I'd like to say my inspiration for this chapter was Little Bad Girl by David Guetta, Taio Cruz, and Ludacris. Enjoy :)
4/18/2017: I had awkwardlittleintrovert ask me to clean up the spacing, and I honestly have no idea how it got so weird. For anyone who is new/rereading this story, please enjoy easier reading, and thanks for stopping by my story!
It was already the last day of summer. The last day of summer, Clary thought, trying to remember anything fun that she'd done in the days full of sunshine. There was nothing really memorable that happened until she'd arrived at St. Xavier's, until she'd broken up with Simon, and until she'd reconnected with Alec and Izzy. She looked at the sketchpad that was propped open in her hands, waiting for inspiration to strike. She was laying on her stomach the most comfortable bed she ever seen, her small ankles crossed in the air and her hair pulled up into a messy bun. Her pencil was positioned between her teeth, where she gnawed on the eraser as she pondered the options of sketches.
"I could draw my dresser," she mumbled, looking at the dark brown chest of drawers sitting across the room. She picked her pencil out of her mouth and began twirling it between her index finger and thumb. Her inspiration had turned into a dry well. Nothing she thought of was appealing enough to depict, artful enough to waste her time on, emotional enough to captivate attention. She shoved her sketchpad off the edge of her bed in aggravation.
The door flew open, and Clary squeaked, her pencil following the book of drawings to the floor. Izzy stood in the open doorway, the bright lights from the hallway illuminating her, making her look like some sort of dark angel, with her sleek, black hair falling down around her shoulders and her dark, smoldering eyes focused solely on Clary. "Stay there, Izzy," Clary ordered, fishing her drawing supplies from where they'd landed on the furry rug she'd bought the day after she'd arrived. She'd personalized her room a little bit, buying two throw pillows, one in sparkly orange and the other tie-dye, and throwing them messily on her bed. She had picture of her mother, herself, and Luke standing on the nightstand and dresser in colorful frames, all of them smiling wholeheartedly at the camera.
A lamp illuminated the room, the shade made of hanging circles that dangled and wiggled, casting the room in playful, dancing shadows. The dresser and closet were stocked full with her extensive wardrobe, mostly clothes splattered with paint or band tees that Simon had given here. Simon…sigh. "No," Izzy's voice broke her out of her musings. Clary flinched, once again startled by the fierce black-haired girl standing defiantly in front of here. "I am not staying here," she said, gesturing around at the whole Institute, her hands thrashing wildly as a smile tugged at her lips. Clary got up and pinned the girl's spasming arms to her sides, eyeing her curiously. The girl flashed a grin and held up four slips of paper, tickets, to an exclusive club named Pandemonium. "I am going dancing!" She was shouting, swaying her hips back and forth to an unheard rhythm. "And you," she said, stopping momentarily to point a freshly French-manicured fingernail in her direction, "are coming with me."
Clary instantly went into defense mode, something that happened every single time she was asked to try something out of her box. "No, Izzy, I don't think I can go. I've got all this unpacking to do and—" Izzy clamped a sweet-smelling hand over the red-head's mouth. "Don't go all, 'I've got this to do and that to do,' on me. Clarissa Fairchild, I believe I know you better than anybody else, and if you think less, that is an insult." Clary stuck her tongue out, watching Izzy recoil her hand when she felt the wetness connect to her palm. She swiped it against her skin-tight jeans, but continued her speech.
"When's the last time you had fun? Let loose?"
Clary's mouth opened for some snarky reply, but the question actually drew her up short. When had she done something fun? She twisted her finger around a red curl that had escaped her bun. When she resurfaced from the deep thoughts in her mind, she didn't have an answer, and Izzy's triumphant grin told her that Izzy had already known that. Clary rolled her eyes and lightly shoved the girl away, watching as she balanced herself gracefully on her six-inch, black stilettos. "Be ready by eight," she said, turning on her heel and leaving the room as if she were strutting away from the paparazzi, trying to give them the best shot possible. Clary sighed and fell backwards onto her bed. The clock told her it was six o'clock, but she really didn't want to get ready. She rolled over onto her side, and the last comprehensible thought she had was wondering who the other two tickets were for.
