Guess who's baaaaaaack! Okay, it's kind of obvious...soooooooooo you know the usual...sorry for the mistakes...I hate rereading my writing (I always feel like it's not good enough :/) Annnnndddddd Chapter ten...whoop! :) haha that's like...halfway there :) sooooo...enjoy, my lovelies! :D
Warmth spread through Clary's body as she woke, blinking her eyes against the brilliant sunrise of the eastern horizon. Watercolors of oranges and pinks melted into the red ball of fire that peeped over the buildings and trees, caressing the earth in a warm, sparkling light. She rested her cheek in her hand, aware of the presence behind her, pressed against every curve of her back. There was no space between them. She could feel his every move, his every shift. She felt his heartbeat through the heavy sweatshirt, and she felt her own in her throat, in nervous anticipation of the morning's conversation. She didn't think she could handle it if he rejected her, if he took back everything he said the night before.
He was her painting! The firm muscle behind her was her inspiration! And he'd told her that he wanted her last night. He wouldn't take that back, right? She inhaled slowly, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of Jace's chest, memorizing the curve of his elbow, the swell of his biceps. The air smelled of iodine and industrial sanitation products. Footsteps echoed through the halls and wheelchairs squeaked by with early rising patients, but all Clary could think about was the golden sparkles of Jace's irises. His warm breath floated down the collar of Jace's football sweatshirt and flowed across her back, the part left bare by the hospital gown. Her eyelids fluttered at the sensation as an involuntary shiver forcing its way up her spine. The room seemed to still as Jace's arms tightened around her, tugging her closer and removing the miniscule space between their bodies.
Had she woke him? Was he going to leave? She closed her eyes again, horrified by the inclined beeping the machine that monitored her heart. Well if he was awake, he would surely know the effect he had on her. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed the hummingbird in her chest to slow to a normal pace, holding her breath as she waited from him to disappear from beside her. The silence made her mind drift back to his tantalizing kisses, her skin burning along the path that his lips had branded, her lips tingling with the thought of his own pushed against them.
If her memory served correctly, those simple, carefully placed kisses were more delicious than the hasty, drunken make-out session in the hallway. These had been caring, hopeful even, as compared to those that had been full of need and fiery. She liked the slow way he'd slid up her body, making her insides melt with every centimeter of movement. She liked the way he'd snuggled up against her with his nose buried into her hair, the reassuring weight of his arm on slung across her hips. She liked the way his imperfections only added to the raw beauty he possessed, his golden aurora heating Clary's stomach with thousands of butterflies. She sighed audibly, hoping that this really wasn't the end to something that never really began.
She felt Jace's body move slightly, as if he was lifting his head up a little bit. She knew his eyes were on her, electricity sparking wherever his gaze landed against her skin, burning a trail of fire across the features of her face, from her eyelashes to her nose, from her hair to her lips. Fighting against the fear of rejection, she slowly opened her eyes, biting her lips before squeaking a small, "Hey."
She felt the boy behind her draw back slightly, startled by the jaded voice that filled the silent void in the room. She eyed the sunrise intently, trying to shield her emotions for what he would say next, the inevitable We Had a Great Night speech. She plastered a tiny smile on her face and hoped she appeared to be the casual artist appreciating Mother Nature's beauty. Truth be told, she wouldn't have even been able to tell you if the colors were pink and orange or pink and yellow. Her senses were otherwise occupied with trying to will a response out of Jace's perfect lips.
"Hey," he drawled in his sexy, sleepy voice, making Clary's heart swoon that much more. She like the heat that flowed off his body into hers, reassuring her that he was still there. Dismayed, she felt his grip on her loosen, realizing a little too late that he was implying that she face him. She did just that, tipping her chin up to meet his heavy gaze, their noses nearly touching in the tight confines of the hospital bed. Not that she was complaining. Aw jeez, she thought to herself, mentally slapping her inner, corny self, play it cool, Clarissa Fairchild. Act like you do this thing all the time.
She groped for something sassy to say, something to put that panty-dropping smirk onto his face just so she could say she put it there. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was frightened. Real smooth, Clary. Jace's eyes widened, and she punched her inner "cool" self, too. Backtracking, she lifted her lips into what she was hoping represented some kind of smile, though it felt more like a grimace. After a shoving out a few peals of laughter, she managed to take back his embarrassment, "Just kidding."
