Me again! There's just one thing I can say-

OMFG!

You guys are so awesome! So many views and reviews! Lots of you are anticipating smut, so here we go. (You'll have to wait till like the end of the chapter, though. Sorry.)

Clace...

Rated so, very M. Like, underline it a million times.

"Michael, I love you so much! Don't go," The beautiful actress says to Arms. He sighs and pulls her in for a hug, and then they start making out, and then they practically throw themselves onto the bed. A wave of nausea runs through me, and I shudder and go back to the main menu. This movie is awfully starting to remind me what's going to happen...in a short while. The thought just makes me sick.

Back in Brooklyn, it's three in the morning, and here I am, sitting on a private jet and passing my time in ways that are unfamiliar to me, just so I won't cry. The flight is scheduled to land in Idris in another three and a half hours. When I get to the facility, it'll be a little after noon.

A few hours ago, right after the jet took off, I asked for a bottle of alcohol. Every flight attendant refused, but finally, I snuck a small bottle of vodka underneath my shirt and drank it, mixed in with my Sprite. It cleared my thoughts out for a while.

The stupid-ass phone I found wouldn't work. I've heard that there aren't any phones in Idris, and although there's internet, all sites through which I can contact someone are disabled. That idea is so fucking stupid I could bang my head on a wall for hours at the stupidity. If I'm going with them and making babies, why the fuck can't I talk to my mom? What am I supposed to do when I get there? Sit and complain about how boring it is?

A twisted thought shakes me. Who's being assigned to me? Do they let us choose, or is it just like a lottery system? Oh, I picked out the name of the hottest guy in the world for you, dear. Sorry, honey, but the guy assigned to you is a thirty year-old perv. Good luck!

I unbuckle my seatbelt and trudge to the bathroom. I haven't been in there even once. As I stare at myself in the mirror, I curse myself for finding all my flaws. My hair is tangled. My eyes are blood-shot, and match the color of my puffy nose. There are very clearly visible tear tracks on my cheeks. I'm nowhere near perfect. Turning the faucet on, I run a hand through my red curls to make them look neater than they are right now. I splash some water on my face to reduce the tearful look of my face. It works just fine.

When I exit the bathroom, all the windows in the fancy plane have been opened, and sunlight shines in. I groan and shut all of the windows, slamming them as hard as I can. It isn't until then that I feel myself getting angry at myself for not trying to run when I had the chance, angry at Sebastian for making the phone call, angry at Luke for not protecting me from this clusterfuck.

The bottle of vodka is still under a pile of magazines on the floor, and I pick it up and throw it at the big television screen, screaming so hard I swear my eardrums just shattered. The bottle and the TV both emit a tremendous crack and I inwardly smile at the broken television screen, at the bottle of vodka that's shattered, just like my heart.

Thankfully, I'm already back in my seat when the man in the suit arrives. I stay silent and watch him glare at me as he calls on a flight attendant to pick up the mess. I hope that that fucker gets cut.

Idris: 12:17 p.m.

This is what the clock shows. The flight is landing, and along with the pain in my ears from the popping, my heart is racing and I feel like my airways are constricted. I take deep breaths to calm myself down, but I can't help it. I'm hyperventilating.

The jet is coming to a stop, and I can see greenery all around. What's a bit more striking is the humongous white tower coming out of a bunch of trees. As I look closer, I see that there are two more, and that seems to be it. I honestly hope that the room I am to live in isn't starch white like this. If it is, then this time, I seriously will take the blood-painting idea and make it a reality. Some color is better than none, isn't it?

I'm directly escorted to a car instead of being sent through customs and all that crap. The car is sleek, and has tinted black windows, matching the color of the body itself. As I open the door to the back seat, my hands are trembling. I can't do this. I can't, not even after I've come all this way. Why can't this just be a dream? I want to go back home.

The car ride is surprisingly short, and my eyes are burning with freshly formed tears the entire time. The road comes to an end as we approach one of the white buildings I saw before. My heart thumps at an irregular pace. I enter the building, and the man who's been escorting me everywhere vanishes into thin air. Suddenly, I'm flanked by two buff guards who look like they lift all day instead of doing their job. I gulp, and look around desperately for a way to run. There isn't a chance, though. I should have run while I was still in Brooklyn.

