I admit, this update is well overdue, but hey, it's here *exhale* Please exuse my mistakes...I do not beta, and I typed really fast, so...sorry haha, anyway..Enjoy :)
The air in the back of the taxicab was hot and damp, causing Clary's dress to cling to her slick skin, hanging uncomfortably around her body and peeling away from her with
every motion. Her red curls brushed against her back and fell around her face as she dug her nails into the boy's forearms when he removed his lips from hers. She wanted,
no needed, the pressure of his lips against hers, the heat of his body encompassing her own. The absence of these sensations tore a hole in her chest. "Hang on," the boy
told her, kicking the door open with the heel of his shoe. His name was Jace, or so he told her as he hummed delectably against her lips. She bit her lower one as Jace
reached in and offered her his hand.
She obliged, allowing Jace's big, firm hand wrap completely around her small, artistic one. She felt light as a feather, as if she were flying high above the clouds. The
world was a set of twins, two trees towering over her, two pathways leading to two Institutes, two entry doors to choose from. The only thing that kept her balanced as
she wound her way through the thick, green shrubbery was Jace's voice, cooing her name over and over, asking her to follow him, begging her not to fall and hurt
herself.
She wanted to hear him beg. Hear him moan her name between panting breaths and damp sheets. Her heart sped up in her chest as they entered the Institute, the
chapel illuminated with the orange flames dancing on the ends of candlewicks, throwing light across the room, flashing golden against Jace's warm flesh. She allowed him
to drag her into the elevator and close the door, pushing a button that Clary didn't pay attention to. She welcomed the feeling of his fingertips digging into the flesh above
her hips, hummed his name as he bent down to lightly press his lips to hers.
It wasn't good enough. It wasn't hot and passionate, like Clary felt she needed. It was low, controlled, and seemingly full of feeling. She stretched up on her tippy toes to
deepen their kiss, feeling his mouth open in response. She crushed her body to his with blinding force, eliciting a moan from deep within his chest. The throaty sound
hung in the air between them as the stood for a moment, as close as they could possibly get, but needing to be closer. The elevator glided lower into the ground around
them, but Clary just stood there, staring into Jace's four golden eyes.
A squeak dropped from between her lips as he lifted her up, making her mouth level with his. Their breath mingled, hot and heavy, as she wrapped her legs around his
waist, her dress sliding upward before finally hitching up against her lips. She squeezed her thighs and dropped her head backward happily. Jace took the opportunity to
plant kisses on the creamy skin that covered her throat, digging his fingertips into the flesh of her thighs.
The pressure was not enough to satisfy a Clary this drunk, so she wriggled even closer to him, grinning in triumph as he finally backed her against the wall of the
elevator. He braced his inked arms on either side of her, the swirling, swooping lines distracting her momentarily. They curled like tendrils around his wrists, thin and dark
as the swooped upward, twisting around his elbow in thicker, more severe lines that morphed into knots and tangles. It was hypnotizing, with seemingly no beginning, no
ending to the intricate detailing of the tattoo. Clary tentatively ran her traced her finger up and down the maze. She followed the lines as best as she could in her drunken
stupor.
"It's beautiful," she heard herself murmuring, the words slicing through the silence of the moment. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, the lines seeming to follow
where her fingers were placed, like her handprint was woven into the tattoo. She looked up, her eyes meeting the blazing amber of Jace's. She released a shaky breath as
he brought his arm up to her face, brushing a rogue curl behind her ear.
That put her over, and she knitted her fingers into his silky curls, dragging his open mouth onto hers with heavy force, drinking in the taste of his tongue as he held her
carefully against the wall, kneading the exposed skin just above her hips. She fisted her palms into his shirt, suddenly thinking of the fabric as suffocating, a boundary
between the two of them that needed to be removed immediately.
Jace allowed her to tug his shirt up, lifting his arms and splitting the kiss so she could take it off and drop it to the floor, where it pooled in soft waves around his feet.
Clary was aware that during that time, it was just the pressure of his body against hers holding her in position. She ogled his bare chest, seeing the tattoo covering the
expanse of it. It was another serious of snaking lines that tied and tangled together at random points. To Clary, it seemed as if the tattoo was holding him together, as if
the intricate lines were the stitches of the seams that held all his pieces together. She suddenly wondered if he'd been broken when he'd gotten it. And if it hurt.