The weight of his glare seemed to crush her false happiness, until his mouth lifted at the corners, the harshness lifting from his features. "That was horrible rude, Clarissa Fairchild. I am very disappointed in your behavior." Even she was surprised by the unladylike snort that erupted from her throat, but she decided to go with it, rolling onto her back and crossing her arms in front of her chest, attempting to lift the sweatshirt just enough that his scent would wash over her. It worked, filling her nose with axe, sunshine, and something that couldn't be described as anything but Jace Wayland. She relaxed a little and started laughing, relishing in the motion of Jace laughing next to her. She allowed her eyes to drink him in, claiming to herself that it was her artistic side that wanted to memorize the dip of his dimples, the depth of his eyes. She wondered what made this beautiful man so insecure. What made him want to hide his flaws, his scars? Was he scared of the opinions? The rumors? Why did he act like a tornado, sucking females into his clutches then spitting them out on the ground? Was he broken? Was he lonely? Was he bored? She wanted the answers to all these questions, wanted to be able to understand the perfect boy with the slightly chipped tooth and tattooed chest. Realizing she'd been staring at his mouth for awhile, she giggled. "You're pretty."
"So I've been told." The sarcasm that usually laid so heavily on his words barely brushed the surface, and she tapped his bicep, laughing even harder. She was on the verge of hysterics when his nose brushed her cheek, his face nuzzling into her.
She couldn't let him have everything he wanted. That would be easy, and Clary was anything but easy. "Jace Wayland, don't think that all the worn out tricks that unlock girls' legs for you every day will work on me." She filled her tone with playfulness as she gently removed his face from her skin, her heart protesting the whole time. A comfortable silence settled around them, making Clary believe that Jace hadn't actually planned on leaving after all.
That was, until she heard him curse loudly. He apologized with his eyes as he stormed around the room, searching every inch of the disinfected room. His fingers were knotted into his hair, much like the way Clary's had been the night after the party. She frowned slightly at the thought of his glorious, golden locks being abused. He muttered under his breath to himself, most of which Clary couldn't pick up, but when he stopped momentarily to look behind the chair, she heard him, his voice defeated. "My father is going to kill me."
That simple sentence, though voiced by many teens around the world, shattered her heart. To hear someone say it like it was a fact, like there was simply no alternative other than an angry parent. Heat rose to her cheeks with the memory of herself being angry at her parents. She cleared her throat, watching his head snap toward her, his face filled with worry. Silently, she pulled at his sweater, hoping that was the item he was searching frantically for. She made to remove it, but he shook his head. "Keep it. I'll come back for it later." She watched him turn slowly and shuffled toward the door.
"Good luck with your father," she whispered, not entirely sure he heard.
X.O.X.O.X
"Little Red!" boomed a familiar voice from down the hall. Clary sat up in bed, pulling the thin blanket up over her hospital gown. She'd hidden the sweatshirt beneath her legs, not wanting to spark questions about how she'd obtained such a sought after item. Seb's heavy footfalls stomped into the room, rattling the vases of get-well flowers that the nurses had arranged in her room that morning. Besides a constant headache and some drowsiness, Clary didn't feel all that bad. The uncomfortable hospital bed was messing with her back, and her hair was atrocious. She just wanted to go home.
He brother thrust something into her arms, a big smile on his face. Clary cuddled to object in her hands, rolling her eyes at the oversized teddy bear with I Love You written across the tummy. It was something that boyfriends got for their overly preppy girlfriends on Valentine's Day. She hugged it tight to her chest. She loved it anyway. Sebastian threw himself into the chair, the legs bowing beneath his muscular weight. "So, Red, I meant to come yesterday, but the nurses wouldn't let me in, so I slept in the lobby and bought this from the gift shop this morning."
Clary grinned. "It's perfect, Seb." She heard him exhale in relief, rubbing his hands together. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, a five o'clock shadow brandishing his chin and cheeks. Dark hair stuck up in random tufts, signifying that he had in fact slept at the hospital. His lip was split from where he'd been biting it. Clary couldn't help but smile again. He'd been worried about her. She glanced at the time, realizing that his shift at the coffee shop started in ten minutes. She only had about five minutes to tell him the big news. "Guess what, big brother."
