I finally changed my ringtone, but the constant ringing is making me want to throw it in the closest toilet. Ron Pope's "Lick My Wounds" was replaying for the seventh time when I got my phone out of my pocket. I stared at the picture of my mother and me at Christmas with our ugly sweaters on. We look almost like twins, but my mother has darker curls than me and a more beautiful face. Ever since I can remember she was everything I wanted to be. Growing up my dreams have changed and my judgment is all mixed up. I clicked the red option and put my head into my hands.
I hate myself for saying this, but our relationship has been strained since she married Luke. It's been years, but I have not felt close to her like I did when I was a little girl. When she lived with us, the house was always so warm and then when she left everything turned cold. All of things I loved to do just weren't the same after she abandoned us. Of course she didn't just get up and leave one day, it was a long time coming. My parents used to fight most of the time, but we were still a family. It hurt so much when my family was taken away from me, and I didn't have anyone to get me through it.
The night she left, it was storming outside. I remember because I was sobbing just as hard as the wind was howling. New York City is normally so bright, but the power was out that night, on the worst night of my life. I was twelve years old and I couldn't stop crying long enough to catch my breath. I was lying face down in my pillow to help silence my screams when my brother put his arms around my broken form. He was holding onto to me just as tight as I was, and I felt the tears falling down his face as well. We needed each other that night, but ever since then we don't communicate. That night was the one and only night I cried for my family. Jonathan and I have never spoken about that night either, he would just shrug it off anyhow.
My stepfather, Luke, is a great man and I am so happy they found each other, but for the sake of my brother and me, I wish she had waited a few more years. Perhaps then Jonathan would think of me as the sister I was supposed to be. Instead he will always hate me because of my resemblance to my mother. He will never confide in me like that night, simply because he can't stand to look at me long enough.
We are the makers of our own destruction after all.
It's ironic because that was the tagline to my first painting. My first year of high school was difficult, not just because I didn't know anybody, but because I didn't care to know anyone. I barely managed to pass my classes at the academy my freshman year. Moving away from New York had been the worst thing I could imagine, especially since I had applied to a city school that had one of the most well developed art programs to date. My parent's divorce didn't just ruin me; it ruined my chances of being what I wanted to be.
When I escaped into that big messy room on the first day of school, I started painting. My hand knew by heart exactly what I wanted to say. All of my emotions were taken in by that painting and within a week I had finished it. The teacher was thrilled with me and I was well on my way to becoming her personal favorite. I spent every spare second I had on pouring my soul into another project, knowing this is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
There's this feeling you get when you've given everything you had into something and finishing it. That first picture of my fucked up life and this fucked up world we live in was perhaps my greatest thought. I've never had a deeper connection with a painting and when I sold it, that person got a part of my soul with them. I don't regret selling it, because that's the whole point of creating something for the world to see.
Now I get to write a PowerPoint about the Russian Revolution, how lucky am I?
I pick up my lunch that has been neglected for the past twenty minutes and start nibbling on my sandwich. The huge hangover I woke up with wasn't doing anything to help my appetite. I tried to bring last night up in a conversation with Mr. Lightwood, but I was shut down before I even said a word. The glare in his expression had me wanting to run for the hills. He jumped out of his chair when the lunch bell rang and I haven't seen him since. All day he's been talking to me and helping me, but as soon as the class leaves the room so does his interest. It was frustrating me, because I wanted nothing better than to run away too.
I still had half of the lunch period to talk to my mom, but her persistent calling didn't go unnoticed. I pick my phone up immediately the next time it rings, "Yes, Mom what is it?"
"…Clary?" she sounds borderline petrified.
"Mom, it's me. I'm fine; I've just been up to my eyeballs in all things teacher related. I can't talk to you all the time anymore, I've got a lot of things I need to get done," I feel guilty shutting her down, but I don't have the willpower to deal with her today.
"Oh, alright sweetheart I understand. Just promise me you won't forget me when you have a classroom of your own?" she asks me quietly over the phone. It brings me back to a time when she used the say the same thing, but instead of classroom she would say studio. Tears start to form in my eyes, but I bite down on my tongue as hard as I can to prevent them from falling.
"You know I won't, Mom. Love you. Talk to you soon," I hang up not knowing if she even responded or not.
I drop my phone in my lap and look down at myself in hate. I take a deep breath before I finish my abandoned lunch and start grading papers. The juniors wrote a few paragraphs about the Boston Tea Party, and I just needed to skim through and see if they understood it. To be honest, I'm barely reading them. I took off a few points for wrong names used, but other than that I gave most of them hundreds. I have no desire to be one of those teachers that doesn't care, but I don't want to care too much either.
I had no idea being a teacher was so freaking stressful.
Fuck it, I'm going to Starbucks. I clean everything up on my desk and make separate piles for things graded and what I have left to grade. Once it's semi organized, I grab my coat off the back of my chair and my bag and make my way to the door to lock it. There's still no sign of Golden boy anywhere so I walk towards the main office. Isabelle is there, but she doesn't look happy at all. Simon, what the hell did you do?!
I smile at her when I approach her desk, but I can tell from her reluctance to look me in the eyes that I am the last person she wants to see. I keep this meeting short and say, "Hey Isabelle, I'm leaving for a bit. Will you tell Mr. Lightwood that I'll be back, if he asks? Which I doubt he will, but just in case?" I beg her.
She still doesn't look at me, "Yeah sure Clary, anything." She sounds really broken and I have the urge to hug her, but of course I don't. I decided that I'm bringing her a macchiato.
I leave the office, but not before I see Mr. Bane with that woman at the front doors. He didn't notice me and my horrifying shocked face, so I went to the nearest hallway hoping there was another exit. I go to the end of the hallway and find a door, oh sweet Jesus. I practically throw myself at the door and turn the handle. It's locked.
