Chapter 10

Okay, so here is Jace's POV after he left Clary. This poor boy just can't get a break! I hope you enjoy, I wrote this after my exam so I finally had a little time to relax! Yay!

JACE'S POV

With each street I passed, the more my mood plummeted.

Part of me was in denial. And the other part was cursing at itself for running away. Running away from her.

I blinked when I realised that I didn't really know which her I was talking about. Though I probably looked insane when I ran from Clary, I had also run from my mother—or the memory of her, I suppose.

I gazed down at the hand I'd practically ripped from Clary grasp. It now laid cold and stiff in my pocket.

But I'd had to run from her—Clary I mean. I couldn't let her see me like this; empty and broken inside. She might have asked questions that I couldn't answer, or ones I wasn't ready to. Maybe I never would be ready to.

I could still see her expression when I'd backed away from her. She had looked confused and maybe even hurt, and that was because of me, because I was a coward.

I hadn't wanted to run. If I could have, I would have stayed with her for the longest time possible, but it was that damn corner. She'd moved to turn right and I just...couldn't. My body stopped responding, and all I could see was the expression on my mothers' face as she left my room, left my life.

I hated this. Hated her.

Walking quietly, I noted that the sun was lowering in the sky and it was quickly getting darker. I hurried my steps. I was barely familiar with this area when it was day time out, let alone when it was pitch black.

I hope Clary got home safe...

I kicked myself for my cowardice.

After a few more silent steps, my phone vibrated. I figured it was probably Jones, so I ignored it, letting it go to voicemail.

I thought again of Clary. But I couldn't seem to focus on her smile, her hand in mine, the way she said my name. Instead, images of her confused face kept dominating my thoughts.

Taking a different strategy, I stared at the grounded and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

When my phone vibrated once more, I ignored it. I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, at least not right now.

After ten minutes, I began to recognize the streets. I was getting closer to my apartment, and I thanked god for the little mercies.

When my phone vibrated for the fifth time, I cursed and reluctantly pulled it roughly from my pocket. "Jones, this better be good," I muttered, noting the caller ID.

"Where are you?" Jones sounded uncharacteristically panicked.

I frowned. "I'm heading to the apartment, maybe ten minutes away."

"Get here. Faster."

He hung up before I could reply.

That's odd. I thought again. Jones was usually the most composed man I had ever met. He'd have to be, working for my father. But he'd sounded...scared almost. I couldn't explain it.

This time when I ran, I wasn't running from something; I was running towards it.

I reached the apartment complex in less than five minutes. Breathing deeply, I rushed past the surprised doorman and hurried to the elevator, which was empty. Once the door dinged, announcing the top floor, the doors slid open and I narrowly missed being hit with a flying plate. Ducking, I shuffled behind the living room couch. I had gotten a glimpse of my father, only he hadn't looked like himself. Before I could think about it, my phone buzzed, it sounded almost deafening in the room.

A porcelain cup crashed near the side of the couch, and I could hear my father curse.

"What the hell is going on Jones?" I demanded, wincing when another smashing sound occurred.

"Your father is currently intoxicated," he said, sounding as professional as he could in this situation.

Tell me something I don't know. "Yes I see that. But why is he drunk? I thought he was supposed to be in the office all day today."

A few more pieces smashed. I peeked over the top of the couch and could see my father positioned near the dining room table; a stack of utensils, porcelain plates and cups, as well as a few large bowls spread hap-hazardly over its surface. In his hand he held a stack of plates and cups as he staggered back and forth, throwing and muttering curses as he went.

Jones brought me back to the conversation. "He came home early. I called you earlier to tell you that, but you'd hung up before I'd had a chance to finish," Jones muttered. "I'd thought I could handle him, but after an hour of him refusing to be complacent, I'd had no choice but to barricade myself in your room for fear of becoming a target of your fathers...frustrations."

In another situation, his flustered tone would have been funny. Right now, however, it seemed appropriate.

"Okay, I'll talk to him and try to persuade him to give up tirade of dish flinging. Just stay in my room until it is safe to leave."

"Are you sure you'll be able to—" I cut him off before he could finish. But when he didn't call back to finish, I figured he got the message.

Taking a deep breath, I peered over the couch. "Dad?"

He was still pacing. His suit jacket was flung on the floor, his tie was half undone, along with his shirt, and his belt was lying across the dining table. His usual impeccable hair was in disarray, sticking up here and there. He looked hysterical, a word that I can't remember ever being used to describe my always-composed father.

"Valentine!" I said louder, finally getting his attention.