He rubbed his chin between his thumb and index finger, humoring the girl in the hospital bed. "What?"
"We're both adopted!" Even in the cheery way she said the fact, the words still stung her like wasps. She bit back tears, watching Seb's face fall. She knew emotions made him uncomfortable, that he really didn't know how to comfort people. That's why she was surprised when he came over and wrapped his arms around her, shushing her gently as the salty drops slipped down her cheeks. His rough hand rubbed circles against his back.
"Look on the bright side, Little Red. Maybe your dad is a famous artist. Or an actor! Maybe your dad is Tom Cruise! He is getting divorced, you know." She laughed through her tears, thankful for her brother's humorous approach to life. The tears slowed to a trickle as he kept making her laugh.
Checking the clock again, she pushed him away, sniffling. "You have to go to work, Seb." Sebastian protested, telling about how he could call in sick or get his buddy to cover for him. "No, Seb, you can't just think about yourself anymore. You have to think about your future with the baby. How are you going to support her if you skip work?" Sebastian frowned.
"You think my child is a girl?" Clary rolled her eyes and nodded, shoving him with her shoulder. He winked at her.
"Me, too." With a kiss on her curls and a promise to return with handfuls of flowers, Sebastian strode from the room as quickly as he'd come, making Clary realize that everybody's lives were continuing on, falling into place as hers was crashing down all over.
X.O.X.O.X
"Ouch, Izzy, stooooooopppp." Isabelle acknowledged Clary's request with another yank of the hairbrush. "Screw you." She could almost see Isabelle's smile. The teeth of the brush ripped through her hair loudly, bouncing off the walls of the white room.
"You're hair is so, so, nest-like! It's like momma robin was preparing to lay her eggs up there!" The brush painfully worked its way through another snarl.
"Thanks, Iz. You're consideration for the injured is much appreciated." Isabelle huffed but gave up with the brush, situating herself at a better angle to pull Clary's hair up into a messy bun. Evening was settling in around New York, and the constant rush of traffic escalated as people got off work. The sun cast thick, dark shadows across the streets, and the sky was painted red. Throwing herself down next to Clary and crossing her ankles in the air, Isabelle flipped through the latest fashion magazine, popping her chewing gum. She'd point out dresses to Clary every so often, gushing about her date to the Homecoming dance. She described him as dark and mysterious with just enough sweetness to make you swoon. Clary didn't have enough heart to tell her about her past with Simon. Seeing her friend so happy kept her silent.
Amidst the fashion suggestions and girl talk, Clary's stomach rumbled in anguish, begging to be fed. "Just eat some food, Clary. Bone-thin isn't pretty." Clary warily eyed down what the hospital passed off as dinner, her nose scrunching in disgust. It was lumpy gray stuff with a side of smooth gray stuff. Yum.
"I'm not touching that. It looks like they swept the rooms, added water, and spooned it onto dishes." Looking up from the glossy pages that displayed models dressed up to the nines, Isabelle nodded in agreement, hoisting herself up off the bed. She grabbed the tray and swiped the globs of nastiness into the trash, being sure to cover it up with paper towels. Isabelle retrieved her magazine, tossing a final smile at Clary.
"I have to go, Clarebear. I have a date with my man," she waggled her eyebrows suggestively as she pulled out a compact mirror and wiped away a smudge of eyeliner. Clary sighed, realizing the sooner this was out, the better she would feel.
"Look, Izzy, I need to tell you something." Isabelle combed her fingers through her hair and made an mmhm noise, prompting Clary to continue. "It's cool that you are dating Simon and all, but—"
Isabelle looked up, a disbelieving look on her face. "You think I'm going out with Simon? Psh, noooooo." She returned to her primping, applying a fresh coat of lipstick to her already crimson lips. "I'm going on a date with Melorn, the foreign guy from work." Clary could hear the attraction in her voice and wanted to vomit. Is this how she would sound if she talked about Jace? She shuddered away from the thought. "He's French and handsome and such a gentleman, well , when he talks. He's really shy. That's why I'm even surprised he asked me out!" She shoved the tube of makeup into her already overflowing purse, smiling at Clary. "Is there anything in my teeth?"
