She had never thought much of mouths or lips. Sure, she had drawn lips and studied them for their shadows and highlights, but she didn't think much of her own lips or of anyone else's. Clary figured this was because she had only ever experienced her own mouth, which often tasted foul because of the vicious things her stomach did during chemo. And of course, the few kisses she had shared with Simon had to be counted, but he always had tasted like tic-tacs, and Clary got the impression that he had eaten a lot more of them for the duration of their "relationship."
If only Clary had known what putting your mouth on someone (who wasn't her best friend) else's mouth was like, what the taste of a mouth could be like, she suspected that she'd have run around kissing boys a long time ago. Slight pressure and slight wetness, a sweetness almost shocking, like rotting fruit. Sweet in a sick way. Clary had dreamed about it afterwards.
Jace's mouth was so new to her, it was almost as if she hadn't been kissing a normal mouth at all. She thought of calling it something corny like an angel's mouth, but the sentiment was too lame. Besides, he wasn't quite like an angel. He wasn't a cherub painted on a cathedral ceiling, he was more like a painting under a light, of the warrior angels she once read about. Archangel Michael, with a drawn sword.
When she thought about him at length, she got the impression that Jace was as hard and as beautiful as bone china. She got the feeling that he could crack like bone china, too. She would have to be gentle.
A sharpness strangely pulled her out of her reverie, drawing her eyes down to the arm that the nurse was prodding. An IV tube was connected to the end of the butterfly needle, and the long plastic tube ran to a machine that doled out her radiation. Clary let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. She was inside the same hospital room she had been in before, but now fully alert of what was going on around her. The needle stung going in, but it was such a familiar pain, and compared to bone marrow samples, it was nothing at all.
"There we go…" the nurse was saying as she pressed a piece of tape over the needle. This nurse was new, someone Clary hadn't seen here before. But of course, it had been more than a year since she'd been in this area of the hospital. She wondered where the nurses who used to attend to her went to. She never liked any of them. Only the room had stayed mostly the same. The children's ward was stuck in time, concealing everything like a mausoleum of bad, sick memories. Though she did feel an odd sense of nostalgia to discover that they were still using the same old VHS tapes of movies like, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and Dumbo. Clary had opted for the TV to stay off, though.
She muttered thanks to the nurse as she left.
"Just press the pager if you need anything at all, okay?"
"I know." Did she think Clary was new to this?
She settled into her bed. She was in for a long day of waiting, and while Jocelyn had gone downstairs to get coffee and a magazine, Clary allowed herself to close her eyes and resume dreaming. For a week, she couldn't help but let herself wander to the memory of kissing him. Even the word rebounded in her head, kiss, kiss, kiss. It was wild for her to have that in her mind, because she was never the romantic. Simon always was, always trailing after someone, falling in love with girl's online profiles. She didn't know if it could be called trailing, but Jace had been occupying her thoughts for days.
Jace had breathed away from her when she opened her eyes, when the kiss had somehow ended. She was momentarily panicked, thinking that he was upset at her forwardness, that she had made such a bold move when he hardly knew her. She imagined him like a suitor and herself like a lady in Victorian England, in the era of subtly, when intimacy was passed through light hand touches, and she'd just been far too improper. He was smiling at her though, and she felt her heart flutter when he reached up and brushed his finger over his own lips, like he was touching her imprint there.
And he hadn't said goodbye, he just stepped back lazily, almost smug, and wandered out into the night. Clary had been left in the Synagogue, bound to the floor like all the spray painted waves that Jace had drawn. Even now, in naturally lit hospital room, with the bed beside her empty, if she ran her tongue across her bottom lip she could almost still taste his mouth…
"They only had Men's Health and Cosmopolitan, so you're going to have to help me with this."
She opened her eyes to see her mother walking in, a book of crossword puzzles in her hand. Jocelyn had her hair up in a twisted bun, wearing very warn ripped jeans and her very cozy sweater. Her mother was very tactile, and full of touches. When she was uncomfortable, it seemed to Clary that Jocelyn wrapped herself in her clothes and burrowed. Most of the time, she dressed like this. Though, Clary could remember a time when Jocelyn's closet had been like a wonderland of dresses and colors. Somewhere along the line, a few of the nice clothes had become Clary's and the rest were lost forever somewhere. The green jacket that Clary loved was among those hand-me-downs.
