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Pokemon67 is sorry for any grammar errors.
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Each day was the same.
Jocelyn would rise early, dragging herself out of bed and dressing to go downstair to the restaurant she worked at to help the owners open. She would absently drink a cup of coffee as she waited for the morning stream of customers before beginning the blur of activities that made each day identical: taking orders, serving orders, wiping tables, cleaning up spills. The only differing factor from day to day were the faces she served, but she made no effort to remember them. She might have done well to do so, as it was a small, local place she worked at and the regulars soon knew her by sight.
But Jocelyn didn't care about the people. In fact, these days Jocelyn didn't care much about anything. The identical days were a blessing to her. They gave her the illusion that time wasn't passing, that the world was frozen while she processed all that had happened in the past few months. While she waited to feel again.
The events of her days didn't change. Unfortunately though, her body was changing.
Everyday it got harder to get out of bed. Not just because Jocelyn's motivation was at zero, but because she was getting heavier. Her clothes got noticeably tighter until the woman she worked for dug through her belongings to gift Jocelyn her own maternity clothes. Her own body was forcing her to admit that even though her heart felt still, time was marching on. Marching on without her mother, her father…
Without him.
The regular patrons of the restaurant took an interest in the woman who had moved upstairs when she began working at the establishment five months ago. Now their interest changed to concern as the quiet redhead's sick appearance grew more prominent, and as her stomach grew rounder. They would ask the owners, who said yes, she was fine. And they were doing their best to make that true, asking their boarder if she needed anything, leaving her meals in her room to make sure she ate.
There were many theories between the couple who own the restaurant about where the woman had come from and what horrors she had endured. ''Something horrible must've happened to make her so depressed,'' the husband would say to his wife. ''If she doesn't start taking better care of herself soon, she could kill her baby.''
The wife agreed, which is why the she dragged Jocelyn to doctor appointments (which Jocelyn was absolutely bewildered by. Shadowhunters had medics of course, but births were something many preferred to keep in the family). And which is why the wife insisted hard that Jocelyn spend the last three weeks of her pregnancy not working.
Jocelyn didn't protest. She didn't need the money. In a bag safely hidden under the floorboards of her little room she had many bits of jewelry she had salvaged. She could easily pawn them. When I can bring myself to look at them. When I can stand to hold them and remember when they were whole, how they looked on mother's neck. How father shook with trepidation to see if mother would like it.
How he smiled when he slipped it on my finger.
The break from work gave Jocelyn an excuse to do nothing but lay in bed, which she did. It was all she did. To sleep, to sleep and sleep and not think. To not smell the smoke and ashes and not hear the screams from the Hall as her friends died. To not see Maryse and Robert as they realized they were outnumbered, that the man they trusted had led them into a trap. To not see them be the first to surrender and look at her, to not see their faces as they realized the woman they trusted was the reason they had been so unprepared.
Jocelyn only wanted to sleep, and if to dream to dream only good things. But even the good things were painful. Images of Stephen discussing strategies with Valentine, of Circle meetings gone widely off topic with more joked being made than actual plans. Memories of Celine sitting surrounded by Alec and Jonathan Wayland and Aline, laughing and playing. Greeting Jocelyn's own little boy with a smile. Treating him no differently than the rest.
Even the good memories were painful. Because they were in the past, never to be repeated.
Dead. So many dead.
Jocelyn felt as she had during her first pregnancy when she believed Luke to be dead. Cold. Numb. And so very, very tired. Everything was pointless. Everything was a waste of time. Everything goes away in the end. Everyone dies. Killed, murdered…
Burned.
Jocelyn wanted the world to stop. She wanted everything to Just. Stand. Still.
But it was clear her baby did not share that sentiment.
She went into labor in the middle of the night. She had learned about mundane ambulances and managed to call one. The hospital was strange and scary. She was not in the comfort of her own bed, her mother right beside her, her husband's hand to grip. These people were strangers. All she knew were strangers.
If she died in labor, her child would be raised by strangers.
Jocelyn didn't die. Her labor, though difficult, was successful. But there was a noise ripping through the air of the room, a noise through her haze of pain she couldn't place. It wasn't until the doctor proudly declared, ''It's a girl!" that Jocelyn knew the noise. It was the same noise Maryse's babies had made. The sound Jocelyn never heard from her own child.
A baby's cry.
Jocelyn watched as the nurses cleaned her daughter. She watched as they wrapped her in a pink blanket. She watched as one of them brought her over to her.
Jocelyn felt nothing. She felt tired and sad. Her only drive to taking care of herself had been for the baby inside her. Now she was here, in the world. Jocelyn officially had no purpose.
She didn't want to hold her.
But as the nurse laid the girl in her arms, and Jocelyn had no strength to say no.
So she crooked her arms and accepted her daughter. She remembered holding her son for the first time. Remembered the feeling of wrong. Remembered the terror running through her, remembered not wanting to feed him because he was wrong. She didn't want to feel that again, but knew she would have to.
She held her daughter.
The feeling never came.
