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Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments, but I wish I owned some CSI Miami seasons.

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Chapter Six

"I am sooo bored," I groaned, stretching out on the couch that Simon and I were sharing. My leg hit his thigh and he smacked it away.

"Oh, come on. Simon and I aren't that boring, are we?" Jordan asked from the single chair in the room. Simon gave me a look that said he agreed with Jordan.

"Well… no. But I want to do something instead of watching CSI reruns at 10 o'clock at night with you criticizing everything the police do!" I said, aiming a glare at Jordan.

"Hey! I'm sorry that CSI doesn't know how police actually work!"

"Ugh," I muttered.

We continued watching CSI with Jordan mumbling things under his breath and making rude gestures at the TV.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, turning towards Simon. "What was that place you and Izzy went to yesterday?"

Simon furrowed his brow, thinking back. "Oh, you mean Pandemonium?"

"Yeah!" I said. "Let's go there!"

"I don't want to," Jordan said, his eyes still glued to the TV.

"Yeah, me neither," Simon agreed. "Izzy and I went yesterday, remember? I'm pretty sure I'm still drunk."

"Well, I'm going." I announced, getting up from the couch to go and change. I was sick of staying indoors. I wanted to go and live a little. Surely, if Sebastian was indeed here, he would've given up, right? That was the story I was sticking with, because I wanted to go clubbing, and I wanted to go now.

I switched my sweatpants and hoodie in for a short, green mini dress. I shook my fiery red hair out of its bun and brushed it, quickly curling the bits that had begun to flatten out. I lined my eyes in black and put on some mascara.

"How do I look?" I asked the boys, twirling for them.

"You look nice," Simon said, readjusting his glasses.

Jordan agreed, but I could tell he was still watching CSI. And he says he hates that show…

"I'll be back later," I declared, grabbing a clutch from my room and dropping my wallet and house keys into it. "See you soon!" I called before shutting the door.

After taking a fifteen minute cab ride to Pandemonium, I had to wait in line for another fifteen minutes. By the time I got inside, it was a little after 11:00. But I had to say, it was definitely worth the wait.

Everywhere I looked, it was all the same. People having fun. I admit, most were drunk, but this was perfect to just let loose. I loved it.

I ordered a drink and downed it, wanting to get a little tipsy. What was the fun of dancing and grinding and laughing when you weren't a little buzzed, right?

Two drinks later, I was dancing on the dance floor, moving with the beat of a techno song. A pair of firm hands found their way to my hips, and I was still sober enough to remove them and tell the pervert to beat it. But the face that I saw was not the face I expected to see.

"Jace!" I yelled over the music. "What are you doing here?"

He smirked and looked around. "Dancing. What else?"

I hit his chest, stumbling a bit. "Well… obviously."

He grinned and took my hand, leading me off the dance floor. We sat at a secluded booth, a ways away from other people. He bought me another two drinks, which I sipped quickly. Dancing could work up quite an appetite!

"So what brings you to the infamous Pandemonium club?" he asked me, leaning back.

I shrugged. "I was bored. I needed something to do."

He nodded.

"What about you?" I asked.

"I already told you," said Jace with a smirk. "I wanted to dance."

"Then why aren't you dancing?" I asked with a smug satisfaction as I watch his smirk fade. Now it was his turn to shrug.

"I want to talk to you," he said, looking at his clasped hands.

Jace POV

"What about?" Clary asked. Her movements were slow and her words were sluggish. Her eyes were glassy when I looked into them. She's drunk. Maybe I can get an answer out of her while she's not in her right mind?

Okay, that sounds a little sketchy, but I really wanted to know what the heck was going on in that brain of hers.

I took a deep breath and answered, "How come you moved to New York, Clary?"

She smiled like a child on Christmas morning and leaned forward. "I'll tell you, but you can't tell Jace."

I narrowed my eyes at her. Was she really that out of it to not know that I was sitting right in front of her? "Why can't you tell Jace?" I asked.

"I don't want him to feel sorry for me," she said quietly, leaning her head back against the booth and closing her eyes. She sighed.

"Okay, I won't tell him."

"You promise?" she asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Of course." I replied.

"Well, okay." She shrugged. "It all started with Sebastian. Verlac. Sebastian Verlac."

I nearly fall out of my chair. "THE Sebastian Verlac? The famous son of one of the few billionares in the world which dated a…." Oooooooohhhhh…..

"Which dated a Morgenstern." Clary finished.

"You're a Morgenstern." I said dumbly, still staring at her in shock. How had I never thought of this before? How had I never connected the dots?

"Mmm…" she agreed, looking thoughtfully at her empty two drink glasses. "Anyways, he was sort of a douchebag to me. Abused me, all that stuff. Didn't really care for me at all, just used me as a sex toy and a punching bag. I was sick of it. Sure, he might be worth a billion dollars but who cared, when he had such a rotten personality?"

"You never fought back?" I gasped in shock. This fiery little red head did not seem like the person who would just sit back and take the punishment.

Clary laughed coldly, still staring at the empty glasses with a sort of burning hatred. "He had his ways of keeping me silent."

That shut me up effectively.

"So I moved. I liked art, and New York seemed like the place to go. But I think he—" Clary cuts herself off, snapping her head in the direction of the dance floor. "Let's dance," she exclaims suddenly, grabbing my hand and leading me away from the booth.

But she thought he… what? Ugh, the mysteries keep on piling up with this girl.

So we dance, moving in time with the beat. Clary keeps on inching her way closer to me, until she's grinding into me. Clary's drunk, I shouldn't take advantage of her.

"Clary," I lean down to her ear so she can hear me. She moves her head up and says, "yeah?" and then all of a sudden we're kissing. And it's a nice kiss. The voice telling me to let her go has vanished and is now telling me to pull her closer. So I oblige. She tangles her fingers into my golden hair and I press my hands to her waist to pull us impossibly closer together.

But then our lungs decide to ruin the moment and force us to pull away.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Clary groaned, putting a hand up to her mouth. She made a beeline for the nearest bathroom and heaved herself into it, and I can't see what happens next. I don't think I want to.

I wait for her for a few minutes until she comes wobbling back out.

"I think I should get you a cab," I said, putting a hand over her lower back and firmly pressing to get her to move.

"That sounds like a good idea," she agreed, clutching her purse tight to her side while I maneuvered around sweaty bodies and squinting through the blur strobe lights. Clary is full out leaning on me for support by the time I finally hail a taxi.

She gets in first and I get in, shutting the door behind me and telling the taxi driver where to take us. Clary leans her head on my shoulder, but I can tell she's not asleep. She's tracing an outline of something on her bare knee with her left hand.

"$32.50," the cabbie announces once we get to her apartment.

I hand him the money and thank him. I found Clary's house key in her clutch and lead her up the stairs. I found another key and guessed it was for the second door and thankfully it worked. Clary leaned on me the entire way to her room. I guessed that she wouldn't really like to wake up the next morning knowing someone had undressed her, so I let her collapse into her bed. She immediately curled up into a ball and fell asleep.

Hopefully she at least remembered our kiss, because, oh man, she would have a massive hangover tomorrow.