Umm, hi guys. :DD I'm here, just wondering what to say to ya'll…
Well, for one, I'd like to thank all of you for reading and reviewing. ;D Shit's about to get interesting, that's for sure.
I'd like to thank maxwaylandgrey, for the pictures, our new names, and editing. Oh, and being an overall awesome friend. (: I'd also like to thank, uh, SportyNo1, because she is awesomeee, and she's mailing me a letter WITH CHOCOLATE and A SURPRISE. I CANNOT WAIT. And a huge, massive thanks to BAmbi Magenta ANn, for always leaving the most wonderful reviews. (:
**I do not own TMI or the wonderful song in this chapter.**
The song, in case any of you ever wonder, is called "Skinny Love," and I listen to the version by Birdy, but there's also the original one by Bon Iver. (:
Enjoy…and review? :)
The story of how Clary met Sebastian was fairly simple. She had been a girl who wanted to be a musician, who wanted to be somebody. Her mother had told her of a studio, one she could record music in. Clary loved to paint and play the guitar. Two art-related things. She had a hard time finding someone who was compatible to her, someone who'd understand.
"This is gonna be fun!" Maia had said when they first drove to the studio. Her mother had paid for ten days.
"I know!" Clary beamed at her friend. She hadn't felt so happy in a long time, not since before her mother became a bitch.
They had pulled onto the parking lot that was, at the time, completely empty. The first thing Clary saw when she walked to the building was a boy. He was smoking, he reeked of alcohol, and, just like that, he said hello.
"Hey," Clary had said, desperate to get away from him as fast as possible.
"I'm Sebastian Verlac." He'd pointed at the sign of the studio and said, "My family owns the place."
"Oh." Clary smiled at that. "Hi. Um, do you know where the room 2B is?"
"I'll take you," Sebastian said quickly, dropping his cigarette on the floor and stomping on it with his foot. Clary and Maia followed him inside, into the studio. It was pretty big, with red walls full of bestselling records. Clary eyed them with awe as they passed by, walking through long corridors that seemed endless.
"Here." Sebastian held the door open for both girls. Maia seemed appalled by the boy's manners, while Clary was feeling the same, only more at ease. She hadn't felt like a total loony with boys—she had friends who were boys, like Simon, and she didn't feel all awkward around him.
"Well," he'd said, "I'd better get going."
"Wait," Clary blurted out. "I don't know how to work these." She pointed at the set of technical machinery in front of the actual recording room. Sebastian raised an eyebrow.
"Need help?"
Without hesitation, without a single doubt, Clary said, "Yes."
He gave her a mischievous smile, one that managed to look secretive and sexy and smart and everything she wanted it to be.
And, just like that, she fell for him.
###
"Clarissa." Sebastian stood in front of her. "Nice to see you're back in Los Angeles. Miss me?"
"Fuck off, Verlac." She tried to push past him, but he wouldn't let her enter the building. What the hell was he, the place's freaking body guard?
"Now, now," he said. "Be nice. Aren't you gonna give me a hug?"
Clary snorted. "In your dreams, maybe."
"Oh, in my dreams, there is much more action."
She wanted to punch him until his nose broke and blood oozed all over the place, staining his shirt, making him drop to his knees. Unfortunately, being a small, weak girl, she couldn't do that without most of the damage being caused to her instead of him.
"Get out," she ordered him.
"This is my place, darling."
"Get out of my way," she said, not bothering to meet his eyes and call him stupid. It wouldn't work. Nothing would.
"As you wish, milady." He bowed, very dramatically, and stepped out of the way. Without a word, rolling her eyes, she stormed past him.
The place looked almost identical as it did before, its red walls with records and pictures still amazing the hell out of Clary. She eyed them up and down, skimming through the names and dates and people in pictures.
"Clary."
Maia snapped her out of her daze by calling her name.
"Coming," said Clary. She walked faster, averting her eyes from the never-ending wall of awesome records. They stopped abruptly in front of a room.
2B.
She was going to die.
"Go in," Sebastian said. Once, three years ago, they had done things in that room that would forever stay there. Once, he had held her while she sang at the top of her lungs, exploding his ears when he heard it later at night. But now? Now, she wanted another room in another studio.
But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
It was just as she remembered. White walls with more records. Instruments lying around inside the actual recording booth. A bunch of amps and technical stuff outside. And a huge glass window separating the two sides of the room, one she was thankful for.
"I know how to handle this," Maia said to Sebastian, trying to take over the technical stuff.
"Oh, no, I'd rather." He winked. "Would you mind leaving us alone?"
"Actually," Clary said, "I mind."
