Disclaimer: I don't TMI. so yeah.
Chapter 9
*Clary's POV*
I thought the rest of my day was gonna be easy. I thought I would have time to think everything over. But boy did I think wrong. When I opened the door the person I least expected to be here said that we need to talk. After a moment of hesitation I let him through the thresh hold and close the door. I lead him to the kitchen and gesture to the stools at the granite covered island.
"want anything to drink?", I ask out of habit. My mom started teaching me manners when I was very young. I shudder at the thought of my mom.
"No thanks, I'm not gonna be here long enough to finish it", he says completely mono-tone, all emotion in his face is replaced with a cold, hard, statute-like expression.
"oh well nevermind then..." I say trailing off. I lean against the counter while pulling my sleeves down over my hands and crossing my arms across my chest. I look up at him to find him staring already. I flick an eyebrow up, challanging him to say the first words.
" this can't work", he says flatly, giving no clue as to what can't work. I raise an eyebrow, clearly showing how confused I am.
"us. whatever is about to start happening can't", he shows no emotion, leaving me as confused as I was before. I move my head forward and widen my eyes, asking him to explain.
"I just don't think it'll work", he says grimly, his lips forming a hard line, "you're just not my kind of person". I open my mouth, finding it slightly harder to breath. Of course. I knew this would happen. I knew he wouldn't really care about me.
"what do you mean?", I ask innocently. I try to control my breathing but keep failing.
"You know exactly what I mean, you're not dumb". He means he can't be seen with me. It's not that I'm not his kind of person, it's that I'm not the kind of person that people like him should be with. I struggle with this concept even though I understand perfectly. Everyone belongs somewhere. Simon with the nerds. Jace with the populars. and me, with the out-casts.
"okay. It's okay", I mumble trying to convince him and myself that it really is okay. But I fail. He crosses the kitchen and comes to stand about 6 inches from me. I go to turn away, scared that if he looks in my eyes he'll see all the emotions I'm failing at hiding. He slightly grabs my wrist though and pulls me around to face him. And even the smallest pressure that he uses hurts. My eyes widen and gloss over with tears as my wrist irrupt with sharp, burning pain. He notices what triggered it and glances down at my sweatshirt covered arms. He comes closer, pushing me back against the counter until I'm trapped between his body and the counter. Quickly, he looks me in the eye and I try to capture any emotion that is there but his eyes flick down after just a second. Slowly he pulls up my sleeve, inch by inch, and the first red gash comes into sight. Then another, and another, and another until my sleeve is fully rolled up and my flesh torn arm is in full view. The cuts are big and red and sloppy, since I didn't feel like taking my time.
I look up at Jace to find him carefully inspecting the condition of my arm. I see him open and close his mouth several times and his eyebrows are drawn together. His features laced with concern and panic and worry. It's one of the few times I've caught him when he wasn't hiding his emotions. When he looks up at me though, his face is completely blank. I'm in shock. I've never been so scared to do anything. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it firmly and appears to be angry.
"this. This is why I can't be with you. I can't be with someone who is so emotionally unstable that they harm themselves. I'm a hurtful person and I can't have you cutting every time I say something offensive", his voice getting a little higher as he spits out the word cutting. Tears are streaming down my face but I haven't dared myself to sob yet.
"I'm sorry", I whisper weakly, caving inwardly and sliding down the cabinet. He storms out as I do so and I don't think he heard my two small words. I hear the front door slam and I jump. I sit there and cry and sob, unable to get up and move. I slump down to the cold, hard floor and lay my cheek flat against the chilly tile of the kitchen. I cry some more until I can feel the tears puddling under my cheek and wetting my hair. I lay there and think that I will never be good enough. Never be able to stop this. And never be able to keep people from leaving me.
