(A/N): Hey guys! I know it's been a really long time, but I've been super busy and this is the first time I can post an update! Thanks for all of the awesome reviews; you guys have been really supportive :) Lastly, this part isn't as good as the first, and I deeply apologize if it sucks. I wrote it at night. Really late. I was tired. Anyways, enjoy!

The rumors flew

But nobody knew how much she blamed herself

For years and years

She tried to hide the whiskey on her breath

She finally drank her pain away,

A little at a time

But she never could get drunk enough

To get him off her mind

Until the night

It was the sixth time that week that Clary had been at the bar. Isabelle had insisted that she find someone else to go out with, with the reasoning that it might help her recover from the drama of the past month. So far, it hadn't helped much. She still laid awake at night, smothering her face in her pillows and blankets to try and hide the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Her face was stained red even now, but she had cleverly hidden it behind layers of cakey rouge and foundation. Across the bar, Clary heard three girls whispering amongst themselves quietly. Judging by the way they were looking at her, it wasn't hard to determine the topic they were discussing. She had heard the rumors several times before, and with different variations each time; in one story, she had murdered him because he cheated on her and framed it as a suicide; in another she had had someone hunt him down and shoot him so that she could claim the life insurance for some lovechild that wasn't his. No one would believe that the strong and mighty Jace Lightwood had taken his own life. Only those closest to him knew that he had died not from a vengeful hand but from a broken heart. It had been her fault after all. She ran a small hand through her hair as a man in a black flannel shirt and jeans sat down in the seat beside her. He ordered two rounds of whiskey on him, nudging a glass over to her when the bartender set them down. Without hesitation she took it and chugged it down; sometimes the sting of the alcohol dulled the pain and guilt that stabbed at her heart. The man looked surprised, but this was usually how it went. She would drink heavily until her senses blurred, and the next morning she would wake up in a strange place with no memory of the night before. The only memory that constantly resurfaced was that of the man she still loved being lowered into the soft ground under the tree. Pulling herself out of the depths of her head, she took another shot of whiskey from the tray and let it splash down her throat. The burn was comforting and familiar. She recognized it as a signal that none of her worries mattered anymore, and that she could focus on living for the moment. She leaned in closer as the man asked her name. She responded "Kylie", because tonight she wanted to be anyone but herself. Several hours later she lay on a foreign bed, staring up at the ceiling. She thought of him, and what he would say if he saw her now. Would he laugh, and call her pathetic? Would he be hurt at her betrayal? Or would he brush it off because he knew she didn't care, even though she did, more than he ever knew. Suddenly feeling sick, Clary rushed to the bathroom and retched over the toilet. Nothing came up, though, there was nothing inside. That was the way she felt, too, like she was a hollow shell of herself now that he was gone. Again, he appeared in her every thought. She would never really forget.

She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger

And finally drank away his memory

Life is short, but this time it was bigger

Than the strength she had to get up off her knees

Slowly, she picked herself off the floor and stumbled over to her purse. She dug through it, pulling out a crumpled and tear-stained photograph that lay between her car keys and her wallet. Shoving it into her pocket, she went to the sink and opened the medicine cabinet. There were several jars of pills lined up in a row, none of which she had ever had much experience with. She settled for a jar of blue pills marked "Prescription" and shoved six down her scratchy throat. She gagged only slightly and flopped down on the bed. The pain was already beginning to fade when she closed her eyes, the thrumming of her own heart the only noise in the room she could make out. The last thing she saw before succumbing to the darkness was his face, smiling down at her to reveal the chip in his tooth that she loved so much. For the first time in a long time, Clarissa Fray smiled.

We found her with her face down in the pillow

Clinging to his picture for dear life

We laid her next to him beneath the willow

And the angels sang a whiskey lullaby

Isabelle Lightwood could not believe it. When they first told her, she hadn't believed it. It couldn't be possible that she would lose both her brother and her best friend in the same month, could it? Apparently it could, because Clary was dead. The man she had slept with the night before had been horrified to see that she lay cold on his bed the next morning. He had panicked and fled the house, only to come to his senses and call the police three hours later. Now Isabelle was driving to the cemetery for the second time in the same month to witness yet another Shadowhunter funeral. She reviewed the events of the day in her head, still struggling to fully comprehend exactly what had happened.

When the police had come into the apartment, they had found Clary on the bed, clutching Jace's picture in her left hand. It was a photograph of the two of them sitting together in the institute, far before any of this senseless drama between them had begun. Their faces were both blissful and happy. Isabelle knew that Clary hadn't felt that way in a long time. After they had found the body, Jocelyn had arranged for an immediate burial. She had hurriedly driven down to the field where Jace was buried, instinctively knowing that this was where Clary would have wanted to go. The others were already gathered there, none crying either from shock, confusion, or both. As Clary's casket sank down, Isabelle swore she would never fall in love, ever.

Later that night as Isabelle turned the key to her apartment she felt the first of what was probably thousands of tears to come trickling down her cheeks. She sank down to the concrete steps with a jolt that would probably leave a mark in the morning. She had no idea how long she sat there, but after a really long time, she felt arms around her torso. They were strong and soothing, but not warm like those of her brother's or her mothers. These arms were cool and hard, like granite in the fall. She cringed as she felt herself sight contently. This was not going to help with her pledge to stay single. If anything, this was making it near impossible. Giving in, the dark haired girl sunk back into Simon's arms. He picked her up and carried her through the door, down the hall, and into her bedroom. Finally setting her down on the bed, he turned to leave when her voice caught him off guard.

"Simon, will you sing to me?" Recovering from his surprise, Simon nodded and knelt beside her bed just so that his cool breath blew in her ear. In a voice so melodic Isabelle swore it was an angel, Simon sang her a lullaby soft and sweet, like a breeze or a river current. Isabelle cried again. Not because she was sad, or because she was angry, but because finally, after far too much pain and sorrow, she was happy and at peace. Simon continued to sing to her until she was asleep, and even after that. When she woke up the next morning, he was still there, humming the low melody in her ear, her own angel lullaby.