His lips against hers again distracted her, and she allowed her hands to further explore what her eyes could not. She traced the hard planes of his chest, rubbing her
fingers gently up and down the defined lines of his abdominals, running her palms up his chest and coming to a rest against his shoulders, where she curled them into his
back as he sucked on her lower lip, tauntingly, teasingly.
Her fingers wound around his neck, yanking his face hard against hers in a rush of teeth clanking and nose bumping. Neither teenager seemed to mind until the door
banged open, and Izzy burst in, towing who Clary thought was a nerdy boy behind her. She couldn't tell though, since there were two hazy images staring back at her,
wide-eyed. His brown hair was disheveled, but not in a sexy way like the boy positioned before her. It was more of an I don't care way. Clary just thought it looked
stupid.
She shivered as the heat from Jace's body disappeared, and she slid down the wall to the floor, her head lolling to the side. Her eyelids were heavy as she heard Izzy's
voice erupting from somewhere across the room. Clary couldn't get her eyes to find her dark-haired friend, so she just stared at the black splotches dotting her vision.
She strained her roaring ears to her what her friend was saying. "She's drunk, and of course, you take advantage of that!" Who's drunk? She thought, a smile forming on
her pink lips before the light around her extinguished completely, and her head fell against the floor.
x.o.x.o
Clary's alarm clock exploded in her ear, the high trills causing the dull ache in her skull to flare. She groaned, tugging the pillow back over her head and absently slapping
her dresser in search of the snooze button. It was hopeless, she decided, as her
hand connected with nothing but pencils and pens. She kicked her blankets off, squealing quietly as the cold air connected with her warm legs. Today was not going to be
fun. Her throat was dry and scratchy, her voice slightly hoarse. Not that she wanted to talk anyways. Even the slightest noise felt like a jackhammer against her forehead.
She stood up, feeling slightly off balance as the room spun around her. She blinked, forcing her eyes to focus on the mirror on her closet. She looked horrible. Her hair
stuck up in random places, the curls frizzy and lopsided from the braid. Her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed in puffy, purple bags. Clary screamed, clamping her hands over
her mouth when she realized that everyone else was probably sleeping.
Her mind tried ferociously to remember last night's events. She knew something big had happened, but she couldn't remember what or who. It was like a thick curtain
had been dropped across everything following her dancing on the floor, accepting a pink drink from Isabelle as her small hips swayed back and forth to the beat of the
music. She remembered the colorful, pulsing lights piercing her eyes, and the thrumming of the crowd vibrating against her ears. Other than that, she was drawing a
blank.
Her blinds were slightly ajar, allowing the seven-in-the-morning sunshine to seep into her room, dotting the floor in warm, golden slashes. It was probably a nice day out,
but Clary wasn't planning on enjoying it. The sun burned her eyes, and she reached over to yank the shades shut, closing out the gold and replacing it with shadowed
gray. She snagged the hair band from around her wrist and secured her fiery curls in a sloppy bun, pleased with how effortlessly fashionable it actually looked. A few curls
spilled out around her face, framing her pale skin and wide, green eyes, which to her dismay, no matter how many times she blinked, were bloodshot. She ignored this
for now, busying herself by picking out her outfit.
Five minutes later, she had decided on a lacy tan top that flowed perfectly over her small frame. Her legs were covered by dark-washed skinny jeans, and she'd strapped
a pair of red heels onto her feet. Checking herself in the mirror, she decided it was good, and grabbed her art smock, dropping it into her oversized bag that hung from
the handle of her door. As she reached for the sparkling strap of the blue bag, the door was flung open, nearly clipping her in the nose as she yelped and jumped back.
"Morning, sunshine," Izzy chirped from the opening. Her hair was sleek and long, highlighted with electric blue stripes, which she must have added that morning. She had
on a short, silver dress and blue heels that matched her hair. She looked like something straight out of Seventeen, with deep, smoky eyes and painted lips. She had a
small bottle in her hand, smiling at Clary. "Figured you'd need these." She extended the bottle toward Clary, who grabbed it curiously. It was a bottle of eye drops. Clary
squeezed them in, and blinked, happy by the relieving effect they had. Izzy smiled, turning on her heel to go. "You look cute, by the way." Clary laughed quietly as her
supermodel-like friend strutted down the hall.