She woke up to someone slapping her cheeks, complaining about how she wasn't ready, how she hadn't even changed out of her sweatpants and tank-top yet. "Izzy," Clary groaned, swatting away the hands. "Go away." She pulled a pillow over her head and kicked at the air around her, hoping to connect with something that belonged to her awakener.
"Not until you let me make you over!" she complained. Clary heard a click as something connected with the hardwood. She rolled over, propping herself up on her elbows and staring at Izzy in disbelief.
"Did you literally just stamp your foot?" Isabelle rolled her eyes and grabbed Clary by the arms, towing her off the bed and into the adjoining bathroom. She shoved Clary down on the side of the white Jacuzzi tub that had offered Clary a piece of serenity when she'd come here. Now, it sort of felt like a whipping post. Izzy stood up in the tub, wrenching on Clary's hair, trying to tug a brush through the orange, cork-screw curls, which expectedly were protesting.
"Ugh!" she finally gave up, dropping the brush into the tub with a loud clatter. Clary twisted her head to look and saw that Izzy was crouched down, her hands in her hair in frustration. A few seconds later, her head popped up, her eyes aglow with a new idea. Clary suppressed the groan that was building inside of her. She felt Izzy twisting and tangling her hair, yanking and tugging at the strands, making Clary feel like she was a poor tabby cat that kept having its tail pulled by an innocent child. Finally, after twenty minutes of torture, Izzy's hands retreated from Clary's hair and to her hips. She flashed Clary a smile and motioned for her to look in the mirror.
Izzy had woven her curly hair into a messy, yet sexy, side-braid that fell across her shoulder in a lazy, girly way. Her curls sprung out the sides, just adding to the beauty of the hairstyle. Before she could thank Izzy, she'd been pushed onto the closed lid of the toilet, her eyes closed as Izzy swept makeup across her cheeks, eyelids, and lips. She followed the orders of looking up and down as Izzy applied black eyeliner, smudging it with her fingertip. With two coats of lengthening, black mascara, Izzy claimed that she was done. Clary tried to stand, but Izzy's hands on her shoulders kept here frozen to the toilet. "Wait," she said, looking out the door as if she just remembered something. "Stay here."
Clary looked down and mumbled, "I'm not staying here…" she quoted, but when she looked up, the black-haired girl had already disappeared. She clamped her hands together, seeing Izzy had painted her nails a fiery red while she'd been sitting on the cushy cover of the toilet seat. She delicately ran her fingernail across her lower lip, testing that it was dry. It was. She laced her fingers behind her head and leaned backward, hearing Izzy's shoes before she saw here.
Isabelle breezed into the room, something sparkling in her grasp. It was a sequined, black dress. Dripping from her fingertips was a pair of golden, strappy stilettos. Clary's mouth opened in awe, but before she could say anything, Izzy beat her to the punch. "I know," she said, setting the things on the counter of the sink and retreating from the room, calling a quick, "Get dressed," over her shoulder. Clary stood, staring at the exquisite clothes. She didn't think she'd ever worn anything so beautiful in her life. She fingered the soft, silken inside of the dress, peeling off her paint-splattered lounging clothes and stepping into the dress, sliding the zipper smoothly up the side. She then buckled herself into the high heels. She sucked in a deep breath, unsure of what she would think of herself when she looked in the mirror. She sat on the side of the tub, dropping her face into her hands, trying to hide behind her perfectly manicured nails. Izzy worked fast. Clary's body convulsed with the sad memories that flooded back to her. Memories that she'd thought she'd left in high school, memories that she'd shoved down so far that she thought would never resurface. She balanced her elbows on her knees, trying not to let the high-pitched voice in her mind cause her fear, terrorize her into not going out like it had so many times before.
Behind her eyelids, Clary saw Aline, with her thick dark hair, cut shoulder length with square bands running across her forehead, accentuating the brown irises set into almond-shaped eyes. Her bright red lips were pulled up into a cruel smile as she took a step toward Clary, dressed in a floor length gown. It was tight-fitting and pale pink, further deepening the caramel skin of her thin limbs. Clary watched her approach, aware of the stares the boys were giving the girl dressed in the pink dress with the neckline that plunged almost to her belly button. A sparkling crown sat atop Aline's head, catching the light from the disco ball and dispersing it playfully around the room.
