Okay, so this weekend I did a monologue and I was writing this and part of it seemed to fit with the middle-ish part of this so:
"When Mouth asks why we fight, I think about having a mother and I think we fight so in the future, everybody can have a mother and both arms and then I think, well, a war is a pretty stupid way to make that happen and then I get confused and I sit down and I clean my gun. I just clean it and get it ready until my questions go away.
I mean, I understand, sometimes you need a gun, sometimes you have to fight people. Who could look at the world and not realize that? But I get tired of killing people who can't fight back. I don't get that part really."
-Jim Grimsley
As you've probably realized, I've changed this chapter into first person by request of my beta, Thorntangle (thanks a million by the way). I'm thinking about writing the rest of the story in first person and keeping the older chapters in third. Comments, questions and criticism is always welcome =)
0O0
"CLARY!" a voice screams. I struggle against the threat of consciousness, wanting to stay buried in the blissful state of sleep. "CLARY! I NEED—I NEED T'TALK T'YOU!" The bastard at the door shouts. I curl up on myself, holding a pillow over my ears. "CLARY! CLARY!" The knocking persists. I sit up, glaring in the general direction of the door.
"Who is it?" I call hoarsely.
"CLAARRRYYY!" I try and place the vaguely familiar voice, but have trouble hearing the true voice beneath the slurring. Who the hell…? I roll out of my bed, walk to the door and throws it open. Low-and-behold, there's Jace, his entire essence reeking of alcohol and a half empty bottle of tequila in his hand. "Clary!" he says happily. He swings in the doorway and grabs me by the shoulders, dropping the bottle in the process. I try to wiggle out from under his grasp, but he holds firm. "I need t'talk t'you," he says, his face turning dead serious.
"Are you—drunk?" He picks the bottle up off the floor and takes a drink.
"Mmmhmm." He walks in and looks around, putting his hands on everything he encounters, the bottle of tequila not once leaving his hand. He's like a drunken two-year-old.
"Jace, what the hell are you doing?"
"I need t'—"
"You need to talk to me. I heard you. I'm not interested in a discussion with you. Get out of my apartment," my stern tone appears to get through to him. He turns around, and takes a swig from the bottle. Because he wasn't already drunk enough.
"I'm sorry," he slurs
"Go away Jace."
"But I'm sorry."
"No, you're drunk," I mutter, wrinkling my nose against the overpowering stench of alcohol.
"No. Clary. I'm really sorry. I really am." he says. He walks through the doorway tripping over the flat ground and falling onto his knees. He braces himself against the ground taking deep steady breaths. I take a tentative step towards him and place a hand on his shoulder. His muscles are tightened under my hand, like he's clenching them. I loop a steadying hand around his waist, helping him to his feet.
"Why did you come here?" I ask, desperate to know why he'd come to me. "I don't want to help you." Jace groans softly in response. Even through the boiling anger I currently have for him, I feel the undeniable instinct that's crying for me to help him.
"Clary. I need—I need you." Those choice words stir something inside of me. Something new and warm and absolutely terrifying. I shake away my mind and let my instincts take over, lowering him onto the couch and taking the bottle from his hands. He looks at his hands in confusion. "Where's my rum?" he asks. I bite my lip to keep from laughing at his distraught expression. I pick the bottle off of the ground and dump the contents down the drain. "No!" he exclaims. "My—my rum!"
"It was tequila," I say with a sly smile. He looks up at me, his sad eyes slowly breaking my heart. I kneel in front of him.
"Jace," I whisper, cupping his face in my hands. "Are you okay?" I ask, trying to look past the drunken haze in his eyes and into the injured part of him.
"I'm gon'a be sick," he mutters. I haul him off the couch with a sigh and into the bathroom.
0O0
"Wakey, wakey sunshine!" Clary shouts, charging into the living room. I groan softly, throwing my arm over my eyes in a poor attempt to block out all light. "The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, hard-working Americans everywhere are going off to their crap ass jobs. It's a new day! Embrace it!" I touch his pounding head, fully expecting pieces of my skull to come off in my hands.
"Clary…what're you doing?" She pulls the blinds open, sending rays of sunlight into my eyes. I rolls over, further hiding my face.
"Come on," she says, pulling me off of the couch. My weak legs collapse under me, sending me onto the floor with a loud bang. "Coffee and aspirin on the counter," she says in a sing-song voice. I use the promise of a perfect hangover remedy to give me the strength to make it to the kitchen. I pull myself onto my hands in knees. The light instantly hits my eyes. I clap a hand over my eyes awkwardly pulling myself across the floor. I can feel Clary watching, her quiet laughter echoing through the room. I pull myself up onto a stool and swallow the aspirin, washing it down with half a cup of coffee. I put my head down on my crossed arms with a groan, impatiently waiting for the painful headache to lessen. Clary sits down across from me and picks up her own mug. I peak at her over my arms, shielding my eyes. Her expression is light and happy. I hope and pray that she's forgiven me. Somehow, I manage to pull myself into a sitting position and her smile widens. I glance down.
"What am I wearing?" I ask, glaring at the candy cane striped pajama pants and "Your mom: rated E for Everyone" T-shirt that I'm currently dressed in.
"I couldn't exactly let you wrinkle your clothes," she says innocently.
"Bull. I'll forgive you as long as you admit that you liked what you admit that you only put me in…this in order to see me naked," I say, shooting her my signature half smile. Clary rolls her eyes.
"Actually, that was Simon's job." I wrinkle my nose in disgust.
"Nerd boy?" I say with a glance down at the clothes. "That explains a lot."
"You should thank me. It took a lot of persuasion to get him to do anything." I roll my eyes at her and put my head back down on the table with a groan.
