Hi Darling, I'M NIZA. I DON'T OWN ANYTHING OF TMI.
I'm on summer break now. Senior year next year. Ugh.
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Thank you all for your support.
SHOUT OUT TO A FAV OF MINE DARLING SHADOWHUNTER . ASSASIN - I KEPT TRYING TO THANK YOU BUT IT WOULDN'T LET ME. tHANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR HELP WHEN I FUCK UP.
I SAY FUCK A LOT, SOZ NOT SOZ.
I love you all- enjoy!
Chapter 20.
Clary's.
"Clary, about what you did… you're well aware that we do not condone violence, however, we are extremely grateful that you stood up for Isabelle. Not necessarily in the best way, but for her nonetheless. You protected your family Clary, even when that family wasn't treating you like it." Robert was still trying to internalize his smile; his eyes though were pained but proud. An astounding but not unusual combination when he glanced as his adoptive daughter. She had been through so much, and come so far…His other children, other than Max would never understand just how much Clary had changed or experienced in her short life.
"Clary, honey, you could potentially have been charged with assault…" Maryse who despite her outright tears, was smiling at her daughter and close to lunging at her and never letting her go, but she knew how that would end with the younger girl. It saddened her, but grounded her at the same time. She had come far, but she was still growing; still recovering.
"I'd have liked to see them try." A smirking Clary shifted in discomfort as her adoptive parents who sat across from her on the loveseat, tried to repress their proud smiles, worry and confusion tinting them. As she glanced at Maryse and Robert, counting the newly ground lines in their faces, the grey hairs peeking through Roberts dark mat of hair; she realised how much her adoptive parents had aged. They cared and worried so much for Isabelle, for all their children and it was starting to show. Clary who had mostly remained silent other than a sarcastic comment, was seized by worry for two of the most important people in her life. She could see it in their sad, haunted eyes, their weak smiles and their tightly grasped but weathered hands; they blamed themselves.
It was common in situations like the one they had found themselves. Parents tended to blame themselves, for not seeing, for not prying deeper, for not asking the right questions. It had taken a toll on the both of them.
Glancing up from her bony hands, and ceasing the of her tapping foot, she glanced up at her adoptive parents, looking them both in the eye, serious and stoic.
"You didn't fail her." Shock coloured their features as she acknowledged their unsaid swell of emotions.
Wanting to get it over with, she rushed to spit it all out and articulate her message. "I know it feels like it, but you didn't. I know you feel like it was your job to protect to her, shield her. You ask yourselves what more you could have done. But there wasn't anything, for you didn't know. And when you were made aware, you acted immediately. You too, both of you, protected your family just as much as I did. Don't beat yourselves up, you're good people and you love your children. You didn't fail her." She rose from her seat, patted them both gently on the shoulder and vacated Roberts study sniffles turning to outright sobs echoing in her wake. That seemed to be a common theme with her exists, someone was always crying, and also Clary almost always felt guilty.
XX
Once again, with a raging head -ache, and a heavy heart she had snuck out from Jace's room in the early hours of the morning. It was harder than she'd expected to leave him, sleeping soundly with his mouth slightly open and his arm outstretched from where it had encircled her waist. She straightened the sheets around him, covered his bare torso with a blanket, caressed his face and left without a sound, once again her fear and need for control winning out over her hearts desires.
Things were out of control. Her entire life was out of control. She had let things slip. She had gotten sloppy. All because she had been distracted.
By Jace.
Jace, the slippery bastard, had wormed his way into her heart, her life. She cared too much.
The fact that she cared at all was too much.
Whatever, this thing between them was…all foreign to Clary. She didn't have any experience with it, and that made it all the more terrifying. More so was the fact that she couldn't control Jace and their every interactions.
Frightening more still, she didn't even want to.
He was like an itch she couldn't scratch, too deep in her skin and the harder she tried the more blood coated her hands. He brought out the best and worst in her simultaneously.
The fucking bastard had thrown her off her game. With his smug smirk, mysterious aura and fumbling disposition. He was a dickhead. But yet, she couldn't bring herself to…dislike him. Even thinking it made her uneasy. Almost matching the unease her lack of control brought about.