Everything about her drew attention, but nothing more than what she did next.
Aline's thin fingers reached out and shoved Clary into the punch bowl, sneering at the look of shock that crossed the redhead's face. "You think a fancy dress can make you pretty?" she snarled, her face millimeters from Clary's. "You think anything can make you pretty?" Clary pulled herself from the punch bowl, only to have Aline send her back in for another round. "You listen," she said, pressing her hand against Clary's shoulder to make sure she couldn't get up, "and you listen good." Her eyes were full of hatred, her voice disgusted. "You will always be nobody. You'll always be the ugly, sensitive art student that got dunked in the punch bowl on her Senior Prom, the girl that wandered the hallways of high school alone, the girl that nobody will remember." Her glossed lips twisted into a sick grin. "Don't go after Sebastian again." Her breath fanned into Clary's ear, snaking around her face and slithering into her nose. It reeked of alcohol. "He's mine." With that, Aline left, leaving Clary to mop up the mess made of the lacy white dress she was wearing. The lacy white dress that just so happened to be her mother's wedding gown. Clary bolted upward, not going to give into Aline again, like she had that night. She stood in front of the floor length mirror that covered her closet door, her pink lips parting in shock. Izzy had made her beautiful.
The dress barely brushed the middle of her thighs, definitely shorter than anything she'd ever worn before. It captured the light from her lamp and sparkled as she angled herself different ways to see every side. Her eyes were captivating, rimmed thickly in a smoky black, making the vibrant green pop. Her braid was perfect, giving her just the perfect amount of innocent and hot in one hairstyle. Izzy had dusted her eyelids in a slight gold color that mingled with the gold of the high heels. She took a tentative step forward, surprised to find that she was actually somewhat balanced on the heels. She watched in the mirror as a girl approached her. "Forgot something," Izzy said, sliding sparkly pins strategically into parts of her braid. Clary opened her mouth to say thank you, but no words would come out. She was speechless.
Izzy was dressed in a tight, floor-length blue gown that sparkled like sunshine on the surface of the ocean. Her hair was curled in flirty waves, pinned back so you were able to see the glittering gems dripping from her earlobes. She wore no makeup except for black mascara, which perfectly rimmed her dark eyes. She had her lips painted in a soft pink, and they were smiling genuinely at Clary. "You're gorgeous," Clary sputtered, smiling at her BFF.
"We're gorgeous," Izzy replied, snaking her arm around Clary's shoulders and holding a camera above them to take a picture. The flash momentarily blinded Clary, but that didn't matter, since Izzy was towing her out of the room. She dragged Clary all the way up the elevator and outside to a limo, which waited on the curb, as sleek and black as the night. New York had come alive with lights, each building lit up to its full dynamic, replacing the night time sky with stars of their own. The two girls slid in opposite of each other, and Clary was surprised to see Alec and Jace in the car already.
"God, Izzy, do you always have to be late?" Jace had his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the seat.
"I have nothing to apologize for." Izzy's nose was turned in the air as she answered to his arrogant tone.
"You should be sorry you wasted five minutes of such a gorgeous person's life." Izzy snorted, effectively ending the conversation. Clary noted the small frown playing on Jace's lips, but if she hadn't been watching, it would look just like any other look of indifference. She shrugged it off, excited to be going to an exclusive club. When the limo pulled up to the curb outside of the club, the group of four was ushered under a covered walkway toward golden, glass doors. A bouncer took their tickets and waved them inside, attending to the next group of people. Once inside the club, Clary's eyes widened in delight. A thick crowd of people gathered on a floor of colorful squares that changed colors in time with the music. Disco balls and strobe lights illuminated the area where people danced and gyrated to the music, laughing and talking. The constant hum of chatter was overpowered by the music, which had a bouncing beat. The walls were painted black and the regular floor tiled in black marble. Clary wondered why nobody slipped.
She watched Izzy melt into the crowd of people, and Jace wonder off toward the long, colorful bar at the other end of the club. Alec spotted one of his friends and excused himself to go say hi. Clary rubbed her arms, the room becoming unexpectedly chilly. "Don't be a coward," she whispered to herself as she carefully approached the throng of dancers.