Snorting, Clary shook her head, watching as Isabelle winked at her before elegantly sweeping from the room, puppy love and glitter left in her wake. As the nurse came in for the nightly check up, Clary checked the clock and realized the visiting hours were over. She drew the sweatshirt over herself, overwhelmed by the comforting effect the fabric had. Her parents had tried to see her in between Sebastian and Isabelle, but she again turned them away. She was ashamed of the way she had treated them, but she still didn't think she could handle their lies for awhile.
She settled down into the pile of pillows she'd asked the nurses for, chewing her lip as she thought back to the past few days. A week ago she was a normal college student, excited for her art classes, attending parties, gushing about boys with her best friend, and now here she was, cooped up in a hospital bed, wondering who her real father is, worrying about Sebastian's future, hooked on a boy that never stayed with a girl for longer than it took him to get laid. Oh yeah, she was messed up big time.
Tucking the hospital blanket under her chin, she rolled onto her side, used to the hygienic stench that wafted around the entire hospital. She bit down hard on her cheek, willing away the drowsiness that threatened to overcome her. She had to stay awake until Jace came, had to see him one last time before he undoubtedly crushed her heart.
She memorized the layout of the room, each detailed petal of the flowers, each tick of the clock. She counted the speckles on the floor tiles, loosing track after 224. She let her hair fall free over her shoulders, used to the familiar tickle of her curls. She watched the light fade and the streetlights flicker on. She counted the headlights of cars driving by on the street below, oblivious to the redhead watching them from above. She did anything to distract herself from thoughts of him, of what he was capable of doing.
Finally, while Clary was rearranging the vases, footsteps crept into the room, and the door clicked closed. The person didn't come any closer, and Clary didn't turn to look at him. She finished with her task, finally content with the artistic appeal the new pattern of the flowers had. "Hello, Jace," she said, fingering the silky petals of a rose. There was a rustling, and Clary finally faced him.
The room was shrouded in shadows, only the dull glow from the moon casting light across the boy. His hand was in a paper bag, creating loud crinkling noises that sliced through the night air. She watched his closed fist emerge with a handful of saran-wrapped lumps. "Isabelle said that you weren't eating the hospital food." He held out a few items to her, and Clary tentatively took them from him, her mouth watering. In her hands, she held an apple, a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, and a chocolate bar. Her stomach growled in anticipation. She suppressed the urge to scarf down the food, and as ladylike as she could, ate the food he'd prepared. During the entire process, Jace didn't move from his position just inside the door. Frowning, Clary closed the distance between them, her eyebrows knit together as she tried to focus on his face.
A brilliant purple bruise blossomed across his cheekbone, spreading up to his temple. Dried blood crusted his hair, and soaked through his shirt. How had he gotten through the lobby looking like this? "Jace," she murmured, reaching up to brush back a piece of hair that was plastered to his forehead. Her mouth parted in shock as he cringed away from her touch.
"I'm fine," he said. His voice betrayed his words, cracking as his face squinted in pain. Hurriedly, Clary grabbed a towel from the adjoining bathroom and ran it under warm water. She walked back to him, unperturbed by the intense way he was watching her. She gently wiped the dried blood from his hair, locating the gash in his head and deeming it alright after gingerly washing it out. He moaned a little as she did this, and she whispered an apology. The washcloth came away red, but Clary wasn't disgusted in the least.
She ghosted her thumb over his bruise, gauging his reaction. He didn't flinch. Stretching up on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips against the mark, using only a feather-light amount of pressure. She felt his shudder as she drew back, his eyes open and curious. She kept their gazes locked as her hands ran along the hemline of his shirt. Before he could protest, she lifted it up. A diagonal gash cut across his entire chest, the edges puckered and flaming red. Blood coated his entire abdomen, the inky tattoo hidden beneath the layer of red. "Oh, Jace…" she cried softly, alarmed as he yanked his shirt back down to cover the injury. "No!" she protested, making to pull the shirt up again.
"Shhhh," Jace shushed, "you're going to draw attention." His own hands stilled hers where they were frantically clawing at the edge of the fabric.