Clary soon followed, after checking to make sure her eyes were normal and applying some lip balm. She really had no use for makeup on a daily basis, so she skipped it
like normal, not wanting to look like she was trying too hard on her first day of college. She was an adult now, and she shouldn't care about what others thought, right?
She threw her canvas bag over her shoulder after dropping her black Ray Bans, keys, and wallet into it. It was already overflowing with her smock, volleyball shoes and
spandex when she jammed a cutoff tee and sports bra onto the top. That should do, she thought to herself as she stepped out from her room.
The hall was vacant as she traversed toward the kitchen, and every click of her heels was like a knife in her ear, adding to the steady beat of pain in her head. Hangovers
sucked, and she suddenly remembered why drinking had never appealed to her. It led to forgotten nights and morning pain.
It bugged her that she couldn't remember the important aspects of last night. She knew something had gone down, something life-changing, important, and possibly
terrible. She threw her hands up in exasperation when nothing but blackness filled her mind. She reached the kitchen, her cheeks flushed with anger and resentment.
"Clary!" a familiar voice greeted cheerfully. Clary's hand flew to her temple, and her mother's face morphed from happiness to worry. "What's wrong, sweetie?" Jocelyn
asked, pressing a cool palm to Clary's forehead. It felt nice.
Jocelyn was everything that Clary felt she wasn't. She was beautiful. She was tall, but still maintained a slender frame, that was elegantly draped in a wrap shirt and
white skinny jeans, accentuated by golden high heels. Presentation was something of a big thing in their family, since Luke was a big-wig lawyer, his bookstore only his
guilty pleasure. Her mother was a prized artist, who often had to dress up for art shows and sales that it had basically become habit. Clary smiled at her mother. "Just a
headache, mom," she replied.
Jocelyn promptly rummaged through her purse, removing a bottle of painkillers and putting one in Clary's hand. She took it swiftly, excited for the pain to subside. "Clare-
Bear!" she heard a voice come from behind the island. She lifted her head and stretched up on her toes to see over Jocelyn's shoulder. A burly Luke smiled at her from in
front of a waffle iron, which began beeping loudly.
"Dad!" she cried, jumping into his arms as if she hadn't seen him forever. He was wearing tan cargo shorts, flip flops, and a light blue polo, probably due to her mother's
prompting. "You came here to make me your famous waffles?"
Luke smiled at her, flashing his perfect pearly whites before removing the waffle from the beeping iron and flipping it expertly onto a plate. "Can't mess with tradition,
now can we?" Clary shook her head, smiling. Her father had made her waffles for the first day of school for as long as she could remember. She always had little M&Ms in
hers, dotting them with colorful circles and melting perfectly into the batter. She dumped a boatload of Mrs. Butterworth's onto the topped and plopped down onto a
barstool, shoving a big bite into her mouth.
Isabelle and Alec flowed into the room, inquiring what the delicious scent emanating from the room was. Luke offered them waffles which they accepted eagerly, scarfing
them down nearly as quickly as Clary was. "Goo Mohin," Clary greeted around her breakfast, laughing at how funny the words coming out were.
"Hey, Clary," Izzy said with a grin on her face, "say, 'Apple.'" Clary swallowed, rolling her eyes at her friend.
"What are we? Two?" Izzy's grin stretched wider, as she said it herself around her own bite of waffle, earning a round of laughs from everyone in the kitchen.
"Hey, Iz," Jocelyn asked, her face resting in her palm. "Where's Maryse and Robert." Isabelle sighed, blowing a bit of black hair from her face and rolling her eyes toward
the ceiling.
"Your guess is about as good as mine," she said, a slight frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. The room settled into silence, with the occasional clank of a fork or
murmur of approval of the food, which were followed by polite Thank you's from Luke.