Everything seems oddly silent around here. The time seems to go by slower, and because of the white color everywhere, I feel like I'm in a black and white movie, being the only person in color.

There are four flights of stairs I have to walk up before I'm gasping for air. Then I'm taken into an elevator. One of the guards presses the 80 button. My eyes widen. There are around a hundred and fifty floors to this building. I think that commiting suicide here would be a good idea. I'm nowhere near attempting suicide, though. I believing in what my mother says. When there's a chance, she'll come save me.

After the extremely boring ride to the eightieth floor ends, I'm ushered down a long hallway, and somewhere in the middle, one of the guards unlocks the door to a room and gently pushes me in, closing and locking the door from the outside. My jaw drops. This room looks exactly like the one at home. Did they replicate it, or-or did they bring all of my things and arrange them exactly the way I left them? The second option seems to be the one. I can tell I'm right. The covers on the bed smell like home, and so does the expensive violin case of mine. I open the door closest to me, not the one I just came in through, and I find that all of my clothes are the way I align them on their hangers. Every. Single. Piece. How did they do it? There's another door directly across from the closet. I leap in, expecting my bathroom to be there. Oh, my fucking god. This is just creepy.

There's one thing, though, that catches my attention, because it isn't the same as my room. A door diagonal from the bed. I slowly creep towards it, testing to see if it's unlocked. It is, so I swing it open. There's a room identical to mine, just arranged completely different. There are black satin sheets on the bed, a tall lamp which looks mighty expensive, and a dresser with a large mirror, spotlight included, on the other side of the room. There's loud singing coming from what I think is the bathroom. I quickly close the door and get back into the room that is now mine, deciding to explore later.

I reopen the closet and hastily pick out something to wear. I settle for my starry pajama pants and a blue T-shirt. Once I'm done picking all of privates out as well, I hurry into the bathroom. There's a box sitting on the counter. It contains these plastic wrapped pad-thingies that remind me of baby diapers. I hold a packed one as far away from me as possible.

Oh, right. I'm supposed to wear these during my period. Damn, just looking a them is lowering my self-esteem. I'm an eighteen year-old girl. I don't wear diapers. Apparently, everyone here does, or so it says on the box.

I turn the hot water on in the shower room and jump in. It feels nice. I can see myself in the foggy glass. The whole setting reminds me of my house.

This place is nowhere close to how wonderful my house is, though.

I feel myself getting a step closer to crying every extra minute I spend showering, so I turn the water off once I'm clean and get to the whole how to use a pad thingy. It's not too hard, and I get the hang of it after discarding a few of my first tries. Then, I hurry up and throw my clothes on so I can go do homework...except for the fact that my homework is in my backpack, in my locker at school. And I'm more than a thousand miles away from there.

I shake the thought off and open up my violin case. The violin smells fresh of the renewal I had done on it a week or so ago. I pick it up and breathe in the scent, clutching it as close to me as possible, even though I'm getting rosin all over my shirt. The body of the instrument is sleek and cool to the touch. It makes me drift off into my own reality for a second.

I don't realize how long I've been sitting there until I hear the door swing open. It's not the one that leads into another room, though. It's the door I came in through. I'm just going to start calling it the front door.

"Hi," A low voice says. I jump. Who in the fuck is here? "Can I come in?"

I grimace. "Hi. Um, okay." I answer calmly.

My jaw drops yet again.

There's a really tall, really hot guy standing in the doorway. He has perfectly tanned skin that glows, and his eyes match the mesmerizing shade. His hair is a light blonde, and it looks good with the rest of him.

My attention wanders from the guy to the very open, very escapable door. I gently set my violin down and try to make my way around the guy, but he blocks my way and looks at me with a warning expression.

"Don't," He laughs nervously, "Even think about it." I scoff and take a few steps back to let him come forward.

"I'm Jace," He says. "You must be Clarissa."

It's my turn to belt out a nervous laugh. "Yes, I-I am. Call me Clary." What is he doing here?

I just stand there and stare at him for a minute before he closes and locks the door up. He does the same with the door leading to the other room.

"So?" He snaps his fingers in my face. "Let's get to it."

Confused, I raise an eyebrow at him. "Get to what?"

He looks at me like I'm retarded. "The sex, of course. Unless you'd like to think of it as 'making sweet love'."

