Alright lovelies. I have another story for you. Don't be mad at me but I couldn't resist making a Clace story. I know my forte is Clonathan stories, and they still are, don't worry, but I couldn't resist making just one, at least one, Clace. I'm still continuing my Clonathan so don't freak. But, I hope you guys like this.

Disclaimer: I own nothing save the plot. Sadly.

WARNING-

Rape

Sex- definitely non con

Dark concepts

Not for the light hearted

And I sincerely apologize if I offend anyone but I'm not one to write stories about rainbow pooping unicorns. Sorry. Those who do enjoy my stories, hope you like this Clace one even though I know most of my fans are secret Clonathan shippers. But seriously, I know all of you are Clace shippers. Clonthan is just your dirty erotica. Totally fine with that, one myself. Anyway. There's still dirty, twisted stuff in there for our badder selves.

Haha. Don't hate me for making it Clace. I'm actually commissioning another Clonathan story too as of now.


Clary sat on the bleachers, waiting for her brother to finish football practice because her father made him pick her up from Alicante High School. She didn't understand why her father got her a perfectly good black Suzuki Hayabusa motorbike and didn't let her drive herself to school; making her brother drive her half the year just so she could sit on the bleachers of Idris University to watch 4 hours of her brother's football practice. The fact was lost on her. Then again, her father took pleasure in causing her misery, her brother liked showing off his prize little sister to his friends, as well as showing off his physical ability to her. He and her father liked showing off. That is, when he and her father weren't forcing her into the bedroom or slave work.

She shivered as she brushed her fingers over the concealed bruise on her right cheekbone. Before the ugly memories of last night and all those before could assault her, she turned back to her geometry homework sitting in her lap. Probably the only benefit of having four hours on cold metal bleachers, optionally watching her brother body slam people, was the time she got to herself to complete her school work. Whenever Clary was at home she's usually being abused in one way or another or recovering from her wounds. Sometimes she stayed up through most of the night to get her homework done.

She ached for her mother to be here but would never wish the fate that had descended onto Clary after she died. Six years ago, Jocelyn Morgenstern died, was murdered more like. Shot in the street by one of her father's enemies. Being the District Attorney could have its perks, yes, but Clary's never viewed all the money or luxuries she's gotten over the years as a blessing. She's only viewed it as pitiful compensation for her mother's death.

Her cheek throbbed as she prodded it with her fingers. The beatings weren't ever nonexistent, they were just few and far between before. Valentine had truly loved her mother and she was the only thing that shielded Clary from Valentine's hand and her brother's perverse, incestuous interest in her. Valentine took his grief and anger out on her, blaming her for Jocelyn's death because she had asked her mother to get her another paintbrush when she'd been shot. He's heaped all of Jocelyn's responsibilities onto her, along with anything else that her father deemed unworthy for the attention of Valentine and his golden boy.

Jonathan's always been her father's golden boy; that didn't change when Jocelyn died. He went to this college on his full ride football scholarship, studying to get his law major. Following in daddy's footsteps. She didn't blame her father or her brother for what they did, she felt as guilty as Valentine accused her of being and this was punishment for her want. They're grieving just like her, her father lost the love of his life and her brother lost his most beloved mother.

That still didn't make her fear them any less. After her mother died, Jonathan came forward with his amoral affiliation for her. It still disgusted her that her brother would have this kind of affection toward her but at least he's gentler than Valentine. Valentine used her for the similarity she shared with Jocelyn, using her roughly and painfully then shoving her away in disgust for not being her mother. He leaves her broken and bruised on her bed, alone in her room, hopefully for the rest of the night so she could recover and drag herself out of bed for the next day of abuse.

With Jonathan, she fought, just like she did with Valentine for the first few months but after a while she discovered the futility of trying to stop her brother and father. Now she just lets them beat and abuse her, use her and throw her away to be picked up again in a few days, it caused her less pain that way. Her brother actually makes a point in bringing her to orgasm instead of using her body roughly like Valentine. Jonathan hardly ever leaves bruises from the nights in bed and when he does, it was from gripping her body too harshly.

She thought Jonathan's kindness stemmed from the kindness she'd shown him when they were younger. When Valentine would whip him bloody with his belt. Clary would always find him lying bloody in the family room where he hadn't dared move from. He'd never wanted to upset their mother by telling her her husband beat their first born but Clary wouldn't have it. Eventually, he'd come crawling to her room to seek comfort, only comfort. The first few times she'd let him slip into her bed and snuggled her close as his back ached but as she got older and more capable, she began bandaging the wounds on his back. Maybe it's because she never alienated him from her bed. Maybe he brought her to orgasm because it brought him pleasure to see hers. She's pondered on this many times and she still couldn't figure it out.