Control and Jace- two things that she didn't and never would, reconcile.
He was wild, just like her, which was what she…admired most about him. He was just like her and didn't judge her for it. They had slept in the same bed three…Four times? On four occasions she had trusted him at her most vulnerable, a time she still struggled trusting her favourite Lightwoods.
What made that gigantic pain in the ass the exception to basically every rule she had?
She had no idea and it frustrated her to no end.
And added frustration was not what she needed.
Clary hated to hurt him, every time she snuck out his room or shut him out, she knew she hurt him more than she ever could have intentionally and she hated herself for it; but she was Clary Fairchild. And he knew what he was getting himself into.
Or that's at least what she told herself as she eased his door shut and crept down the hallway.
Confusion dominating her emotions, with self -hatred coming a close second and dread permeating her every breath, she avoided everyone, especially Jace for the remaining hours of daylight; Thanks giving was fast approaching, and worse till, Christmas thereafter, now was not her favourite time of the year. Brooding in her room, perched on the edge of her window- sill, she watched as the sun cast shadows that moved as time passed around her, waiting for the rest of the world to succumb to sleep. Hiding, like a coward.
As she leaned against the icy glass, the wind wailing outside, she felt the chill that only winter brought. Every year, the ice and snow froze the tiny town and its people. The roads became slippery, the wind harsh and biting the townsfolk stayed in, with their families.
It was the loneliest time of the year for her. The Lightwoods did their best to include her in their festivities, but given the timing it was a lost cause; lost but nonetheless appreciated. As thanksgiving approached her mood darkened until her usual look of emotionless had turned to a resting malevolent scowl that frightened most.
Time a concept she despised, passed silently in her sanctuary, she needed no clock, nor ticking to tell her the hour. She could tell by the sounds around her. The calls of birds, the crescent moon her most reliable companion high in the sky and the sounds of Lightwoods below her readying themselves for bed.
And finally silence.
Pleased with the lack of closing doors or footsteps, she slid from her seat, dressed in appropriate clothing for the dropping temperatures and making less noise than a monk, fled her dark room.
XXXX
By the time Clary made it to her park, the wind was howling and the drizzle that had started as she walked to her car, had turned to a torrential downpour that lashed the windows of her Bentley. Her hair soaked the inside of her coat, curling in the heat of the car. She sat slumped in the drivers seat, and fumbled with stiff fingers to light her cigarette. Finally succeeding in lighting the bastard, she inhaled deeply, the noxious smoke filling her insides until she expelled it into the warmth of her car. Stick of death dangling in her fingers, she stared absentmindedly through her windshield, transfixed by the collage of water cascading down the glass, morphing her view of the swings and forest beyond.
As a child she had loved winter, the sleets of ice, the sharpness of the rain, and the pure white snow that coated the ground. But now, older and scarred, winter only served as a reminder of what she had lost, suffered and endured. She was no longer a child. Hadn't been for some time. It didn't matter what the courts opinion was, she had been an adult for years. Her childhood cut short as long before the bullets rang from the gun, or the knife met skin, no her childhood ended the moment her father betrayed her, her 'mother' turned her back on her and her brother watched with a smug smirk. Not only did her childhood ceased to exist, so did her family.
Lost to the ghosts that this time of year brought out, her cigarette continued to burn in her fractured night. The clock on her dash read in obnoxiously bright green letters, 2 AM. The rain had decreased to a light spitting that spotted her windows, Clary in need of fresh air killed the engine and swung her door open. Gracefully she rose from the car, her scuffed boots splashing the water that had collected and turned the deserted car park to a shallow pool, that reflected the moon until disturbed. With one last suck on her tobacco wand she tossed it at her feet, the sizzling of the cigarette the only sound in the suddenly still night.
Leaning against the hood of her car she stared at the desolate swings, lonely and aged in the clarity that only the witching hours offered. Sunlight were the hours of lies and deceit; the night copped the flack for its brutal honesty. At night, the freaks, the monsters, the desperate sought out their means of reward. Honest and terrifying, the ladies of the night, the men who visited them all under the cover of night. Whereas in the day, those men returned to their wives, their picture perfect lives.