He looked around, bleary eyed. When he spotted my head over the couch, instead of throwing a plate like I'd expected, he grinned like a fool.

Arms spread wide he said, "Jace, my boy!" He took a few steps forward, stumbling a bit before he decided to dump the plates on the couch, were a few smashed in the process, but he ignored them. "When did you get here?" he asked a little too loudly, slurring slightly.

Before I could answer, he waved his hand in front of my face. "Doesn't matter," he muttered. "Would you like to join me?" He gestured to the table with what looked like pride.

I moved from behind the safety of the couch. "Uh, with what exactly?"

My father led me to the dining room table. "I'm killing your mother." He grinned.

I stared at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

My questions obviously frustrated him, but he answered. "She loved these plates more than me." He held up the plate in question then proceeded to smash it on the floor, narrowly missing my foot. He continued. "And these bowls, these damn bowls. She loved these too."

He smashed them. Then threw some of the silver utensils at random ends of the room.

I thanked god my mother had never shown a preference to the fish or the fish tank. I could picture him taking them, one by one, and throwing them across the room either before or after smashing the tank with his array of items.

My father stumbled towards the wall, tripping over a chair. He managed to catch himself, but just barely. "And you see this?" He pulled a scenery picture from the wall. It was large, almost the entire span of my father's arms. "She loved this ugly piece of shit." He bitterly smashed it on the corner of the table, forcing a hole in the centre. "Now there's nothing left to love." He said triumphantly, laughing at the top of his lungs.

"How much of this are you going to destroy?" I asked, cautious.

As if just remembering I was there, he took a second to focus on me. "Oh Jace, my boy." He moved towards me, slinging an arm around my shoulder. "Jace I am going to destroy all of it. Every last piece!" He said this with a sort of joyous glee.

I tried not to cringe when my father breath, which smelled overwhelmingly of alcohol, burst into my face. Coughing I moved away from him. "How about you just sit down? Leave the destroying for later? I'll get Jones to make you something to eat and you can sober up."

My father's gaze narrowed, and he glared at me, looking more like his normal self. He took a daunting step towards me. "You know something," he began almost casually, "your mother probably loved you more than me too. She was always fawning over her little Jonathan." He said my name with such venom that I backed up.

"Dad, you're drunk. You need to—"before I could finish, I was stunned when my father's fist connected with my jaw. Due to his unbalanced state, the punch didn't have much to it, but it had enough to momentarily stun me.

Before he managed another one, I acted on instinct. Using my fist, I slammed it into the side of his face. His eyes rolled and he fell cold to the floor. After a few second of quietly staring at my him with a sort of dizzy amazement, I heard a door open from behind me.

"Jace are you alright?" Jones asked cautiously.

I nodded without speaking. A few second later, Jones was at my side.

"I thought you said you were just going to talk to him," he murmured , tone fascinated, as he gazed curiously down at his employer. But he made no move to try to wake him.

"I did," I said calmly. "It didn't work out too well." Stepping away from my fathers sprawled body, I moved towards my room. "I'm going to stay at Alec's tonight," I said over my shoulder.

Jones just nodded, not looking at me.

Going into my room, I slowly shut the door. Once I was safe in my safe, I collapsed, sliding down the door to the floor. I could feel my hands beginning to shake. Taking deep breaths I tried to calm myself. My jaw was starting to ache, but I barely noticed.

You just knocked out your own father.

I shook my head, hard, trying to empty it. Instead I rose awkwardly to my feet, legs feeling like jell-o, and grabbed my knapsack with still shaky hands, filling it with the clothes that were within reach. Once it was full, I slung it roughly over my shoulder and briskly left my room, face composed.

Jones was now on the phone, likely calling the cleaning service. He's managed to shift my father into a sitting position against the couch. But I tried not to look at my father as I moved towards the front door. He hung up and stopped me before I could escape. "Wait, Jace." He stepped towards me, I saw him eye the swelling mark on my jaw where my father's fist had connected, luckily he had the mind not to comment. "When will you be back?"

I thought about that for the first time. "I don't know," I muttered. "I just need some time."

Jones nodded looking worriedly at my father's unconscious body, then back to me.

Heading to the door, I pulled it open, and took one last look at the scene behind me. Then, much like my mom, I shut the door firmly, leaving my life behind.

There you go everyone!

I had fun with this one, making Valentine lose his composure, and what not, and I hope you enjoyed it aswell.

Review! Review! Review!

I'll write the next chapter, which will be in Clary's Pov. It's going to be Monday, so you all know what that means!

Time for SCHOOL.