And then she proceeded to find and cut flowers. These were really fresh flowers; they were still in their pots. She looked like she was everywhere at once and then she disappeared into the greenery.
"Here you are, darling," Madame Dorothea popped up behind me, a pretty bouquet in her hands, "Baby's Breath, Azalea, Striped Carnations and Aloe," she presented, giving me a sad smile.
"How much do I owe you?" I ask, reaching for my wallet.
"$8.75, dear," Dorothea answered and I gave her a ten, telling her to keep the change. It was only 7:15, so the subway was going to be full from people on their morning commute. Roads were going to be packed too. Maybe I'll just walk there. I mean, Clary loves art, she'd probably be there for hours. It wasn't too far away. Oh who am I kidding, it'll probably take me three hours to get there and the flowers are going to get damaged. Taxi it is.
"Have you seen a girl with red hair wearing a blue and white sweater?" I asked the first guy I see. He shook his head no.
"Have you seen a girl with red hair, green eyes, short, maybe 5'2''?" I ask the receptionist.
"Sure, lot's of them," the receptionist reply. He motioned to the flowers, "Are those for her?"
I nodded yes. "Her name's Clary, do you know where she is?"
"No," the man pressed his lips together, "I'm sorry."
"Okay, that's fine, I'll find her myself," I reply, "How much to get in?"
"$22," the man smiles. I give him my credit card and he gives it back to me along with a ticket, "Welcome to the Guggenheim."
I made my way upwards, looking for Clary. Every flash of red hair made me turn twice, seeing if it was her. But it wasn't. Until I found Vincent Van Gogh's Landscape in Snow.
Clary was talking to a dark-haired guy, blushing. I could tell he was flirting with her. The stems of the flowers bent under my tightening grip. Then he leaned in and kissed her…on the cheek. But it was still a kiss! I let the flowers fall to the ground.
Screw apologies, I growl in my head, stomping away.
