Jace POV
"What are you really doing here?" I hear myself ask, knowing full well that he hasn't ever cared for me, Clary or the babies.
His hand shoots up and he looks right into my eyes, 'I was a horrible father to you Jace. I know that, and I know I don't deserve you or your mother's forgiveness. But I would like to try and make it up to you both and get to know the young woman who is carrying my future grandchild." He walks towards me, hand outstretched. "So, what do you say, truce?"
I stare at his hand. "I don't have time for this. Please just leave." And with that I turn on my heels and walk towards the stairs.
"What's his problem?" Is the last thing I hear from the living room before I make my way into Clary's room.
I look around the room, staring at all the drawing and paintings she has pasted to the walls. No matter how many times I come in here and just look at the walls, every time I find something new. This time a drawing of Clary, myself and two small bundles. Looking closer at the bundles in our arms they look just like Clary and I as babies. The only difference is our eyes. The one in Clary's arms has all my features but Clary's eyes. The one in my arms looks like Clary but with my eyes.
The drawing makes me smile. I quickly take my phone out and snap a photo of the sketch. I love that she is already imagining what our children will look like. As quickly as the smile on my face came, it left. I hope we still get to have this future.
I want nothing more than to grow old with Clary. In an old house that we call our own with he two old creaking steps on the staircase and the old floors popping in the night. Which even after years of living there, still frighten Clary, much to my amusement.
I imagine us sat around a huge table, Clary and I at the head as we gaze upon our beautiful children and grandchildren. All of them talking animatedly about all the things that they are thankful for. Soon my vision changes to an older version of us, this time in old chairs pushed together holding each other's hands smiling as our oldest grandson places our first great grandchild in Clary's arms. Just the same as his wife is doing with his sister, placing her in my arms. I see us old and grey, laying next to each other, still holding onto each other as if it is the last time we will see each other, she's all smiles.
I feel the tears hitting my shirt, I didn't even realise I was crying. I need to find her. I need to make my visions real. I can't imagine my life with out her. She needs to come home to me. I quickly make my way to her bed and lay down, grabbing her pillow. I bring it to my nose and inhale.
I smell her shampoo and perfume. The smell brings happy memories to the surface, yet I cry more than I smile.
I close my eyes, still inhaling her wonderful sent. Silently I send off a prayer to who ever is listening. 'Please. Please let them be okay. I will do anything for the safe return of my family.' With that thought in my mind I drift into a restless sleep.
Clary POV
27 day's I've been locked in this room. 3 times a day Stephen comes in, leaving breakfast and my vitamins. He expects me to stay quite in here. I learnt the hard way 2 weeks ago when I shouted for help. Stephen doesn't have the slightest problem hitting a pregnant woman. Even if that pregnant person is 17 years old and carrying his grandchildren.
*flash back to two weeks prior*
"Help please someone help me!" I shout banging on the door hoping that somewhere in the vicinity there is a neighbour that will hear my pleas. If they hear me I hope that they will phone the police. "Please!" I shout again, raising my voice even louder. I can no longer control the tears hat are running down my face, soaking my already grubby, filthy t-shirt.
Slowly I make my way to the bed and sit down. As soon as my butt hits the mattress the door unlocks, and swings open revealing a very pissed off Stephen. I quickly jump up hoping that I can talk some sense into him.
"Please Stephen let me go. I promise not to tell anyone. I just want to come home to my family and plan for my childr…. For my baby to be born. I just want a family with Jace. I would never slow him down or discourage anything he would want to….." before I can finish my sentence I feel a stinging pain in my right check. The pain momentarily paralysing me.
"But you have slowed him down" he pushes my shoulder. "you have discouraged his dreams" another push, "because of you" push "and your damn child" push "my son has been discouraged" push "and he no longer" push "wants to play" push "professional" push "football" push "player" shove.
I fall back my bottom barely hitting the edge of the bed, my back landing on the tray left from my dinner, smashing the plate and cutting my back.
"Ow" I screamed in anguish as the pain radiated across my shoulders and down my back.
"Get up" Stephen says, his face red with anger. I get up as fast as I can which isn't very fast with my 23-week bump and the throbbing wound across my back.
"Clean up that rubbish and if you think about shouting like that again… well maybe this will help give you some incentive into not screaming." And with that his hand shoots up and before I realised it he hits me with the back of his hand sending me sprawling to the bed in agony.
He's out of the room before I even have the time to cry out in pain.
*end of flash back*
That was two weeks ago, and I still can't lay on my back without it hurting. I'm not sure is some of the china from the plate got stuck in my back or not and is now under my heeled skin.
Since then I haven't done anything to even cause Stephen to look at me the wrong way. The only thing that has changed in the last two weeks was the size of my stomach and the amount of times Stephen comes into my room.
Now he only comes in twice. Once in the morning with my breakfast and lunch and once in the night time with my dinner and vitamins.
That's why I'm shocked when 2 hours after he left my breakfast he's back in my room glaring at me.
"Get up!" he says menacingly towards me. I quickly stand. "move" he grabs my arm and drags me through the small house. "If you scream I will lock you back in that room and you will have no privileges like the ones I am about to give you. Are we clear?" I quietly nod my head to afraid and distressed to even open my mouth to agree to his words. "Good. Here." He shoves a bag from Walmart in my hands. Slowly he opens another door where I see a shower. My eyes pop out of my head and my heart starts to pound at the hope that I may finally, after close to 4 weeks of being here, have a shower.
"Don't take to long. When you are done the hairdryer is in the cupboard under the sink. Dry your hair and come to the living room."
With that he leaves me to the shower. I quickly make my way in, and gratefully, lock the door behind me.
Avoiding the mirror, I quickly strip out of the dirty clothes that I have been in for a few weeks and turn the shower on. Grabbing the bag off the floor I look through it.
Inside consists of a clean pack of underwear, clean socks, two pairs of maternity leggings and 4 different shirts. At the bottom of the bag I fond a hair brush, a bottle of shampoo, conditioner and body wash.
Never have I been so grateful for something so mundane.
Jumping in the shower my sore muscles protest at the heat of the water, but after a few minutes they relax. Washing my hair feels heavenly. I quickly wash the first and second lots of shampoo out. I quickly run a lot more shampoo through my hair, finally when it feels clean I wash it out and put a huge amount of conditioner on my hair. Leaving it in my hair I wash my body 3 times hoping that my hair will be some what manageable when its dry.
Getting out of the shower was harder than I first thought it would be. Getting dressed in clean clothes feels amazing. After drying my hair, I meet Stephen in the room that I assume he meant as the living room.
In the room there are two cream coloured sofas with a matching chair. This room sees more looked after than the room that I am forced to stay in.
"Sit down Clarrisa." I do as he asks. "I have decided to be a bit lenient with you. I feel we are far enough away from everyone that it would be acceptable for you to have a small amount of freedom. There for, from today you may freely walk about the house and once a week you may leave to go to the store."
On the inside I'm smiling like a fool, but a small part of me knows that there is obviously a catch.
"Of course, first I need you to do something for me." Of course, here it comes.
o.0.O.0.o.
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