I lean away from him. "I-I don't know you." I'm very sure that my face looks like that of a scared kitten.

"Well, you don't have to know me to let me fuck you. That's the reason you came here. To get pregnant. Have kids. Live a life and then die."

"You're a-assigned to me?" I squeak. No. NO. I'm not giving my virginity to a boy I just said hi to.

At this point, I'm trembling, and it feels like someone is pouring ice down my back in the middle of a cold winter day.

He smirks, as if this is all a joke. "Of course I am. Why would I come in here otherwise?" He replies modestly.

I sputter, but clear my throat and gulp. "Can't we-um, wait until we know each other?" I ask him softly.

The smirk fades. "Clary, you came here, when, a few hours ago? They told me you arrived at 1:30 p.m. It's nine o'clock at night right now. I have to get started with you as soon as I can." He's dead serious.

My eyes anxiously flicker to the wall clock. It indeed says nine p.m. But I can't do this. Not now. I have to fight.

"No," I tell Jace firmly. "I'm don't have anything to do with you. I'm not going to let you lay a finger on me." My voice wavers a little, though.

Jace takes a few steps toward me cautiously. "Come on. There's no reason to be scared." His voice is an attempt towards being soothing, but it's not working on me.

"I'm not scared," I growl at him, but I'm about to break. The tears will come any second now.

Before I know it, Jace has pulled his shirt off, and it's lying on the floor. He reaches for mine, but I tear away from him harshly.

"No," I whisper, "Just stop. Please, I don't want to."

Irritated, Jace sighs. "Did I tell you that you have a choice? No, right? Then get your fucking clothes off and kiss me, or I'll do it myself." He snarls. I'm terrified, but I still muster up the courage to shove Jace's outstretched arms away when he tries to pull the hem of my T-shirt up.

"Please," I beg. My eyes are filling up with tears. Jace takes no notice of them, instead swiftly ripping off my shirt, revealing a plain black bra.

Jace slowly pushes me down onto the bed. Kicking off his shoes, he inches his jeans and boxers down as well and tugs at the waistband of my pajama pants. I let out a strangled wail. He clenches his teeth and finally gets the last piece of clothing off of me before starting to kiss my neck.

The moment that he pushes into me, I scream, so loud that it resonates off the walls and I hear it again. I finally burst into tears. It hurts so much. It feels like my insides are being ripped apart. I take deep breaths to keep myself from retching, even though my stomach twists agonizingly.

It doesn't seem that Jace cares that he's hurting me. I slump onto the bed as his thrusts grow harder and harder. Every sob that escapes me sounds distant, like I'm hearing a poorly made recording of my own voice.

It seems to be a lifetime before Jace finally comes inside me. Why isn't he wearing protection? Oh, Jesus, I might get pregnant.

I bury my face into the soft covers and cry my heart out. I don't even realize that Jace has helped me get my clothes on until he says, "Calm down."

Hearing his voice makes me snivel harder.

"Clary..." He trails off. "It was just this one time. Don't make such a big deal out of it."

I become furious, but don't utter a word. I feel too broken to be angry right now.

My head is lifted onto a soft, cushy material. A pillow. Then, I'm engulfed in an abundance of blankets that smell like home. My crying has grown softer, but it's still going on. Jace unlocks the door to the other bedroom and pounds on it. Someone opens it, and I hear a loud girl's voice.

"Shut her up before I come back in the morning." Jace orders.

The voice mutters an angry string of cuss words involving Jace's dick. The word brings back what just happened, and I begin muffling my new sobs into the pillow.

The last thing I see before I pass out is a girl with long, black hair, dashing to me with pure worry in her eyes.

So, how was it? Too fast? Just okay? I'm sorry if it's too angsty for you. This entire story is angsty. Warning for you.

Longest chapter ever!

I know, I know, Jace is a fucking bastard with no emotions. But he'll warm up to Clary soon. She'll hate him for a long time.

Who do you think the girl with the black hair is? (Hint, hint: The name is in the first chapter-go back and check if you don't remember!)

Please review. I can't believe that a few hours ago, I had only seventeen reviews, but in the last four or five hours, I reached twenty-three. That's my personal high. :) Thanks for helping me reach it!

Stay tuned!

Bye!

-Aishwarya