Instead, Jocelyn felt something else. For the first time in months, she felt joy. Her baby girl was perfect. She was human. She had a soul.
He did not have a soul.
Jocelyn took her baby girl back to the room she rented. Clarissa. She named her Clarissa. For her mother. And to get back at the man she hated.
With her daughter's birth came the realization she had to live again. No more identical days. Jocelyn needed to work and to plan. She may be living as a mundane, but Clarissa was still a Shadowhunter by birth. There were protections involved. Arrangements were made to cast the spells necessary to keep Clary safe. Jocelyn came up with a surname then. Fray. Clary Fray.
There was another problem she had to attend to. The room she was renting was not big enough for a baby and all the accessories a parent needs. Jocelyn had been looking for an apartment in the past, but had stopped her search. She realized now she needed to resume it.
But it was hard. Too hard.
Everything was too hard. Jocelyn was trying, god she was trying. But everything…
It was the wife again who helped her. She came upstairs one day and stood in the messy apartment, catching Jocelyn holding her crying baby and staring off into space. She had sat in front of her gently, looking at her not with pity, but concern. ''I know some people,'' she said. ''They might be able to help.''
Jocelyn's Shadowhunter pride burned inside of her. She refused the offer, and the woman left it at that. But the next day Jocelyn found an address slipped under her door. She didn't bring it up, but neither did she destroy it. It wasn't until one morning she laid still in bed listening to Clary's cries that she realized Shadowhunter pride could not keep her going. She wasn't a Shadowhunter anymore. She was a mundane. Mundanes got help.
With Clary in a stroller, Jocelyn went to the address on the paper. It was rainy evening but luckily the place wasn't far. She didn't sit in the circle of chairs pulled to the middle of the room, but hung back, making herself look busy with her fussing baby.
The group was all women. Some with small children at home, some with babies on their hips. Some were still pregnant. All were struggling. All were recovering from some horrible trauma. Some were alone. Some felt alone. None were happy.
As Jocelyn listened to their stories, a horribly irritation burned inside of her. So what? She wanted to scream. What does dwelling on the past do? Does it rewrite it? Does coming to terms with it make it better? How? I don't want to dwell. I don't want to tell. I want to know how to keep going. I want to forget.
I don't deserve to forget.
Jocelyn felt her hands tremble. She quickly put Clary back in the stroller before exiting the room.
She went to the back of the building. A small kitchenette was there, presumably a place for mothers to keep food for the children. Jocelyn leaned against the counter, letting the cold tile top ground her. She felt like she couldn't breath.
''Can I help you?''
Years of training taught Jocelyn how to hide weakness. She turned quickly, the expression of pain falling from her face. She smiled at the woman who approached. She was one of the woman who had been sitting in the chairs. She was heavyset and short, with messy, curling brown hair. Jocelyn remembered her saying she had two small kids at home.
''No,'' Jocelyn smiled, shaking her head. ''Just hoping the rain will pass soon. I have to get back.''
The woman's eyes studied Jocelyn. ''I see. You new here?''
''Um…'' Jocelyn gestured around her. ''This is the first time I've been here, yes.''
She nodded like she had just confirmed something. ''I remember my first time coming here,'' she said in a chuckling tone. ''How do you like it?''
Jocelyn shrugged. ''Oh, it's very…nice.''
The woman let out a laugh. ''I hated every single woman in that room.''
Jocelyn raised an eyebrow. ''Really?''
''I thought 'my god, people. We get it, life sucks. But stop talking and start doing!' '' She laughed again. ''I'm a bit of a judgmental bitch. I remember one girl in particular. The kid had been through hell and back. I listened to her story and heard the sobs of the people next to me and thought 'you know what? this is pointless.' I couldn't take it anymore. I excused myself and came in here.''
It was Jocelyn's turn to study the woman. ''So why are you here now?''
The woman smiled. ''I was standing where you are,'' she said, pointing to Jocelyn. ''When that girl came in here and perched herself on this counter.'' She slapped the top behind her. ''She stared at me and I looked at her and asked what she wanted. She said, 'I've said my pain. Now I would like to hear yours.' Well that pissed me off. I said 'why does it matter? You won't understand my pain just like I can't understand your's. So who cares? The past is the same. Talking won't change it.' And then that little brat had to go and say something that's stuck with me. She said 'talking won't change it. But just maybe it will help us to live with it.' Sounded like a gamble to me. Wouldn't be here if I wasn't desperate to try anything. So I did.'' She spread her arms wide. ''I like to think I won.''
For moment the women stared at each other. Jocelyn swallowed hard before she spoke. ''What if,'' she said quietly, ''a person doesn't deserve to learn to live with it?''
''Well, I expect that person wouldn't be alive then.'' The woman shook her head. ''As long as we are alive, we learn to live with things. The things we do, or the things that have been done to us.'' She looked to Clary's stroller. ''If not for ourselves, then for our kids.''
Jocelyn nodded and watched as the woman as she bent down to look at Clary. ''She's gorgeous,'' she said. ''Is she your first?''
That's when Jocelyn sobbed.
