First of all, I'd like to apologise.
I know it's been almost four months since I updated. I know, and I'm sososososo sorry. Truth is, I've had this chapter written for a very long time. But I just kept writing and only got around to updating now. Also, maxwaylandgrey had to beta, and we have busy lives. Sometimes, we're lazy and we don't do anything because we're too tired.
Anyways, again, I'm very, very sorry that I haven't updated in so long. I'll try to go back to updating every week or two, but I'm very busy with school so I can't promise anything. I hope you like this chapter! :) Thanks to maxwaylandgrey for beta'ing, and thanks to a very special person for keeping me inspired. :)
Please leave a review! Xxx
She couldn't speak.
Clary didn't know where she was. There was only darkness, with bits of moonlight spilling through the almost-closed windows. She realized that the small space open was the provider of the air she was breathing. She told herself to breathe, not to panic. Even though the room was unfamiliar, she couldn't have gotten there without her feet moving, so this was conscious. Or maybe it wasn't. It could be a nightmare.
But then she remembered.
She remembered Simon telling her to leave. She agreed to it, somewhat reluctant. And just as she was about to get to safety, someone got her from behind. She hadn't fallen to the floor. But she remembered shadows taking Isabelle and Jace, too. She wondered if they were already in a room like hers, surrounded by darkness and given only bits of oxygen, just enough to keep them alive. Clary could only breathe through the nose. Her mouth was snapped shut, and she was unable to open it because of something that was tied to the back of her head, but she wasn't tied to anything—she could move. She was in a bed, sitting. She'd tried everything—the window, but it had bars outside, and she was too weak to try to open them, and she suspected that even if she did try, they wouldn't budge. The door was locked from the outside. There was nothing else. Only one window, one door, and herself.
Why was she there? If her father wanted revenge, kidnapping her wasn't exactly the way to get it. Was her mother even aware of what happened? Would she even come get her? Was Jace going to help? When was she getting out of there? Who else was there? Clary hoped her friends and family were safe, but she didn't know. Her father was vicious when he wanted to be, and no one was safe with him in California.
Then the door opened, and artificial light spilled in, making the moonlight seem like nothing. It was quickly shut, of course. All the person did was come up to Clary with a tray. The person, whose face Clary couldn't identify yet, set the tray down on the floor. Then the person looked at Clary.
It was her brother.
She wanted to talk to him—scream at him, cry, ask him why—but all that came out was a strangled noise from the back of her throat, muffled by the piece of cloth preventing her voice to come out fully. The tears were falling from her eyes and down her cheeks fast enough, and even though she tried to contain them, she was always unsuccessful. She pleaded him with her eyes, begged him to listen, but all he did was nod, as if he somehow knew what she was trying to say, and walk back outside.
Traitor.
How was she going to eat? She examined the food. It was a salad—Caesar salad, her favorite—with breadsticks. She recognized it: Olive Garden's. Why would her father bother to buy her what had always been her favorite meal if he was just going to keep her locked in? Clary wished she had more answers, but unfortunately, all she had was herself and the darkness, and a million questions swam through her mind.
The door opened once again, revealing a taller figure than the previous one. Even in the darkness, even though he'd changed, Clary recognized him immediately. She could only make out his slightly messy hair, the neatness of his clothes, the fanciness in the way he walked, and the stiffness in his posture. Yet she knew it was him. Who else would it be?
"Clarissa," her father said, surprising her, "do you know why you're here?"
I'd gladly answer that with a no if you took the damn cloth off my mouth!
She felt the tears coming again, but she pushed them back and just stared at her father, Valentine. He'd barely changed, just aged a few years. She barely remembered him, really. She knew this Valentine—the one that was always demanding, cruel, manipulative—but she didn't know her father, the guy who fell in love with her mother and helped her through birth.
"Oh," he said to the darkness. "You have your mouth bandaged." No shit. He walked over to her and didn't care when she flinched as he placed two hands on the back of her head and began working on her knot. She was terrified of her father, although she knew he only wanted her for bribery.
"I know what you want," Clary said, her voice croaky from being unused a few hours, maybe days. "You aren't gonna get it, you know. She hates me."
"Hates you?" Valentine looked at her incredulously. "You're the most precious thing she has. She loves you beyond words. Of course she's gonna come for you!"
"No." She shook her head. "She doesn't give a fuck if I die, Valentine!"
"I am your father and you will call me that."
"I'll call you nothing, you sick bastard!" she yelled, and knew it was a mistake even before his fist connected with her face. She raised a hand to touch her face, and her fingertips were covered in blood. She didn't show any emotion, just stared at Valentine.