"What's wrong with Cosmo? Are the sex tips getting too recycled?" she said, wiggling her eyebrows. Luke was something like her mother's boyfriend, and they had been like that for years; at least something like a couple. But Luke never moved in, and they never got married. She loved to tease her mother about him, because as old as they were, she couldn't help but see them as this drawn out, adorable fling. It may have spawned from early childhood Clary, who caught her mother and Luke in lip lock often, and would always laugh mirthlessly. Momma and Lu-uke, sittin' in a tree…
"What do you know about Cosmo Sex Tips, huh?" said Jocelyn, swatting her with the book.
She smiled, and rolled her eyes, and fell back against the pillow. Jocelyn had a suspicious look on her face, which was understandable. Considering the place they were in, and considering the needle in her arm, Clary was in a spectacular mood.
Tomorrow, and the next day, she might feel like shit, she might not be able to feel fondly of anything, even Jace. She really doubted that, at the moment, but she also knew that feeling sick could make you desperate. The only desperation she currently felt was for Jace to text her, for her to be able to see him again. She didn't know what she would do, and that was the best part.
"Four letter word for Fleet St. Barber," her mother said, tapping the pen against the page. Jocelyn must have known the answer because she loved musicals, but she also must have suspected that Clary was bored.
"That's easy- Todd."
There was another long stretch of silence, in which Clary listened to the sound of her mother's lungs inflate and deflate. She wondered what would happen if she told her mother about Jace, about kissing him. More than likely, Jocelyn would act irrationally as she often did. Clary felt an ache, like somewhere out there, there was a Jocelyn who she could tell all her secrets and thoughts to. There was also a Clary out there who kissed beautiful guys, and stayed out all night with them, but she had already sneaked into reality somehow.
"Nine letter word for Father," Jocelyn began. Clary got momentarily sidetracked by the word father, since it was not one that they often used. Clary knew very little of her father, just that he was a photograph on the mantle, and that he had died in a car accident a very long time ago. It was one of the endless mysteries of her life.
"Patriarch.." She tried to say it without betraying any malice, but it came out sounding tight. Jocelyn didn't seem to notice, didn't look up from her book. It was impossible to get anything out of Jocelyn on the subject of her father. It was like expecting to knock down a brick wall with just your fists. It was another part of Clary that ached when she thought on it.
Clary stared down at her cell phone, which was officially supposed to be off, but she couldn't do it. It had been a whole week, and still, she had heard nothing from Jace. No texts luring her to mysterious clubs. She wondered what he was doing at that moment, while she sat here, in a whole other world. Maybe he was like a night owl, and only came out when the sun was down. A vampire, like in those stupid romances that Luke has stacked in the storeroom. The nerd girl in Clary could imagine being dragged off into the underworld with him. She'd probably let him do it.
"Welcome back, Fray," said a voice. She looked up and Simon was there, making his way to the foot of the bed.
"Simon, you're not scheduled this week, are you?" Jocelyn asked. She probably knew Simon's therapy schedule as well as she knew Clary's. She knew Simon's mother was always calling Jocelyn, to discuss her weekly struggles.
"No, but visiting hours are from 8-6," he said, throwing down Clary's Gameboy.
She scooted over so that he could squeeze onto the bed with her, where they could connect their Gameboys and play Pokemon together. She settled into the familiar weight of Simon beside her, and she nearly forgot about the slight ache where vein was being stabbed. She grew comfortable around the sound of her mother's nervous pen tapping and Simon's fingers rapidly clicking buttons. It was strange how easily, even on the first round, she fell into the chemo routine.
There was something comforting about it, but also something that made her feel like she was waiting. It was the restlessness she had been having, the feeling that she should be up and out and about. With Jace, with Simon. She should walk around the many hospital floors, and pull the dispenser behind her. She should run to Pandemonium club and wait for Jace to reveal himself again.
