Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.
Thank you. A lot. I mean really. To all those who reviewed-because I don't like PMing back, seems unfair to Guests and I'm paranoid- I want to say thank you.
OmegaBanda14-yes this is supposed to be a dark fanfic, and you don't know how happy it made me to see you read and answered the ending A/N. I mean just. Thank you so much. And I think you might be a little surprised at how they meet. Tell me if u were. Guest, LOVERGIRL, AnnaW14, and greygirl2358, please keep being amazing and reviewing because you all inspired me to write this one!
Check out the song Run by Daughter because it helped create the bulk of this story and reading purrina's fanfic also helped with the idea in the beginning, though I swear mine's going to be different. I'm not one for copying stories or idea's.
I'm sorry if this one is boring. Hope you enjoy ***again sincerely***Follow, favourite, and review!
Clary didn't know why she was running on rooftops.
She just...wanted to.
She liked the feeling of the wind ripping across her body, made even more forceful by her altitude and speed. She liked the smell that wind carried, a rusty, smoky mixture that didn't clog her lungs, but reminded her of her escapades in an attic when she was a child. She liked the way her feet pounded against the slats of flat roofs, tin and metal clanging beneath the soles of her feet as she ran from unfathomable capture. It was...fun.
She liked knowing that she was disrupting the sleep of so many people, some innocent, some worthy of disruption. She liked knowing that she was causing a ripple in a calm lake. She liked knowing that in a world of capture and rule and power, where the only stillness was the blanket of night, she was free to do as she pleased.
Do as she wanted.
And currently she wanted to run on rooftops.
You're like a bird, her mind reveled. Her thoughts of rebelling danger had been silenced by the beauty that was the euphoria in her veins. Clary barely knew what she was feeling. It was a rush of adrenaline and excitement and energy, though a leisurely pleasure as well. It was everything, all at once.
And then the thoughts slithered back into her mind, erupting the building pleasure. Clary had the realization of seeing a gap in between houses she raced across. A large gap.
Now, the logical thing to do was climb down and onto the dark street below, and yet the combination of her lingering pleasure and seductive thoughts didn't let her think logically.
Irrationally, insanely, psychotically, would have been better adjectives.
You could fly
Her thoughts were raspy and voiced, like a separate entity, in her head. Persuasive. Compelling. And the ideas themselves were extremely alluring.
Too alluring.
Clary didn't know if it was because she'd never experienced any other than fear, anticipation and paranoia, but danger was the most alluring thing in the world at the moment. Because it came with risk. And risk came with choice. And choice was freedom.
You could actually fly.
If you jumped.
You would soar like a bird.
Clary's grin was ear to ear as she launched herself without hesitation into the air before her, speed propelling her body through the night. It was like infinity. Complete and utter nothingness wrapped in a shinny black bow.
For a minute Clary was weightless, and the silence of the night engulfed her small form. It was darkness all around, above, below, surrounding her delicate bones. But it wasn't consuming. This darkness was silky and sensual, a beckoning seductress to her vulnerable, partially corrupted soul.
You want to be corrupted.
Yes, corruption was fun. Corruption was exciting. Corruption was free.
Clary dropped from the small infinity the jump had created, and fell to the next building in a roll, thoughts of corrupting entities lingering in her skull. When she'd brushed the gravel off her shoulders and dusted out her hair she ran and jumped the next gap. This time the tin roof sliced a shallow cut in her palm.
And yet Clarissa still ran.
Enjoyed the pain and intense feeling that washed over her.
She jumped.
Flew.
The next gap was between the squat abode she was currently on and a taller building. Maybe two stories. But there was a window on the side, one Clary knew she could grab. The space between the buildings was the largest space, a side road, and still Clary launched herself into the swirling night.
This time the rush had effected her in a negative way.
And Clary plummeted to the ground.
flying
It was a strange experience, falling.
Like a weight was dragging you through an ocean of incredibly light water. Clary was free-falling between the building, directly towards the pavement.