"Call. Me. Your. Father."
"Valentine," she said, "can I eat in peace now?"
He threw his hands up. "When your darling boy is dead, then you'll learn how to respect your father." He knew that this would affect her, and Clary knew it, which is why she showed no emotion whatsoever, even though his words were killing her inside. He was threatening her with Jace! He had to leave. He had to run away. Valentine couldn't get to Jace—he couldn't! What would happen? Jace would die, and Clary was sure of it. When her father said something, he meant it.
"My 'darling boy,' as you call him, is nothing more than a summer item that I use merely for pleasure," Clary spat back, crossing her arms over her chest. "He means nothing to me. If you want to kill him, then do it. If you think it'll affect me for one fucking second, Valentine, then you're dead wrong."
"We'll see about that." He walked over to the door and, just when he was about to leave, he turned back to her. "Oh, and Clary?"
"What?" she snapped.
He grinned. "I'll tell him you said hello."
###
"Maybe you should get some sleep," Isabelle offered, but it was no use. All Jace had done since the night before was pace back and forth, trying to come with a plan. And when he did come up with a plan, it was the kind of plan that would never work out. He was overcome with nerves and constantly beating himself up over what happened. Simon had spent the night. He and Izzy took shifts, staying up with Jace while the other was sleeping, and vice-versa. It was Simon's turn to sleep. They were all exhausted, but Jace doubted the guy was getting much sleep. His best friend was missing, taken by her father to God knew where.
"Isabelle," he said through gritted teeth, "I can't sleep! She's out there, and I don't know what happened, and if they lay a finger on her, I will lose it." He pulled at his hair, something he did when he was stressed or restless. This time, he was both. Isabelle sighed and walked over to him.
"Jace, it isn't your fault. I know you may think it is, but it isn't. This goes way beyond you! We're gonna see Jocelyn as soon as Simon wakes up, and don't you fucking dare wake him up, because it's seven in the morning and I bet Jocelyn is sleeping as well." Isabelle scowled at Jace, her hands on her hips, her eyebrows raised as if daring him to go against her word. "Get some sleep, Jace. I'll wake you up if someone calls, and when Simon's up, we'll wake you up and go find your girl. But alone, we'll just get into more trouble."
Why was she being so reasonable? She wasn't the reasonable one, Alec was. However, Jace knew Alec agreed, for the boy had declared that his sister knew what to do and had collapsed on his bed. Clearly, he and Isabelle had talked it over when Jace was unaware of it.
"Izzy," he said, his voice sounding much more tired, like it didn't hold a fight. "I'm just . . . waiting isn't for me. I'm sick of waiting around for nothing when I could be doing something."
"I know," she said, "but tiring yourself isn't gonna help either of you, so go. I swear, as soon as I hear a word, I'll wake you up."
He looked at her warily. They'd lived together for a long time, and he knew she could be trusted, but what if she lied? What if she just wanted him to go to bed so that he'd get some rest and then he overslept and she didn't care and when he woke up Clary would be home?
Obviously, it was his paranoid, restless self talking.
"Okay, I'll go to bed. But wake me up, Isabelle. Promise me," Jace insisted.
She rolled her eyes. "I swear, Jace, now go to bed!" She pushed him up the stairs playfully and waited until she heard the slam of his door. Jace knew this because it was what Maryse used to do when they were young. He lay down on the bed, thinking of Clary, of the day and how it'd turned out to be. He didn't really care what happened to him, not at all. All he wanted to do was see Clary safe—that was all he wanted. To feel her touch, to kiss her lips, and to hear her voice . . . it meant the world to him.
That was his last thought before he gave in to sleep.
###
Isabelle waited for Simon to wake up. She knew Jace was already asleep, and she didn't know how she knew it. Jace was hard to figure out, but when it came to Clary, he was an open book. He loved her, and Isabelle knew it. Izzy loved her too, which was why she found herself crying in the middle of the night in her living room while waiting for her shift to end.
Technically, it should've ended when Jace went to bed, but she couldn't sleep. She kept thinking about Clary. Her best friend, or the closest thing she had to one. She was the girl Isabelle trusted with her life, the girl she could tell everything to, the girl she could tease, the girl who could tease her, the girl who made her smile when she cried . . . she was her best friend, and Isabelle couldn't lose her. Not when she worked so hard not to fuck it up, not to push her away.
