Chapter 3
I'm sorry. It's been so long since I updated any of my stories :S I had serious writers block for all my stories, and still do, so I apologise in advance about this rubbish chapter I haven't written yet :)
It seemed to take forever for the bell to ring. Clary soon realised that her wrists needed cleaning as the blood was sticky and all it was doing was making her want to itch. Not a great idea. However, no pupil were allowed out of lessons until the bell went so she sat there in pain, the faint droning of the teacher's voice entering one ear and out the other. Her concentration kept slipping and she kept looking over at the clock, praying class was almost finished. The moment the bell went, she shoved all her books into her bag and then ran out the room, straight into something solid. She muttered and apology and carried on walking. Suddenly someone grabbed her shoulder and turned her round. Her green eyes met with blue ones. The owner was a boy, with floppy blonde hair and a very attractive face. She found herself staring, so she blinked and glared at the boy.
"What?" she asked, irritated.
"You can't just walk into me and expect me to forgive you." The boy's tone was arrogant. Clary rolled her eyes. She got annoyed quickly by arrogant people.
"I apologised. That's the polite thing to do," she spat, and then turned to walk away.
"Excuse me?" He sounded shocked, but Clary just walked away, not interested. She was halfway down the hall when Isabelle, school's popular bitch ran over to her. Clary sighed, getting ready for another doseage of insults. What was instead said to her shocked her.
"Stay away from Jace Wayland." Her voice was high pitched, as though she was excited or something.
"What?" Clary asked, confused. She really needed to get the the bathroom as her wrists were driving her crazy, and the last thing she needed was some idiot blocking her way.
"That boy you just talked to. He's mine, okay? Which means keep you and your bleeding wrists away from him." The last comment stung Clary. However, she was used to not showing any emotion so she just rolled her eyes.
"You can have him. He's not my type," she said, before walking towards the bathroom.
"Of course he's not her type. You know, having a penis and all." Isabelle's voice drifted through the hallway to Clary. She ignored it, but that didn't meant it didn't hurt on the inside.
When she got to the bathroom, she waited until everyone was gone, and then turned the tap on. She stuck her wrist under and watched all the dried blood wash off, mixing in with the water before swirling down the drain. She did this again with the other wrist, making sure all the blood was gone. When she was done she turned the tap off and just stood there, staring at herself in the mirror. What had happened to herself. Her face was pale white and she had massive bags under her eyes. Her hair was flat and limp, and just kind of fell around her face. Her make up was black, and just made her look like a ghost or something equally as dead. She hated what she looked like, what she had become, and yet she couldn't change back. Not yet. Not while he was still around. Not while he was the reason he did this to her.