But really what was I expecting? I'm being really stupid about all of this. So they were having sex at school, what's the big deal?
The "at school" part is what makes me cringe. I try the handle again, but it's still locked. I sigh loudly and straighten my clothing and start walking again. I notice the paint spattered door and I stop instinctively. The lights are off and I try the door, but it's locked. I get my key out of my pocket and try it in the handle, and it works!
I laugh out loud and I open the door and turn on the light. There are canvases located throughout the room. One corner is just mountains of different paint, paintbrushes, clay, pencils, and everything else you would ever need. I drop my bag on the floor in surprise and jump from the sound it makes. I walk around the room, touching everything in sight. I had forgotten the feelings I got when I walked into our art room at the academy, but everything is coming back to me now.
There's only one empty canvas and it's near the teacher's desk. I assume it's Kaelie's and I take a seat there anyway. I see it in my head before I can even grasp what I want to paint. I get a brush and the colors I need before my hands take over. I'm not even close to being a quarter of the way done with the sky when the bell rings and I need to leave. I put away everything, grab my things, and lock the door as quickly as I can.
I don't see anyone in the hallways coming this way so I start to walk back to room 87. I take a quick look at my hands and notice there are paint marks. Before exiting the hallway, I take a detour into the girl's bathroom and wash my hands to get rid of any evidence that I was in the art room.
I walk right past the main office, but Isabelle doesn't even look at me. I really hope whatever happened with Simon wasn't too bad. I realize she's getting married, and knowing Simon, I hope he didn't take last night out of proportion.
"What's the matter, Clary?" I stop dead in my tracks and turn around.
Golden is looking at me, but I don't stick around to talk to him. I make my way back to the classroom and start getting my things together for the last few classes. The students coming into the room are seniors and this class is all about the United States Government and all its functions. I begin the class by lecturing and I never make one attempt to catch Mr. Lightwood's eye, but I can feel his stare through my whole lecture. I leave the kids a few minutes in class to start an assignment I gave them from the book, because I hate talking for an entire class.
The seniors are the worst at participating, not surprisingly, so I've been trying to come up with a system to get them to raise their hands more often. I keep thinking about a game like the game show, Jeopardy, but I have no idea how to do that on this computer or my own. Alec would have to help me with it.
"Ms. Fray?" the intercom comes on loud from above us.
"Yes?" I answer loudly enough so that the speaker picks it up.
"Your package arrived, can you please come to the office?" the voice, clearly an annoyed Isabelle, asks me.
I bite my lip and think about what it could be. "Yes, I'll be there after the bell rings."
Her persistent voice disregards me, "Now would be better!" I roll my eyes in response and look to Mr. Lightwood for help. He just nods at me and I am excused.
I walk into the office and balloons are surrounding me. What the hell?
Attempting to find Isabelle, I manage to step on a few making loud booming noises. I hear a scream and follow it finding her behind her desk, sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest. She looks downright frightened and I bend down to let her know it's me.
"Isabelle, are you alright? What is all this crap?" she doesn't answer me, but she points to a gift-wrapped box on the floor next to her.
"It'll probably start singing," she says in the most sarcastic voice I've ever heard. I laugh at her and she starts giggling. I just ignore the box and sit down next to her. "Your father is a scary dude. He came in here and just started throwing balloons everywhere. I don't even know where to put all of them. We're going to have to pop them. Ugh." I put my arm around her stressed out shoulders and let her rest her head on my shoulder.
"So, my father was here?" I ask after a few minutes of silence. My voice doesn't sound too thrilled, which is an understatement.
"Yes and so was your brother…they're like twins, both equally terrifying and rude. Is it your birthday or something? Why the fuss?" she sounds so distressed. I pick up a balloon and put in my lap and start messing with it.
"I think this is a present for this job, I'm not entirely sure to be honest. They're always doing things like this. Jonathan wouldn't have any part of it if my father didn't drag him along like a dog. My father wants me to be his little minion; Jonathan just isn't enough for him so he has to have me too. He keeps trying to win me over through countless acts of affection, but nothing they can say or do will make up for what they've done," I explain. She nods at me in understanding, but she doesn't ask any other questions and I'm thankful. I pop the balloon in my hands and Isabelle jumps next to me.
She shoves me, "Do not do that! You could've given me a heart attack!" I grin at her and grab the neglected box and unwrap it carefully.
Father, what the absolute fuck!?
A brand new Macbook Pro is in front of me. What the hell is wrong with this man? He bought me a computer four years ago before I started college. This must be an apology gift for sticking me in this hellhole. Mmm…I could always sell it and use the money to run away to Fiji.
I'm daydreaming of white beaches and palm trees was an unfamiliar man comes into my line of view, looking very pissed off. I'm suddenly in the most awkward situation possible, because I just have a feeling I'm about to witness a major fight.
"Oh, hello Isabelle. Do you remember who I am? Your fiancée?! I thought it was bad enough that you ignore my phone calls, but now I come to find out that you're whoring it out at some nightclub with some guy you just met!" I make a sideways glance at Isabelle, but she's a complete mess. I am so uncomfortable, why did I have to be here right now?!
"I've had enough Isabelle. I'm tired of playing this same old game with you. I'm done." Way to let her down easy, bud.
He's gone before I can really process what is happening. Isabelle is sitting next to me sobbing and I pull her into me, praying that Jace or Alec comes to the office just to take over. If there's one thing I'm horrible at, it's consoling people. This is the last thing I wanted to be a part of today, but what choice do I have?
Hi guys :) I want you to tell me what your thoughts are of Jonathan and Sebastian. Do you feel compassionate towards them?