Some days she regretted that kindness because that would mean one less man using her body for his own delights. But she would never change the way she treated him in the past if she was given the opportunity. She just didn't have it in her to leave her brother bleeding and in pain on the floor of their living room. If she wasn't kind to him he might have turned out like Valentine and still forced her to be a bed slave to him. This way at least half of the experiences she had, she wasn't completely in pain and it disgusted her that she had a preference over which family member screwed her. The one that beat her and used her so painfully she could barely move in the morning or the one who at least gave her some pleasure and wasn't always hitting her. It sickened her that she had to choose the lesser of two evils but this was her life and she's learned to live with it.

She stowed her homework as the practice started to wrap up and some men head off to the locker room while others changed on the field in their rush to get home. Her brother would be one of those. Most likely wanting to get home to screw her or get his time in with her before Valentine used her and he had to wait until she recovered enough to even feel a touch down there. She waited on the bleachers with her bag slung over her shoulder. She grimaced and switched her bag to her other shoulder as it pressed down on the hand shaped bruise beneath her long sleeve shirt and leather biking jacket.

Valentine was especially rough last night, just as he always was the two weeks before and after the anniversary of Jocelyn's murder. It's only one week in. Three more to go. She watched her brother remove his helmet, tousling his cropped white blond hair. She's still amazed at how much he looks like Valentine. Same white blond hair, same black eyes, same muscled build. Though Jonathan is leaner, lither where her father is broad shouldered and built like an ox. A definite negative for her and her petite build. Her brother took off his jersey and unhooked all of his padding, baring his toned abdomen and chest while talking to one of his college buddies, Sebastian.

He threw his padding into his bag and pulled on a loose t-shirt, leaving his practice shorts on. He did one of the elaborate and completely unnecessary guy handshakes with Sebastian before looking up at her and motioning for her to come down from the bleachers. She didn't miss Sebastian's lusty stare out of the corner of her eye as she walked down the benches. If she ever told her brother of Sebastian's attentions to her, he'd skin him alive, friend or no. He's that possessive and the only other man that's been able to touch her or even look at her has been her father, which Jonathan could do nothing over.

She followed him, feeling a little less stressed knowing she'd gotten all her homework done for the day. She trailed behind her brother to his sleek gray Corvette, where it sat in the middle of the almost abandoned parking lot. Being the D.A.'s kids did have its perks with all the income Valentine earned but she preferred her bike to the car. She looked over at her brother and his irate lope. A shot of fear ran through her; he's mad at something and whenever he's mad, it's complete and utter hell for her. Most of the time, when Valentine raves and abuses her, Jonathan curbed some of that anger slightly.

After she's dragged herself back to her room, if Valentine hadn't decided to fuck her that night, Jonathan would usually come in to check on her and sometimes clean up her injuries, depending on how bad they were and if she could reach them. He'd sometimes come in in the morning if Valentine had raped her the night previous to help her up but not all the time. Usually it's just her trying to recover on her own.

Her abuse didn't happen every night. Some days she got reprieves, nights to herself, not that she's allowed to go out. Some days it's only Valentine abusing her, some abusing and using her. Others, Jonathan did, but those rare few days a month she got to herself she relished, even though she used them to get her homework done because even though they weren't forcing her into bed or beating her for the hell of it, she still had to make dinner and clean up the house to Valentine's satisfaction.

Her pass out time on those nights devoid of sex was usually midnight, the ones with maybe one then if she stayed up to do homework or anything else, it's four or five. She had to get up at six for school. Those nights she had to herself either because she had her period or Valentine was working late and Jonathan was off with friends. Sometimes Valentine was stuck at the office and Jonathan wasn't out with friends but didn't make her do anything either. Those days, where Valentine was gone and Jonathan didn't care or they're both gone were her golden days because neither of them ordered her around, she could make dinner for herself, get chores done early, get homework done early and pass out around ten or eleven for a blessed seven or eight hours of sleep.

She used to spend those nights with her best friend Simon but he moved under mysterious circumstances after he found out about Clary's abuse. He'd tried to do something about it but having the abuser be the D.A. typically doesn't work out well for a fifteen year old boy who doesn't have solid evidence and Clary was too scared to testify against her father and brother. She'd tried calling Simon but his number got changed and Valentine changed theirs so she hadn't spoken to him since then. That's one of the reasons why her brother and father didn't allow her any friends, especially guys.

She'd always made sure to cover up any marks on her face with concealer, which Valentine made sure to keep well stocked, threatening her if she didn't keep the bruises concealed. She always wore sweat shirts and loose jeans or sweaters and her biker jacket to keep everything else on her body-bruises, cuts and scars—hidden. She's learned to keep her mouth shut about it all for fear her beatings might become worse or the people who tried to help would get hurt.