No the night and its consequential darkness was not innocent, nor pretty but it was honest. What you see is what you probably get. In the light of day, the true liars came out to play; the liars and pretenders.
We night dwellers may be monsters or hideously fucked up, but we, at least were honest with ourselves. Everyone else, could not claim the same.
Clary's head shot up, wrenching her from her internal musings, the tiny whimpers coming from the trees only just loud enough for her to hear in the otherwise silent night. The weak noises were coming from the clearing where peopled dumped their unwanted shit.
Sliding from her car, she started across the grass that led to the clearing desecrated with discarded shit. As Clary approached, the whimpering became quieter, weaker. Conscious that this was the beginning to many horror films, without pausing, from her back jeans pocket she revealed her flick knife. Light reflected off the metal weapon as she flicked it open. Blade poised cautiously she tread carefully as muddy couches, broken lamps and household appliances came into view. She soon spotted the source of the whimpers.
A small dog, no a tiny puppy, laying in a thick mud, shivering and bones sticking out was chained to a dented washing machine. The small dog, who's colour she couldn't make out for the dirt covering it, stared terrified up at her with the saddest eyes she had seen other than in the mirror. The tiny frightened animal stirred so many emotions within her. The resemblance that she bore to this poor creature was uncanny. The sad, haunted eyes, the shaking, the malnourishment. Everything about this dog, reminded her, of herself.
Her eyes without her permission filled with tears as she on autopilot, sank to her knees before the small canine. The dog, shrank back in fear, it's short chain not allowing it more than a few centimetres. Openly sobbing now, but with a rising wave of anger within her, she reached out a shaking hand to the terrified animal, overwhelmed to the connection she felt to this dog, and the need to protect it from further harm, to show it love. For many slow, agonizing minutes, the puppy continued to tremble, it's eye never straying from her shaking form. Her tears slipped down her cheeks, sadness and anger battling for dominance within her.
How could anyone do this to an animal! How could they abandon it here? Without food nor water!
They left it here to die!
What fucking despicable person would think that this is okay?
Bastards.
They abandoned it, at it's most vulnerable.
How could anyone do that!
"Please come here…" the dog, which she had now identified as a baby German Shepard eyed her movement and struggled to back away further. Her heart broke over and over as she watched the tiny animal attempt to run away, weakly straining against the clanking chain. She wished she had brought some sort of food. She didn't want to forcefully grab the dog; she wanted it to come to her, to have the choice to trust her.
Some heartless bastard had abandoned this poor animal to die; she, of all people, understood that she had to be patient. And she was determined to wait as long as it took for the young dog to trust her.
"I won't hurt you. I promise. I swear on my life, I will never hurt you." Clary doubted the dog could understand her gentle whispers but its eyes spoke otherwise. Having flinched the second she had spoke originally, the small dog that she could now see was a boy, tilted its shaking head at her. As is if trying to evaluate her trustworthiness. Trying to smile through the tears that coated her face, Clary reached out a hand to the little dog.
He flinched at the movement and shuffled back again.
XXXXXX
She knew it wasn't practical. That she was most likely going to get sick. But Clary was stubborn, and refused to rush this unfortunate animal. She had been in a similar situation once, and people had rushed her then and look how well she'd turned out.
No, she was going to help this puppy. She was going to show it respect and love.
It felt like hours had passed since she had found him, but it was still too dark to be any earlier than four am. The small animal had crept closer but still remained out of arms reach. A move that Clary herself understood more than a regular teenager should.
After awhile her knees had begun to hurt, she currently sat cross-legged in the mud, her discarded flick knife laying beside her as she watched over the puppy as she tried to figure out a name for it. She'd always wanted a dog, but never asked Maryse for Robert was allergic to canines. They had done so much for her already, she hadn't wanted to push them further.
That was before, if they denied her this dog, she'd find another way for her to keep him. Maybe pay Magnus to look after him; he owed her anyway.