As she wove her way to the center, her confidence grew, and soon, she was swinging her hips in time with the music, her hands above her head and her feelings as carefree as a bird. She felt as if she was soaring. Izzy came up to her and handed her a pink, frothy drink. "I don't know, Izzy," Clary said warily as the people spun around her, keeping in time with the song.
"Don't be a sissy," she taunted, taking a large sip from her own drink, the umbrella falling onto the floor. Izzy pressed it closer to Clary's mouth, forcing her to take a drink. An mm hummed off her lips, making Izzy smirk in an I-told-you-so way. Clary downed the whole drink, asking for another when a waitress bounced past her. She held her drink above her head and swayed with the music, not bothering when the liquid splashed against the dance floor. The room was spinning around her, blurring and blending together like a watercolor painting, but she didn't care, she liked it. She was on her sixth drink when she felt hands pull her hips against something. She looked down, seeing that the hands belonged to a boy by the way they were heavily inked with thick black lines. She looked up slightly, seeing that the tattoo ran up past his elbow, an intricate swirl of knots and bars, intertwining and intermingling in a messily artistic way. She smiled, rocking her hips back and forth and bringing her drink to her lips for another sip. She grinded against the boy, listening to the music and laughing as she tripped over random people that were dancing by, thanking the boy as he caught her. She'd been dancing against him for three songs when she realized she hadn't even turned around to see who it was or what he looked like.
The song shifted to the first slow-paced song of the night, and the boy clasped his hand around hers, spinning her around and pressing her against his chest. She yelped as she looked up, her green gaze connecting with one of gold. She pulled herself out of his grasp as Jace stared at her quizzically. "You're a womanizer," she said, waggling a finger at him. "You're a Casablanca!"
Jace chuckled. "I think you mean Casanova." Clary's mind was jumbled with alcohol.
"Whatever! Just don't touch me! I might get a sickly disease from that other girl your hands were all over!"
"You touched me first, little bad girl." Jace had a smirk plastered on his face, knowing he'd struck a nerve at the short reference.
Clary knew her words were slurred, but she didn't care. "I'm way too bad for you," she replied coldly. Turning on her golden high heel, she sashayed away from him throwing a hateful glare over her shoulder.
He smirked again, calling over to him, "You can't stay away forever, Testarossa." Clary huffed and crossed her arms across her chest. He was arrogant and obviously had no boundaries, since she'd seen him with Kaelie but still had his hands all over her. She looked backward at him and saw him lip-locked with a bleach-blond, her cleavage popping out from the low neckline of her shirt. Clary wanted to hit herself for not checking to see who she was grinding on.
Jace was bad news. He was a bad boy. He was the kind of boy to love you and leave you, to not call after he'd gotten what he'd wanted. Living with him for a week, she already knew he was a guy of broken promises by the way Izzy had talked about how many lovers she'd seen him with. Her mind filled with the hazy memory that seemed so long ago, yet only happened last week. Clary had woken Izzy up, wondering who Jace was. After Izzy told her that Jace was their roommate, she'd proceeded to warn her about him. "I've known him for a while now, and even when he's 'with' someone," she put air quotes around the word with, "he's not really with them." She told him that she'd seen many different tramps clamped to his side, sometimes more than one at once. Clary had physically gagged at that. "I know. So, no matter how…appealing he is, just stay away. He is one mess you don't even want to try to clean up."
Clary was yanked from her memories as she realized she was fallen, haven slipped on the marble floor that she'd wondered about earlier. A searing pain raced up her leg, radiating from her ankle. A small squeak escaped her lips as she waited for her elbows to connect with the ominous black flooring, yet, the connection never came. She felt strong arms wrap around her, helping her to her feet as warm, minty breath floated over her ear. "Long time no see, Little Red." She felt the man place a chaste kiss on her cheek and all coherent words left her mind, only a slight mumbling falling off her tongue. After a moment of blinking in shock, she composed herself enough to breath one word, "Sebastian…"
Hmm...*sigh* no Clace yet...but we will get there...
btw Testarossa is a kind of Ferrari paint :D