She clamped a hand over her mouth to try and repress the noise, but the woman heard. She straightened and didn't speak while Jocelyn buried her face in her hands, trying to contain herself.
A few minutes of silence passed before Jocelyn raised her head again. She was glad to see the woman not looking at her in pity. ''Is that it?'' She asked softly. ''You lost someone?''
Jocelyn shook her head, looking at the ceiling. ''He wasn't right,'' she whispered, hating herself for even saying it. This mundane woman couldn't understand just how wrong he had been. ''He wasn't right and I knew it. I thought I could handle it, that I could deal with it. But where I come from-'' she trailed off. ''We don't deal in things like that. If you're not normal you're not talked about. But other people, other people didn't even see it. They didn't notice just how wrong he was. I tried to be good. I told myself I could do this. But I kept screwing up. I kept hurting him. I told myself I'll do better later but later never came. And now,'' Jocelyn had to gasp for breath. ''Now he's gone and it's to late.
''Clary-'' Jocelyn looked at her daughter, ''Is perfect. She is everything a baby should be. She's made me realize how much I love being a mom. I love rocking her and feeding her and watching her smile. But every time she makes me smile, every time I enjoy her presence… it's like I'm betraying my little boy.'' Jocelyn had to dig her nails into her palm. ''I'm a hypocrite. I hated him while he was there and now that I can't have him I want him. He's gone and I-'' she gave bitter laugh. ''I started looking for apartments months ago and I haven't picked one yet because they're too small. Too small for a family of three.
''I went to the store the other day to buy Clary clothes and I kept looking at the little boy aisle. I saw a mom with her baby daughter and little boy going over there and all I could think was 'that should be me.' I should be buying little boy clothes. I should be arguing with my son about fabric because he's so damn particular about material. I should be buying him a toddler bed and toys and books because my husband taught him the alphabet and next thing I know I had a three year old reading a dictionary!''
Jocelyn cut herself off with a scoff to avoid a sob. Tears were running down her face. ''I'm a hypocrite and I hate myself everyday because I was a sucky mom then and now I'm a good mom but I don't deserve to be happy because I have done horrible, horrible things and I can't undo them. I can't go back. My baby boy is dead and every good thing I do for Clary leads me ask myself why the hell couldn't I do that for-'' her breath caught. ''For Jonathan.''
She finally did it. She said his name. For the first time since kissing him goodbye. For the first time since she saw the remains of her house.
There was no going back now.
''How the hell do I learn to live with it?'' She asked. ''Where do I get off in deserving to be happy when he- he never will be?''
The woman stared at her. ''I don't know,'' she admitted softly. ''That's something you have to figure out in your own way. But I do know,'' she continued, stepping closer to Jocelyn. ''That your daughter needs you. And that to feel guilty for loving her because you didn't love your son does nothing but hurt her. She doesn't deserve to suffer on behalf of her brother.'' The woman reached for Jocelyn's hand, clasping it in her own. ''You just have to try. That's all we can do when life kicks us down. Just try.''
It wasn't the answer Jocelyn had been hoping for. She'd been trying for so long and every time she fell short of the mark. Maybe there was no answer, no perfect formula or tip to get through anything really. She could only keep going as she had been.
No, that was wrong. Not as she had been. Trying didn't mean to keep going as always. It meant doing new things. Things you were scared to do. Things that you couldn't bring yourself to do.
Jocelyn left the meeting place feeling empty. Nevertheless, she set to work.
Swallowing her trepidation she gave her notice to the couple she worked for that she would be moving out and leaving. Setting Clary down in her cradle, she dug out her bag of jewels, laying them out and making herself think in terms of money and not memories. She managed until she reached the bottom. Jocelyn sat back on her heels as she pulled out a small silver box that was laying tucked in the corner of the bag. The initials J.C were engraved on it.
''Isn't it nice?'' Valentine said, leaning down on the floor in front of Jocelyn so as to show Jonathan the box. ''Look, it has your name.''
Jonathan sat as always, still in his mother's lap. Jocelyn watched his black eyes study the box. He reached out a hand and traced the indents that formed the letters with his finger.
Valentine smiled at his son, black eyes matching. He looked up at Jocelyn. ''What do you think?''
It was when he looked at her like that that Jocelyn remembered why she married him. He was happy. He was a new father proudly gifting his son a special present that they would both use to keep little mementos of his childhood. One day, they would go through it with a teenager and he would blush and whine and they would embarrass him to no end.
That could happen. They could get through this.
But then Jocelyn turned her attention to the bookshelf next to her. She knew what lay behind it. She would always know.
Jonathan stopped tracing the letters and looked up at her. He reached up and touched her face. Cold. He was always cold.
Jocelyn closed her eyes and put the box on her lap. She took a shaky breath before she reached for the phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed. ''Hello?'' she said, trying to ignore the ache in her chest and keep her voice level. ''This is Jocelyn Fray. I'm calling about the apartment listing…''
It would take time, no doubt more time than she had. But Jocelyn would try because she had too. Not only for herself, but for Clary.
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