But the thing was that in the hazy glow of street lamps the pavement looked, not soft, but pliable, watery. As if something could fall right through. And so Clary righted herself and braced her body for the suctioning landing.
Of course it didn't come.
Searing pain lit her ankles and caves as her bones creaked with the force of her weight and impact speed. She could swear she heard her shin splinter into twigs of white bone and marrow. The heels of her feet groaned and collapsed as she stood, paralyzed.
Her feet were shoulder width apart and most definitely bruised, her back was slightly hunched and hunkered into a defensive crouch. And her arms were glinting with this red slime as the oncoming headlights shine down upon her form.
Wait, head-what's?
Forgetting the pain Clary's head shot up. In front of her a sleek black motorcycle was tearing around the corner, the drivers helmet glinting gold like the sun. A sun directly under the moon. Clary briefly wondered if it was the same one she'd heard by her house until she realized that the man had out a cell phone and was starting to slow, seeing her bent body.
It was like life was in slow motion. He'd pulled out his phone, steadying the handle bars with the other hand, his bike roaring loudly in the night, the loudest sound she'd ever heard.
That is until the familiar boom of thunder echoed across the nearly empty street.
The same sensation from her gunshot altered the light and sound, making it clash within Clary's ears. When her senses adjusted once again she saw the man's body laying still in front of her. His bike had spun into a nearby ally, the headlights still glaring into her direction, washing the horrific scene in a flaxen light, sleek black frame now smashed and cut with silver. Her arms were dripping with fresh blood, coating her fathers old crusty life with this victim's.
When a boy, man really, walked onto the street, hair glinting the same gold as the marred and bloodied corpse in front of her, Clary just raised her eyebrows.
He stalked closer to her, his arrogance defining the stance of his towering frame and the placement of his feet, seducing smirk just as alluring as danger and nightfall. His eyes flashed the same gold as the sun, his hand flashed the colour of the stars.
This was because of a battered old ring.
And, of course, the shot gun as well.
When he was close enough to hear, Clary realized his voice was a more attractive calling than bloodshed was to a knife.
"Next time you chose to blatantly murder someone in a relatively quite neighborhood, " in his mocking smile teeth flashed white. "I suggest doing it with windows and doors closed. Oh," he plastered a fake surprise on his face. "And make sure you don't flee, from the suspected crime scene...on rooftops...in the middle of the night...directly after gun shots." His chuckle made her shiver, equal part dislike and desire. "Seems a tad suspicious, and drew out a couple of witnesses." He nudged the body between them with a toe and just laughed at her, amusement gleaming in his eyes.
So it was the motorcyclist from near her house, just before she ran.
You can't let him talk to you like that.
You're strong now. This inner voice of hers seemed a tad too cocky. Clary liked that.
"Of course," She replied sarcastically, wanting, needing to wipe the smirk off of his lips.
Wanting his lips in general.
She told herself to shut up. And continued trying to retort her argument aptly. She'd had virtually no practice in the art of witty sarcasm. "Because murdering an innocent in the middle of a side street isn't suspicious at all." She copied the mocking of his voice.
His smirk just grew.
You know how to wipe it off.
Make those lips busy instead.
Those lush, gorgeously full lips...
Clary quickly tuned into what he was saying, ignoring the feeling festering in her chest, her throat, tingling all the way to her stomach and aching. "I had to kill him. It's my job. And, "he placed one finger up. It was long and tapered, not a killers fingers. "he was fleeing from the scene as well, I imagine after you, and was a possible suspect. For all I know," He played at faux innocence. "He could have killed you! A suspect of murder deserves to die, do they not?"
His words should have frightened her, but they didn't. In fact, she felt his being so unaffected by this killing, this murder was almost...sexy. Attractive.
Was that wrong?
No, not at all.
But it should have been.
Who cares what should be?
"No." She spoke in the accusing voice her father used with her to almost reprimand the man for thinking so. "And, I imagine" she mocked him in any way she could. His words, his tone. His hooded and sultry gaze. "That you'll kill me too. I am, in fact, the prime suspect." She cocked a hand on her hip and switched her weight. The movement caused her slight pleasurable pain in the legs. It also made them tingle as the movement caught his attention. Clary found she parted her lips as his gaze traveled down her body. His eyes lingering here and there, and everywhere, landing in no one place.