"My heads going to explode," I mutter.
"That's what you get for getting drunk."
"I'm glaring at you," I mutter, my pounding head not allowing me to respond appropriately. I glance up at her, catches her staring at me. She quickly glances away, a light blush creeping over her cheeks.
"So. What happened last night?" she quickly asks, turning the spotlight on me. I look up and meet her eyes, squinting against the brightly sunlit kitchen.
"A girl died last night. So I got drunk," I mutter.
"That's a sucky coping mechanism."
"Yeah, I know."
"You going to work today?" she asks me.
"Not a chance." Clary watches as I skillfully avoid her eyes.
"Jace—"
"Clary, don't. I don't need someone else reminding me of my responsibilities. I get it. I should go to work. I should act like a man and not run away from my problems. But I'm…" Clary watches me with knowing eyes. "Broken," I finish, unable to find a better adjective. She's quiet for a moment.
"You're funny when you're drunk," she says suddenly. I pull my eyes to hers and give her a small smile.
"I hope I wasn't too bad."
"Well, when you first got here you apologized, I want a sober apology too, by the way, and I took away your tequila and you were whining, which was pretty funny. Don't whine. It doesn't suit you. Then you threw up for a couple hours. It was a fun night." One comment sticks in my head. I want a sober apology too, by the way. I meet her blazing green eyes and feel my heart drop. She helped me even after I was a complete ass to her.
"I'm sorry," I say softly. "For showing up at your apartment, for ruining your night, for yelling at you…" I take a long drink from my coffee, keeping my eyes closed and wishing it was something much stronger. "I should go," I say, draining the rest of the cup and standing.
"Wait, Jace," Clary says quickly. I stops and turn to look at her, trying to hide the surprise from my face. She stares at her fingers, knitted together and lying on the counter.
"Yes?" I aks after an awkwardly long pause.
"I…ummm…where are you going?" she asks. My eyebrows raise, followed by a small smirk.
"I don't know. I think I'll just walk and see where I end up." Clary glances at the clock on the wall. She glances up at me, then back at her hands. I shift uncomfortably, unsure of what she wants. I want her to meet my eyes so I can see what she wants. "You could come with me if you want," I say. Where did that come from? She looks up at me.
"It's okay. You can go…" she mutters, her eyes still locked on her hands. I walk over to her and sit on the stool across from her, wrapping my fingers around hers, gently prying them apart.
"Look at me, Clary," I say softly, trying to be the sweet guy I know she thinks I am. I stare at her tiny pale hands, resting in my large, tanned, calloused one. I flip over her hands so our palms are resting against each other, and rub circles into her palms. "Clary, look at me." She peers up at me from under her lashes. I pull one of my hands out from under hers and tilt her head up with the tips of my fingers, needing to see what she's thinking in her bright green eyes. She looks up at me. "I want you to go with me." Her captivating eyes pull me in, holding me in place. I slide my hand from her chin to the back of her neck, touching the soft skin there.
"Okay," she whispers, pulling her hands away from mine and pushing away from me. I beat down my hurt feelings and slip on my signature stony mask. I clear my throat and push away from the counter. "Umm…Jace?" she says, a small smile growing on her face. I look at her in confusion. "You might want to change." I glance down, a scowl quickly crossing my face. "Your clothes are on the chair and the bathrooms down the hall." I make my way into the living room and pick up my shirt. I take a quick sniff and wrinkle my nose in disgust.
"I think I'll run up to my apartment," I say, pulling the rancid shirt away from my face. Clary laughs. "Meet you in the lobby?" I ask.
"Sounds good," she answers. I grab my clothes and walks out the door.
oOo
I slide my key into the lock and push open the door to my apartment, immediately collapsing onto the couch and putting my head into my hands.
"Jace? Is that you?" I look up to see Alec loping into the room.
"Yeah. It's me."
"Where were you all night? We tried calling you."
"Out," I quickly answer. "I'm sorry for worrying you," I mutter sarcastically, pulling myself off of the couch and into my room.
"Ummm…Jace?" Alec says. I slowly turn around, already unnecessarily irritated by my best friend. "What are you wearing?" A large, amused grin spreads across his face.
"Shut up," I mutter with a small smile, my irritation quickly disappearing.
"Let me take a picture of this," Alec says, pulling off the phone.
"No way in Hell."
"Come on, Jace. I'll owe you forever." He snaps a picture before I can protest more. "Oh, that's Facebook worthy," he whispers evilly.
"I'm going to change." I mutter tiredly, disappearing into my room. I opt for a quick shower to wipe off the remaining smell of alcohol and vomit from my skin and to, hopefully, dull my remaining hangover. I stand under the hot water, letting it wash the stress away from my body. I keep seeing Clary. Laughing. Smiling. Insulting me. I quickly wash my hair and body then turn off the water. I pull on a worn t-shirt, quickly covering the scars that mar my stomach. I quickly push away the images that accompany the quick glance, pulling on a pair of jeans. I leave the bathroom, snatching my keys off the kitchen counter, saying a quick goodbye to Alec and make my way downstairs. Clary's waiting for me in the lobby.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey."
"I have to be at work in…half an hour. Maybe some other time?" I look at her steadily, meeting her bright green eyes.
"Blow it off," I say without thinking.
"What?"
"Don't go to work. Come with me." What am I doing? I ask myself.
"I—I can't just…skip work."
"Of course you can."
"I—"
"Come on, Clary."
"Well…" I can feel my eyes begging her. "Fine. I'll go."
"Come on then. I know exactly where we're going to go," I say.
"What happened to ending up where you end up?"
"I like this idea instead." I grab Clary's hand and lead her out of our building and into the streets of New York.