"I don't care, Jace. That cut needs to be cleaned properly! It's going to get infected!" She flinched as Jace chuckled darkly. She shot him a questioning gaze, and he smiled without happiness.
"I've dealt with this before, Testarossa. I will be fine." He'd been cut like this before? Left battered and bloody? Obviously he had other scars, but had each cut been this deep? This gruesome?
"Just let me wipe off the blood. You'll feel better." She pouted, and his sigh told her he was going to concede. His fingers released her wrists, and she slid her palms under his shirt, dragging the fabric up with them. She was just as startled by the thick layer of blood as she was the first time, but she did her best to hide her reaction, remembering Jace's fear of other's opinions. She could feel his hooded gaze on her as she raised the washcloth, washing away the crimson until swooping black lines and strips of golden skin reappeared across his chest. She had to return to the bathroom for a new towel halfway through, surprised to find Jace in the exact same position. His only motion was the puff of his chest as he breathed in and out.
When she was finished, she let the rag slip from her fingers, falling into a pile at their feet. Her eyes flashed across the expanse of skin before her. There were so many of them. All different lengths and thicknesses. All different shapes and sizes. Some were red and puckered. Others were thin and white. Letting her instincts take over, she slowly leaned in, placing soft kisses on each scar that marred his chest, enhancing his brooding beauty. She finished with a more firm kiss at the edge of the newest one. Jace had stopped breathing. Sound and motion in Clary's hospital room had seized all together.
She spoke finally, uncomfortable by the weight of his stare. "Jace, who did this to you?" She allowed herself to meet his eyes. They were glazed, bloodshot. Had he been crying? Discreetly, she reached up and smoothed the curls atop her head. They were wet.
A shaky breath fell from his lips. "I can't tell you that," he said finally, his voice low and ominous. "I just can't let them do it to you, too." Her world slowed down as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She knew this was it. This was him leaving before she even had a chance to figure out what this was. She'd been accepting it before, thinking it unavoidable, but now, now she couldn't let him go. He was an angel with a broken wing. He was pain with perfection. He was Jace, and she wanted every piece of him. As he turned to go, she grabbed his wrist.
"No, Jace. You can't do that. You can't go all 'Edward Cullen' on me. I'm a big girl, Jace. You don't get to decide all by yourself what's good for me and what isn't. I can handle it. Hell, Jace, I just got hit by a car, and I'm still standing here. Give me some credit." It was a large speech, one of her longest, and through the entire thing, Jace didn't turn around.
"Some things are bigger than even you, Testarossa." Forget the Edward Cullen bit, Jace was becoming a fortune cookie. Clary slammed her fist into the nearest thing available, which was a chair.
"A lot of things are bigger than me, Jace! I'm like five-foot-two!" This earned her a laugh without humor.
"Five feet and two inches of fire," he mused, still with his back to Clary. "I just want to protect you, Clary. I don't want to see you get hurt." Clary huffed. This kid had taken too many lessons from Twilight. He needed to be set straight.
"Well then don't leave me, Jace! I just was pushed in front of a car by a major witch, found out my brother got my worst enemy pregnant, and got told that the man who help raise me is not my father! I don't want to add you to that last, so please, just…stay." Jace turned around now, his face stricken. Had he really not realized so much had happened in a course of two days? She felt hot, sticky tears roll off her cheeks, and she angrily wiped them away as a blush crept up her cheeks. Guys hated emotional girls, and she was nothing but a puddle of sadness. To her surprise, Jace's arms snaked around her, and he tucked her head under his chin. His fingers traced shapes onto her back, and she allowed him to support her. Her labored breathing filled the space between them, and Jace made soothing noises. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she began tumbling headfirst toward the ground, falling for Jace. Was he ready to catch her? She shied away from that thought, focusing on the present. Slowly, she calmed down. The pair settled down next to each other on the compact hospital bed, mimicking their position from the previous night.
"Clary?" Jace inquired, his voice caught in her hair.
"Mmm?" she replied into his chest, careful to nuzzle into a spot that wasn't tender from the cut.
"Who's Edward Cullen?"
Whew! (Wipes sweat from brow) That was a close one! Good thing Clary is one smooth talker ;) hahahaha okay, soooooo review? :)