"Alright, baby girl," Jocelyn said, wrapping Clary into a big hug. "Have an amazing first day. Luke and I have a piece of artwork to deliver." She released Clary to look,
who squeezed her, lifting her off the ground.
"I love you, baby," he said into her hair, dropping her to her feet and trailing Jocelyn out the door. Clary was nearly touched to tears that they'd come by to make her a
pre-college breakfast. She finished her waffle and dropped her plate into the sink.
"Clary, be thankful that you have awesome parents like that," Alec said from the kitchen table, polishing off his second waffle. Clary smiled and nodded. She'd heard
about how Alec's parents had basically disowned him after finding out about his sexual orientation. "Where's Jace?" he said, looking all around him as if the blond boy
were hiding behind the fichus in the corner.
"He doesn't have classes today, remember?" Alec looked off into the distance for a moment, and then nodded, grabbing his messenger bag from the back of his chair. He
had on dark jeans and a holey black t-shirt, typical Alec. "Let's roll." Clary and Izzy followed, bubbly talking about the day ahead of them, their first day of college.
x.o.x.o
Clary only had one class today, and it was a painting class, which possibly could m
ake Clary believe that Mondays were the best days of the week. She had the wooden tip of the paintbrush dangling from between her teeth as she squeezed paint onto
her palette. Her hair was knotted out of her face, and a button up shirt covered in paint protected her clothing. The canvas was propped on an easel in front of her, and
now the only thing she had to wait for was inspiration to strike. She took a sip of her water bottle, her eyes flickering to focus on the oak tree outside.
The leaves rustled gently in the breeze as a squirrel circled its branches, searching for a home. The tall, thick trunk wasn't doing anything to spark her creative juices, so
her eyes travelled downward, coming to rest on the gnarled roots below. They wove over and under each other, creating a thick mess of brown against the lush, green
grass. Clary's mouth fell open as her eyes flew shut, an image popping up against the backs of her eyelids as if it had been branded there. She dipped her brush into the
black paint and began sweeping the bristles across her paper, getting lost in her work, watching the image unfold before her.
She could vaguely hear the tick of the clock and the hushed whispers of the students, but the world seemed to melt away. She flawlessly reconstructed the image from
her brain onto the stark white paper before her. The painting unfolded, showing an intricate lacework of lines, slashing the paper with darkness, tangling with the white
and melting into the edges. She stepped back to study her work, feeling as if something were missing. She closed her eyes to try to imagine what it was. They flew open,
her green irises staring wildly at the page.
She washed her brush and dabbed it into the golden tan color, filling in the white areas with the skin-like tone, wondering where she'd seen these lines before, thinking
maybe she'd just imagine it. Looking at it from a distance again, she still didn't think it was quite right. She washed her brush again, squinting at her painting from
different angles and hoping the answer would just leap into her mind.
The solution finally came eight minutes before class was over. She perched precariously on the edge of the stool she'd dragged in front of her as she traced the planes of
a chest over the layers, watching in awe as it took on real shape and form, evoking a feeling inside of her that she couldn't quite place. It was like butterflies hammering
against the sides of her stomach. Her heart picked up pace, racing against her ribs so quickly that she believed her ribs were at least bruised. Her breath quickened pace,
coming out in short, uneven spurts, heavy and hot. Her lips tingled and were numb, like the feeling she got after an amazing kiss. Her palms broke into a light sweat, and
her brain went blank, like every coherent thought had suddenly decided to pack up and leave for vacation.
As class ended and students shuffled around her, paint supplies cleaned and placed in their respective locations, Clary stared at the canvas, barely blinking as she gnawed
enthusiastically on the end of a pencil she'd snatched from her bag. She'd resolved one thing in the time she'd sat there, rocking back and forth on the metal legs of the
stool. She knew that whatever she did, whatever happened, she had to find the owner of that tattoo, the man with the chest in her painting.
Hmmm...so...fluff? Like? haha next chapter=volleyball practice with one hot visitor ;)
Review? Inspire me! I seriously updated this today because I got a review from one very awesome person saying that they check this often to see if I update :) Please excuse my mistakes...it was typed very ferociously quickly, so quickly, in fact, that my keyboard couldn't keep up. Thanks for reading...(and reviewing) :D