Clary was the total opposite of her, in some ways. She'd had to live with so much, while Isabelle had always had it relatively easy. Not with love, though. Never with love. Love was a bitch that fucked both of them up, and Clary let it change her physically, but Isabelle . . . she didn't think she could fall in love again. She was taking things mildly slow with Simon, and she couldn't admit that she was in love yet, but she definitely felt something different than with the other guys she'd been with. She was genuinely interested in him as a person, not because of how he looked or how much money he had, and that said something about her feelings. When Isabelle didn't want to welcome love, Clary was ready to. Sometimes cuts heal, even though Clary's had gone a little deeper. Isabelle just found tonight. With a home life so fucked up, all Clary had been looking for was escape. And she'd gotten it—up until she found out the guy she was in love with cheated on her.
Isabelle, on the other hand, had been used. Boys liked her body, and she was stupid enough to think they liked her personality—her stubborn, sarcastic self. Apparently, that wasn't it at all. Big boobs and a big ass was what they were interested in, and she was always naïve enough to fall. Sooner rather than later, she began to realize it was the only contact she'd ever have with guys, and she decided it was better than no contact at all. She learned not to care about emotional intentions, so when Simon came into her life and she found out how they felt about each other, she was more than surprised. She was happy and sad and angry and surprised and insecure. She was confused. But she was changing. Slowly, but surely, she started to change her mind about love. Simon was what made her change her mind about it. Isabelle stopped believing in love a long time ago, but then Simon taught her what it was like. She wouldn't say she was in love, of course, but she'd say she learned how to appreciate boys in an emotional level. She was getting there, but it would take time. The best things in life did, after all.
Isabelle kept crying. She cried for Simon, because she didn't deserve him and he could do so, so much better. But she cried for Jace and Clary. Clary, because she was gone and no one knew where she was and god, Isabelle was worried and it was tearing her apart how there was no way to know if one of her best friends was okay, and she was going to die if somebody didn't tell her anything. What if Clary was dead? What if they were—oh god, no, no, no, no. Isabelle begged her mind not to go there, because if it did, Isabelle would sob and somebody would hear and they'd worry even more.
She also cried because of Jace. Her brother. Her friend. Jace. Jace, who never believed in love, either. Jace, who didn't think much of every bimbo he fucked. Jace, who fell head over heels for Clary, who was so happy with her, who couldn't dream of life without her now that he discovered love. Jace, whose girl was taken from him twenty-four hours after they made love to each other. Why did these things happen? If life wanted to make a point, then why not use the people who didn't really matter? People would learn the point without being affected.
Maybe we're the unimportant people to someone else, and it isn't our lesson to learn.
Isabelle was still angry. She was angry at the world for taking Clary away from them, and for leaving them clueless as to where she was. She was angry at herself, although she wouldn't admit this to Jace. She was angry for the same reasons he was, but she knew she had to be the mature one, because she hadn't lost the person she was in love with, and if losing a best friend felt like losing a part of her soul, losing the person she was in love with must've felt like losing his soul entirely, having it ripped apart and stepped on over and over again.
###
When they arrived at Jocelyn's house a few hours later, Jace felt a bit better when it came to the sleeplessness. His friends woke him up when they said they would, and fifteen minutes later, they were greeted by a very sleepy Jocelyn at the front door.
"Where's Clary?" Jocelyn asked warily. "I thought she was with you."
Jace could barely look at her. "Something happened. It's really important that we talk."
Even though it looked like Jocelyn didn't want to believe what the teenagers were saying, she still nodded and ushered them inside, locking her door in the process. Jace's guess was that she had a suspect, and her bets were all on Clary's father. How were they going to tell Jocelyn? She was a mother, for shit's sake!
Isabelle cleared her throat. "We went out yesterday, as you probably know. Well, we were going to have fun. And then . . . I don't know exactly how, but after some explaining from Simon, we realized that your ex-husband's men tracked us down and they somehow knew you wouldn't be here that night. So they took Clary. We tried. We really, really tried." She looked on the verge of tears.
Jocelyn covered her mouth with one hand and held up her index finger. Before Jace could process what was happening, she'd taken off running, screaming, "Luke! Luke, wake up!" It would've been comical if it wasn't for the reason behind the screaming.
Luke appeared then, just behind her. He won tan khaki's and a polo shirt. "I was just about to go out golfing," he said, giving her a quick peck before he realized they weren't alone. He cleared his throat. "Good morning."
"Luke," Jocelyn said as he held her. Her shoulders shook. "Luke, Clary's gone."
He glanced at the teenagers, who were trying hard not to look too disgusted by what they'd witnessed. "It was Valentine, wasn't it?"
They all nodded, but it was Simon who spoke up. "Luke, I tried to tell her. I saw Jon, and she saw him, but I told her it was bad news and to leave it alone. By the time she decided to go, it was too late. They got to her." His voice cracked at the very last sentence, and he buried his face in his hands.