"As do I," Maia said, clearly remembering everything that had happened between Clary and Sebastian.
"Too bad," he growled. "I own the place."
"You don't own us," Clary said, lifting up her chin defiantly. "And we paid."
"That doesn't matter," he said.
"I have the receipt. I can sue," she threatened.
Sebastian looked at her, his eyes cold and desperate and something else she couldn't quite place a finger on. He yanked at his hair, looking around the room. Finally, he relaxed. He looked calm, so unlike him Clary had to blink fast for a few seconds. It was him. There was no changing that.
"Fine," he said with a sigh. "But, even if it's by phone, I need to talk to you."
"I don't wanna hear it," she said. "So I won't pick up."
"I'll make you."
"Oh, but you can't."
"Goodbye, Clarissa."
She said nothing as he closed the room's door. Everything was quiet.
"Let's start," Clary said quietly.
"Covers first? To warm up?" asked Maia, already sitting in the rolling chair in front of the machinery.
"Yeah," Clary replied, sitting in front of the microphone. "Voice first?"
"Sure," Maia said. "We'll do the rest later."
"Wait," Clary said. "Can we do this, like, a live-version show kind of thing? Where I can record with both the guitar and my voice?"
Maia chuckled. "Sure, Clary."
Clary beamed, stood up, and walked over to get an acoustic guitar from the various instruments that stood in the room. She walked back to her chair, adjusted the guitar and tried it out. She smiled, closed her eyes, and sighed. She missed playing the guitar.
"Okay." Clary opened her eyes. "Let's start."
"Got it," Maia said, adjusted a few things, and gave Clary a thumbs up.
It started out as a feeling,
Which then grew into a hope,
Which then turned into a quiet thought,
Which then turned into a quiet word.
And then that word grew louder and louder,
'Till it was a battle cry,
I'll come back,
When you call me.
No need to say goodbye.
Just because everything's changing,
Doesn't mean it's never,
Been this way before.
All you can do is try to know who your friends are,
As you head off to the war.
Pick a star on the dark horizon,
And follow the light.
You'll come back,
When it's over,
No need to say goodbye.
You'll come back,
When it's over,
No need to say goodbye.
She sang the rest of the songs, her fingers easily playing every note correctly, her voice reaching the notes it needed to. When she finished the song, she opened her eyes. Maia smiled and gave her a wink, and then asked if Clary would do another cover.
"Just one more," Clary said.
"Okay." Maia shrugged. "Whenever you're ready."
"Yeah," Clary said, reaching into her tote bag to get a sheet of paper with the words "SKINNY LOVE" written on top of it. She loved the song.
She placed it on her lap in a way that she could still play. She practiced it for a few minutes. When she got it right, she gave Maia two thumbs up, their sign for "ready," and started to play.
Come on skinny love just last the year
Pour a little salt we were never here
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer
The song made Clary go back to when she first met Maia. They were roommates, assigned together to get themselves through the school year—though Clary was kicked out before she could finish, and so it didn't count.
Clary had gone inside the room, a bit hesitantly at first. It was one of her first boarding schools. She still knew nothing about how it worked in California. After all, this was a land she didn't want, but one that was far away from New York, which was what she ultimately wanted. The room was eerily silent for a while, and Clary was about to call out for her roommate—the paper said her name was Maia—just when a choked sob escaped from someone's mouth.
It came from the bathroom.
When Clary opened the unlocked door, she found herself staring at a red sink.
Wait, she thought, and that was when she let her eyes slide to the floor. There was a girl sitting in fetal position, clutching her arm.
Clary paid more attention to the blood for a second. Blood. Red. Too much red. And the girl, sitting on the floor like she was going to die, and maybe she was.
No.
Clary couldn't let that happen. She picked up the girl and told her it was going to be okay. She had learned about this the year before in Health class. She took a towel from the bathroom and wrapped it around the girl's bleeding wound.
"Who are you?" the girl asked, her curious brown eyes peering at Clary.
"Clary," she replied. "Your new roommate."
"I am so sorry," Maia said.
And then she passed out.
I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Right in the moment this order's tall
Maia had a boyfriend. His name was Jordan, he told Clary. Clary had smiled at Jordan, a bit panicky, and said Maia was at the hospital—nurse, whatever. She was going to be transferred into an actual hospital later. He panicked and asked her to take him. They snuck out of the school. He paid for the cab.
And when they got to the hospital, there she was.
"Promise me," Jordan told her. "Never again."
"Jordan," Maia said weakly. "I love you."
"I love you too," he replied, his voice unflinchingly honest.
"Really?"
"Forever," he replied. "But you need to get better."
