Chapter 25

A/N: I know it's been forever since I've updated. Life has been crazy. I'm sorry, I'll try my best to keep you guys updated more quickly. Lots of love, xoxo.

The next morning, as expected, Isabelle felt like hammered horseshit. She opened her eyes groggily, tangled up in the sheets of Clary's bed, her throat burning, her head throbbing and her mouth tasting like something had crawled in there and died while she was out. She blinked slowly, trying to remember where she was. Loud noises like gunfire seemed to be coming from somewhere close by and each pop was like an explosion in her brain.

With a groan, she rolled out of bed, clutching her head, and stumbled into the bathroom. The noise got louder. Isabelle gritted her teeth and shoved open the door on the other side of the bathroom, bewildering a half-dressed Simon who was stretched out on the floor playing Modern Warfare on the Xbox.

"Isabelle!" He shouted in surprise. "You're up early."

"Turn. It. Off." She ground out through gritted teeth, her one hand on her head, the other pointing accusingly toward the TV.

"B-but it's not the same without the sound, I can't get the full experience. Without the gunfire it's not Modern Warfare anymore, it's like Modern Heads Up-Seven Up." He protested, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

Isabelle fixed him with a dull glare and shuffled across the carpet purposefully, slamming her finger down on the power button on the game console.

"What? No! I didn't even save the game yet, Isabelle, now I have to do it all ov-" He began to whine, then looked up and caught a glimpse of the girl's face. She glared up at him through long, clumpy lashes, makeup smeared underneath both of her dark, bloodshot eyes. The expression If looks could kill... most definitely applied here.

Simon choked on his words and gulped, awkwardly changing his train of conversation. "Uh, Clary is downstairs making us breakfast if you wanna, like, go...down there and see her..." He mumbled nervously beneath the intensity of Isabelle's gaze. The girl just grunted and turned on her heels, flopping onto the bed near her.

"That...that's my bed...but...okay. That's cool. You can just, y'know, crash there." Simon protested feebly as Isabelle crawled under the covers and drew them up over her head, just the ends of her dark hair peeking out on top of the pillow.

"It's cold." She grumbled, not taking her head out from under the quilt.

"You're under the blankets..." Simon replied with confusion.

"It's. Cold." She repeated dully, her voice thick and muffled.

"Do you want me to go get more blankets...?"

"Simon, Jesus, just get up here! Are you stupid or something? Christ!" Isabelle snapped with frustration, throwing the blankets off her head for dramatic effect, leaving her hair scattered this way and that all over her face. She blew air up and out of her mouth to move it away.

"Oh! Oh, um, okay..." Simon stuttered, blushing a deep pink. He hoisted himself up from the floor and scooted in beside Isabelle in the twin bed, forced to hold her close to his body if they both were to fit. She smelled strongly of morning-breath and sour alcohol, but he still got a hint of her natural jasmine and vanilla scent on her pale skin. Izzy snuggled back against Simon as he nervously wrapped his arms around her, his heart in his throat.

"Don't get any ideas." She mumbled as she started to fall back into sleep. "I just don't feel good right now...wanted someone to hold me..." Her voice trailed off and she yawned, her heavy eyelids drooping. Simon kissed her hair tenderly and willed his heart to stop beating so embarrassingly fast. Within a few minutes, Simon began to relax and he felt himself being pulled under into sleep as well, the morning light peeking through the slats in the window, the smell of bacon wafting up from the kitchen. It was as peaceful as it could be.

A scream and the sound of shattering glass popped his bubble of serenity.

"Clary!" He yelled, jumping out of bed. Isabelle woke up, her hands over her ears and her face scrunched up.

"What in fresh hell - ?" She began angrily, but Simon leaned in and kissed her forehead, drawing the covers up over her head.

"Shh. Go back to sleep." He said offhandedly, somewhat irritated, and rushed down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Clary had pancakes on the stove and they were smoking, having been left on the skillet for far too long. Simon hurriedly rushed over and lifted the pan off the stove, dumping the burnt mass of pancake into the garbage before it could set off the fire alarm. He tossed the hot pan into the sink without thinking and it hissed loudly, touching the wet surface.

"Clary!" He yelled panickedly, turning in circles trying to find her.

"Out here." Her voice was small and strained. Simon rushed to the back door which was left slightly ajar, and palmed it open frantically. Clary was sitting on the back patio amidst fragments of porcelain, eggshells, bread crust, and various other unidentifiable food scraps. What he assumed was egg yolk was smeared on her bare legs. She stared down at a piece of paper that she gripped tightly in her hand.

"Clary, what happened? Are you okay?" He asked, kneeling down beside her and carefully picking up the larger pieces of shattered porcelain.

"Oh, I, uh, I just dropped the scrap bowl. I'm sorry." She muttered offhandedly, waving her hand at the mess.

"What's this?" He asked, his brows drawing together, plucking the paper out of her hand. It turned out to be several papers, he discovered, as four or five pieces fluttered to the ground. One in particular stood out and he squinted his eyes to examine closer.

I THOUGHT YOU LEARNED YOUR LESSON THE FIRST TIME CLARY, was scrawled in thick, bold, marker. Simon's heart jumped into his throat as he hurriedly turned over the paper.

It was a photograph.

In the photograph, Clary was sitting at a bar, talking to a guy Simon didn't recognize. The picture was heavily zoomed in, focused primarily on Clary's skimpy outfit. Feeling sick, Simon snatched up the rest of the photographs and turned them over, shuffling through them one by one, each one making him sicker than the last.

A shot of Clary pulling Isabelle away from a group of men.

A shot of Clary holding Isabelle in her arms, taken from behind.

A shot of Clary bent over, buckling Isabelle into the car.

A shot of Clary walking up the driveway to their house, gripping Isabelle by the wrist.

Simon dropped the pictures with shaking hands, as if they had burned him.

"He knows where I live." Clary deadpanned ominously, keeping her gaze focused in front of her. That was all she said. It was all she had to say. She stared down at the photos on the ground for several unsettling minutes, then calmly got up, legs trembling, and walked back inside. Simon gathered up the pictures and followed her.

This was real now.