Her mother probably was as restless as she was, standing up abruptly, declaring that she needed more coffee. She offered to get something for the both of them, but of course, no one felt like eating anything. When her mother was gone again, she found it more quiet without the pen-tapping and consistent breathing. Simon's breath was raspy, probably from a combination of smoke and weakness.
"How's Mia?" she asked, needing something to occupy her thoughts.
Simon shrugged as he scanned aimlessly through his character's inventory. His glasses were askew, only just hiding the dark circles under his eyes. His eyebrows were non-existent, but she had grown quite used to the bareness of Simon's face a while ago. The skin of his face was clear, and ghostly pale, almost too smooth, but Chemo did that to you.
"We broke up," he said casually.
"Wait- what? When did this happen?" Clary felt like someone had just snapped her with a rubber band. How self involved had she been this past week to not notice this?
"Few days ago."
His answers were strangely clipped, but not angry. He was being weirdly reserved, and it was unusual for him to be anything but an open book to her.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
Simon was quiet for a moment. Then he said,
"Sometimes, you need a few days. Before it's real."
This scared Clary to hear. She didn't realize that Simon had liked Mia that much. They had only been together a month or so, but maybe Clary hadn't been paying attention. Was he very upset? Could it be that she was missing her friend's heartbreak completely? It had taken Clary a few days to actually call Simon, and tell him that the "the jig is up", and she'd soon be joining him in chemo fever. They had taken that heartbreak together, though, the way they always did, with jokes and lightness, and odd bursts of pessimism and optimism. Clary got the feeling that Simon was dealing Mia all on his own.
Simon must have sensed her sudden alertness. He gave her a sideways glance, while also kicking her ass in combat with his well collected Pokemon.
"And besides, I didn't want to darken the mood any more." He gestured to the dispenser and the IV. "But you seem to be in a good mood these days, regardless."
When he asked about the uncharacteristic tag-along she'd brought last week, she said Jace was just a friend. Now, Simon's stare was as penetrating as her mother's, as if he knew that she had kissed him. Clary had told no one about that.
"Are you going to tell me why you broke up?" she asked. She wanted to sound more sensitive than the way she came off, which was demanding. Simon rolled his eyes and stabbed at the buttons a little more violently.
"She said she wasn't over her ex-boyfriend. Which is probably just a cop-out excuse." He sounded bitter. Clary put her hand on his arm, trying to think of something to say.
"That candy striper outfit was stupid," she decided to go with. It was true. Now that Mia was out of the picture, she allowed herself to think of all the things that had annoyed her about the girl.
"You're right."
They fell back into a silence, playing their game with absent minds. They were surely both thinking of other things. There was probably a lot more behind this Mia story, but they would talk about it somewhere other than here, in the warm glow of her bedroom. Probably on the phone, where he could hide his vulnerability from her.
"I think you're lying your ass off about that guy," he said suddenly.
"What?" She was a terrible actress. Her voice betrayed everything.
"Come on. This what's-his-face Jace guy. How did you even meet someone like him?"
Someone like him? she thought. I don't even know who that is, Simon.
"I told you, he was in one of the bands at the show from last week." Why was she coming off so defensively?
"So suddenly, you pick up musicians at bars?" he asked. His voice wasn't cruel or accusing, just amused. It amused herself, to be honest. The fact that she had even made the social effort to go stand near Jace had been the highlight of her year.
"Who says I picked him up?"
"So he picked you up?" Simon raised his non-existent eyebrow.
"Simon," she said, blowing out a frustrated huff. "No one picked anyone up. We're just hanging out."
"He seemed kind of…full of himself," Simon said carefully. Clary laughed a little, under her breath.
"Yes, I think he is."
Simon paused again, then reached over and held down the adjuster for the bed. The mechanism tipped them slowly back. It was like being on a very tedious rollercoaster that could only go up and down. When they were younger, they used to pretend that they were space travellers, getting ready for the launch. They would hold down the button and do a melodramatic countdown, then blast off in their imaginations.
When they had moved to a 180 degree angle, and lay flat, side by side, Simon threw up his hands a bit.
"Your plot thickens, and mine thins to a nice, liquid texture."