"I promise."
Clary felt that the moment was too private for her to watch. She snuck out of the room quietly and waited until he exited. She noticed the tears in his eyes, but she said nothing.
"She'll be okay," he said, mostly to himself. "She has to be."
She turned out to be okay, but Clary would never forget the blood in the sink, the girl on the floor, and the way this song made her thing about it.
I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind
In the morning I'll be with you
But it will be a different "kind"
I'll be holding all the tickets
And you'll be owning all the fines
Come on skinny love what happened here
Suckle on the hope in lite brassiere
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Sullen load is full; so slow on the split
I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind
Now all your love is wasted?
Then who the hell was I?
Now I'm breaking at the britches
And at the end of all your lines
Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who will fall far behind?
Maia had tears in her eyes by the time Clary was done. Clary could tell she was remembering, too.
"I loved it," the girl on the other side of the room whispered.
###
By the time Clary came back from wherever she had gone to, Jace was falling asleep on her bed. He thought it'd be nice, having her walk in and seeing him on her bed. She'd slap him, sure, but he liked it when she got mad.
She was apologizing to Max one room away, saying that what she had gone out to do shouldn't have taken that long. Max, however, didn't mind. He was too busy staring at her in awe to care—or so Jace thought. And he knew he was right, because he was always right.
"Let me just get these in my room," said Clary.
"I'll follow you," Isabelle said, her voice holding a hint of amusement.
Just then, Jace's phone rang—loudly. "Shit," he muttered, and then he hit the green button. "What?"
"Jace." It was Alec. "Youhavetocometothehousenow." Every word he said came out rushed.
"Repeat," Jace said.
"Now. To the house. A woman is claiming to be your grandmother. She wants to take you away."
He lifted his head and saw Clary standing in the doorway with Isabelle by her side.
"I'm on my way."
"Jace," said Isabelle, blocking him from exiting the room.
He looked at her pleadingly. "Izzy, I have to go."
"What's wrong?"
"I'll explain later. Or call Alec. But stay here with Max, okay? Trust me," Jace said.
She handed over the keys. "Fine."
"I'll call you later," Jace said. "Keep Max away."
"Can you at least give me a hint?"
"Apparently, I have family now."
###
Jace knocked on the door two times before it swung open, revealing three people: a very pissed off Maryse, an equally pissed Alec, and a murderous-looking old lady who he could tell was a total bitch. She looked uptight.
"Jace." She eyed him up and down. "You look just like your father."
"You mean the asshole who abandoned me when I was a little kid?"
"He was not an asshole. Your father wanted the best for you," said the woman.
"Imogen," Maryse said, looking like she wanted to break the woman in half but could not do such a thing. "Just leave."
"I'll end you," she threatened, "if you don't give me my grandson."
"End me, then." Maryse stepped forward.
"We're not related," Jace said, and then slammed the door on the bitch's face. He heard a huff from the other side, a probable threat, and then the sound of her heels as she walked away, back to her car and away from his home.
"Heartless bitch," Maryse spat, and Jace fought the urge to cringe. He'd never heard her talk like that before—ever. She wasn't the type of person to curse, but there she was, cursing like she never had before, and she probably wasn't ashamed of it. She moved away from Jace.
"I couldn't let them take you," Maryse said loudly, and he followed her voice. She was taking a glass out of the dishwasher. Then, she went to the alcohol cabinet and took out a whiskey bottle. Quickly, she served some onto the cup and gulped it down. She shivered and closed her eyes.
"Maryse," Jace said. "I won't let them take me away."
She was by her third shot now. "What am I going to do? I can't prevent this. What if she's right? We're your legal guardians, but what if . . . I don't know, she figures something out? What happens then?" She was about to swallow the fourth shot but Jace stopped her, taking it away from her gently. He closed the bottle and placed it back in the cabinet. He placed the glass in the dishwasher. When Jace turned back to look at Maryse, she looked about ready to cry. Something softened up inside him.
He hugged her awkwardly, a one-shouldered hug that lasted about five seconds. "It'll be fine."
"Will it?" she asked, and she looked so vulnerable that she rendered Jace speechless for a second.
"Yes." He sounded more like his usual, confident self. "But promise me one thing?"
"What?" Maryse asked. She'd do anything to keep him home, and he knew that, but she wasn't going to like what he'd be proposing.
"Stop drinking," Jace said. Before she started to protest, he cut her off by saying, "For me."
"Fine," she said after thinking about it for a long time. "But only because the court will look for anything—any flaw, any bad thing—to keep us apart."
"I'm right here, Maryse," Jace said. "And this is where I'll always be. I promise."