"Do you realize that blood is covering almost every inch of your lovely body, Red?" His voice was like a quartet of angels.
"No," she replied. Looking down and seeing in the yellow light that she was, in fact, coated in blood. "I hadn't. And don't call me Red. Are you going to kill me?"
He didn't answer her question.
The arrogant, sexy, bastard. Her mind whispered. Clary felt the rest of her body agree.
" It's a nice colour on you." His eyes finally fixed to hers again. "Who is it, that you killed?"he asked.
She looked him in the eyes as she answered,"Satan reborn, Lucifer, the devil, a demon. My father. Whichever you'd like to call him is fine by me, I, and this is quite surprising, don't give a damn about him. You said killing people is your job. Are you an assassin?" She tried surprising him into answering this time. And hope flared when it, and this actually was surprising, worked.
An assassin knew how to hide bodies. And run from cops. And kill viscious bastards like the scummy friends Clary's father always kept around.
Assassins were free.
And you want to be free right?
"Yes and no. I kill people for a living. But I also kill them if I think the did something worth dying for. Or if they bother me. Or if I just want to." He smiled cheekily "Always on the road. Always on my own... and I like it that way" he replied, eyes taking her into a new light as he added the information Clary gave into a seemingly mental filing cabinet. Voice putting up a front to her hopes.
But Clary didn't take his small hint. In fact, the thing that was meant to lead her away drew her even closer. The lifestyle was extremely tempting.
You'd actually be free.
But she would probably have to kill people.
And if it gave you that rush, if you felt that thrill of bloodshed...
"Mmmm," she murmured. A world of night and lust and killing euphoria. Freedom.
"What?" The man asked Clary.
"Can I come? With you?" she replied, doing what he had done and answering a question with another.
The man just flit his eyes away. "I'm pretty sure that's not what you said..." he muttered.
"Look," Clary grew suddenly impatient. She couldn't wait long, and staying here in the open with a dead body at her feet wasn't going to help her case if caught either. So she was blunt with her next statement. "Don't play games with me. My whole life I've been trapped by some man that wanted to play with me and that is not happening now. I killed my father, partially out of hatred, but mainly because I wanted to be free. You're either going to bring me with you or not. I need to know now because, in case you haven't noticed, I'm going to be the first person the cops track down. And I want to get far away from the crime scene you created as well, so, I'd like to know what is going to happen and I'd like to know now."
She stomped her foot and it erupted into pain. Clary's only show of pain was the slight draw of her eyebrows.
She was good at hiding pain.
And apparently she good at persuading.
The man's eyes shifted into a calculating look, with something else Clary had never seen before.
But Clary hadn't met many people.
"You killed him because you wanted to be free, eh?" He asked. Mischief. It was mischief as well. A dangerous, brewing, playful risk.
"I killed him because I wanted my life back." She explained and watched as his eyes told nothing of his answer. " And now that I've got it I am not letting the criminal justice system take it away. Now what will it be?"
The man smiled as dawn rose behind him, outlining his head in a fuzzy warm glow. Clary had never seen something less ominous or beautiful,
"Come with me."
Sorry if that was boring, I know that may not have been a good first/second impression but please review. It made my entire, like month, last chapter.
*****Question: What voice do you picture when you read Clary's thoughts? Do they seem like a darker side of Clary?
Anyways things will get a little more tense between Jace and Clary, and it may seem unrealistic for Jace to just take Clary in but I have everything included later on in the plot. I was aiming for a sort of dark attraction between the two.
Again, this may seem a lot like purrina's story Chaos, which is amazing may I add, but I'm trying to make the idea my own. It's going to change. Clary's going to get really...Jace-like. Tell me if it's too close to the other story please? I don't want to copy it...
Please follow, favourite, and review...Thank you all for reading. It means a bunch.
Lovestory112.