No matter the cost she wasn't going to abandon him.
Pudding? No, she mused, she didn't want to call out a desert when calling him.
Mozart? Too pretentious for her baby.
Freedom? Too long.
Cookie? Again with the deserts.
Penguin.
She was going to call him, Penguin.
Clary looked over at Penguin, and softly called out his name.
His ears perked up, he no longer flinched at her voice. "Penguin!" she called out again.
He tilted his head at her. She patted her thighs, "Come here boy, come here Penguin!" He continued to observe her, frozen at her movements, he continued to shiver.
Clary fell silent.
She was well aware that the situation was beyond ridiculous, for another person maybe.
But for her it was important to give him the helping hand she'd had. To save him. And that was the priority.
She looked over at him again, he was standing, albeit wobbly on his tiny legs though. She remained silent as he took a tentative step towards her. The sun was beginning to come up, brightening the world around them. A smile stretched across her face as he continued towards her.
Stopping a centimetre away, he sniffed her crossed legs. He looked up at her with unsure and scared eyes, and in that moment she wanted nothing more in the world to hold this poor animal and never let go.
Carefully, ever so slowly, she stretched out her arm, fully prepared for his flinching rejection. His eyes grew wide but he remained still.
"Penguin. Penguin boy. Good boy." She cooed just as she had for Max, when he was a baby. Her hand gently patted his head, coating it in a thick layer of drying mud. She scratched behind his ears, and down his back. Several minutes passed as she continued to gently stroke him, feeling his protruding bones, before he clambered closer to her. Gingerly, he climbed into her lap, looking up at her with his big brown, intelligent eyes. His left ear flopped over his face as he shook himself all over her, splattering her favourite coat with mud. But she didn't mind in the slightest.
He trusted her.
Happiness bubbling uncontrollably inside of her, gently she wrapped her hands underneath his front legs and raised him to her chest, the chain clinking in the fractured light. Her anger resurfacing all over again as she fingered the material of the collar encircling her new friends neck. Groping the ground for her knife, she cautiously wielded it, trying to keep it out of his side, and slit the offending material, freeing Penguin from his past owner, the muddy chain thudded against the ground.
She rose from her sitting position with him firmly tucked into her coat, without the weight of the chain she realised just how little he weighed. Penguin was literally just fur and bones; the revlelation rekindled the simmering of her rage. He nestled his little head under her chin and licked her neck. Smiling despite the cold, confident in her grasp on him, she journeyed back to her car; caked in mud and dirt, but completely uncaring. She was stuck in a haze of amazement and the need to protect this tiny creature. Show it early on, that life is not all bad, just as the Lightwood's had done for her. She unlocked her car and clambered in with Penguin snuggly nestled into her chest, huddled inside her jacket with his floppy ears poking out as they shivered against each other. In the fractured dashlights of her car, now soiled with mud but far from her mind, she sent a small smile to the dog whose she was going to love for its entire life; they were a team now.
XXXXXXX
She gunned it down the sleeping main street of our tiny town, the engine purring as Clary pushed it faster, it's tyres squealing as she took corners too fast for the wet conditions. Finally straightening out, she roared down the highway, almost smiling at the tiny snores emitting from inside of her jacket, the almost torrential rain lashing against her windows and the claps of thunder that echoed and ricocheted successfully covered the sounds of the blaring siren behind her. The red and blue flashing lights in her rear-view mirror caught her attention. Behind her she could see the town's sherrif gesturing for her to pull over, peering into her mirror, she eased her foot on the pedal for a second.
The surprise wearing off and as mischief replaced it, she glanced down at the newest member of her family who was sound asleep; and chose her course of action.
Clary flattened the pedal to the floor of her beloved car and the screech of rubber combined with the rush of adrenaline stretched her smirk to a full on smile. She glanced in her mirror again as she floored it away from the man, his beat up patrol car had nothing on her Bentley, but the poor bastard was in pursuit nonetheless.
Game on Officer Garroway.
XXX
I had a bit of a slack attack, but whatever. It's not that grand but I wanted to update for you guys.
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Love Niza.