"He's insane," Luke muttered.
"Do you think they're still in California?" Jocelyn asked Luke.
It was Jace who answered. "He wants you to go. That's why he has her—because of you."
"Why?"
"You know why." Jace stared at her. He hated being so rude to her, especially when he was his girlfriend's mother, but she didn't seem to care about the fact that her daughter was being held hostage by her own father, who was a power-hungry son of a bitch!
"Jace," Isabelle said sternly. She turned to Jocelyn. "What he means to say is, he wants revenge for what you did. And if you want Clary back, you're gonna need to pay."
###
Clary didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until she woke up and felt the stiff sheets covering her arms. She sighed. At least she didn't have the bandage on her mouth anymore. She knew better than to scream, though. Her father was a very impatient guy. When she was a baby, he hated it when she cried. He was a bad dad when it came to that, but overall, he wasn't the worst.
No, that happened when her mother fucked their life up.
She didn't remember too much what her childhood was like. Her father was mostly absent, although they did go to church on Sundays and went out for a meal afterward. She didn't know why they did that, because Jocelyn wasn't a religious person and neither was her dad, but she decided to take a guess and told herself repeatedly that it was because they wanted to be a normal family with normal days and no fights, all about appearances. What she hated was that her mother actually acted the part in her father's story. Clary couldn't realize what was happening, but she was eleven and hating the world, so she rolled her eyes at everything and just stared straight ahead.
What she remembered most were the fights. Screaming, cursing, banging, crying . . . her father was a monster, and she knew it even when she was only seven years old and saw her mother crying outside of her room. She'd asked Jocelyn why she wasn't with her father sleeping, and Jocelyn replied that her father was too tired and needed to be alone. Clary was only seven, so she couldn't have cared less, but it was all part of what happened later on.
Jocelyn planned it for long, and they all knew it. When she took Clary and all the money, leaving Jon and Valentine without a cent, she left her life behind, her freedom. It was all about running, hiding, and luxuries. It was all about spending time with Luke and leaving Clary behind, mostly for her own safety. But it didn't matter, because all of that time when she didn't have a mother wasn't worth it in the end. Now, she'd still been caught, and she was still waiting for somebody to come get her. She buried her face underneath the blankets and pushed the tears away.
The door opened, revealing the same artificial light that had illuminated the room broadly the day before. "Clary," said Jon. She didn't reply. "Clary, please." Still no answer. "Clary, I'm sorry. I was just angry and I—I didn't have a choice, Clare Bear." Hearing his old nickname for her was like a slap across the face, a hard one, that hurt more than a stab in the back. She was going to sob if he didn't leave her alone.
"Okay." He sighed and there was the sound of metal against a surface. "I'm gonna leave now. Be back when it's time to bring you breakfast."
The door slammed shut. Jon seemed upset and genuinely sorry, but if he was, then why was he still there? Why was he still working for his father if he regretted what he did oh-so-much? All of the questions just grew with intensity inside of her, but she pushed them back down and bit her lip, trying to decide on what to do. She sighed. Jon was her brother—but wait. Those thoughts had gotten her to where she was now—away from Jace, the safety of her home, the comfort of her friends. The fact that Jon was her brother didn't mean anything. Family didn't mean anything anymore. Her two parents had lived their lives fighting for control, and their two kids that didn't do anything were stuck in the middle anyway.
Clary rocked herself back and forth, trying to tune out the videos replaying in her head, the memories of the bruises and broken noses her mother sported every morning. It'd be a surprise all the time, and her dad was up way too early for her to question him.
One time, when Jon and her father were out of town, Jocelyn snuck in to Clary's room while she drew. At first, Clary was annoyed—didn't her mother know how to knock?—but then her expression softened when she saw the tears streaming down her mother's face.
"Mom." It was more of a sigh than an actual word. "What's wrong?"
"Clary, honey, listen to me." Her mother gripped her hands tightly, which was very unusual and slightly alarming. "We're leaving today. In an hour. Pack your things, all of them. Meet me outside in an hour. Baby, I'm so sorry."
In an hour, Clary met her mother outside. She carried two heavy suitcases.
"Good," Jocelyn said, inspecting everything and checking that her daughter forgot nothing. She climbed into a taxi and gave them an address Clary didn't recognize.
"Mom, where are we going?" Clary asked.
Her mother didn't look at her when she said, "Away."
Clary left it at that, but she always wondered why. At the moment, nothing made sense, but now, everything does. She just wished she could have her old family back, and she wished she could have Jace. It hurt so much to miss him. To miss her friends. To miss her life.
She looked up and hoped silently that they'd be here soon.