Her brother popped the trunk of the Corvette and threw his bag in, slamming the trunk closed. Clary made sure to keep silent and her eyes cast out the window as she climbed into the passenger seat. Jonathan slammed his door closed and revved the engine before peeling out of the parking lot. It didn't take long for the college campus to disappear and turn into the upper class district mansions. Jonathan sped by them all to the one that sat at the end of the street.

The turn of the century mansion was a lavish display of Valentine's wealth that he loved to wallow in and of course, even with his beating of Clary, he always provided her with the best to show off her status. She hated it but didn't regret picking out her sleek black Hayabusa motorcycle. The D.A.'s children it appeared, have to keep up the appearance of snobbery even if Clary didn't haven't a mean bone in her body. The circular garden out front was lush with trees that burst with fall colors and the fountain in the center of the circular driveway still managed to pump water out of its spout despite the cold weather. All gated in with a state of the art security system and the gate opened for the two children of the estate as Jonathan pushed the button on the remote clipped to his visor.

As Jonathan pulled up to the marble steps of the house in the circular drive, Clary was relieved to find the absence of their father's car. Which meant he's stuck at work. Usually if he's not back by now, he wouldn't be coming back until early morning, which meant Clary wouldn't have to see him until tomorrow night. Bless political arguments for holding up her father!

Jonathan stormed out of the car and up the stairs, pulling out his house keys as Clary stepped out of the car. She quietly closed the car door, a little more at ease about her brother's anger seeing as their father wasn't here, and walked up the steps behind her brother as he threw open one of the two oak doors to their mansion. Clary closed the door behind them and locked it as Jonathan stormed off. Clary stood in the entry hall for a moment, waiting for her father's expected shouts to get dinner started or to get him a beer to watch his game but she just climbed the stairs after only hearing Jonathan's angered footsteps on the other side of the house.

Inside her rooms, she pursed her lips as she saw her mussed bed, the white sheets and comforter still awry from last night's beating. Her large, four poster, plantation bed sat against the wall decorated with a waterfall scene in an Amazonian forest. She remembered painting that with her mother, just a few months before she died. She could still see the two of them laughing and stroking paint across her wall and Jonathan would come in and sit on her bed to watch the two of them while they worked. She turned away as she saw the unfinished spot on the mural. They couldn't finish before Jocelyn died, that was why she'd gone out, to get Clary another paintbrush to finish the leaf patterns on the trees.

Setting her bag on the cushy desk chair in front of her desk, beside the window with automatic black out shades that look out on the eastern side of the forested three acres that sit on the outside of New York City, she turned to make her bed, trying to wash away memories of last night. Once that's done, Clary headed back downstairs to the kitchen to start dinner. She might as well make some for her brother too, just in case he bothered with her tonight.

Down in the kitchen, she's content to work in silence as she fried the chicken on the stove and boiled the pasta. She had no clue where her brother disappeared to and was thankful he hadn't shown up to take his anger out on her. She pulled out a saucepan and poured in her white sauce she'd made a few minutes ago. Adding in a few spices she returned to the chicken, flipping it over to brown the other side.

She didn't even bother acknowledging the shout from her brother to get dinner started. She just continued working, knowing her brother wasn't expecting a response from her and by the time he came into the kitchen, she already had dinner on plates and at the table. Jonathan came in and sat across from her, picking up his fork he started to eat.

As Clary ate she noticed how tense and angry he still was. She knew she'll probably get beaten or chastised if she asks, that's why she's learned to just keep her mouth shut around Valentine but Jonathan isn't one for beating her for speaking so she might as well ask then take the punishment if there was one.

"Why are you mad?" Clary asked hesitantly.

Jonathan didn't look up from his plate. "Did I say you could speak?" He snapped. Clary fell silent, waiting on the backhand across her cheek. He continued eating irately until he set his fork down with bang and looked up at her. She startled and froze in place with her fork in the pasta. "Some dick head invalidated my argument and then stole the credit for himself. I mean, my argument was perfectly sound with evidence and alibis but no, he had to come in and sabotage my evidence so it becomes invalid and I can't use it in my case but then I turn around and find him using the exact same evidence and explanations that I was using!"

Clary stayed completely silent and still as Jonathan continued ranting about his placebos case that the college has them working on. Eventually her food got cold and her appetite left the room with the heat as she thinks about what her brother might do to her because of his anger. He might hit her across the cheek or throw her to the ground and kick her in the ribs. No, that's more Valentine's style. Jonathan liked verbal abuse because he knew he could debase any man, woman or child with a few simple words. That's what made him a good lawyer.

Jonathan eventually stopped raving about the man who stole his case and threw his dish in the sink before storming out again. Clary stood and moved to the sink to clean off the dishes and put them in the washer before she went up to her room and closed the door. She hasn't locked it in years because the last time she did it earned her a broken rib. So she left the door unlocked and walked over to her desk.

It's around eight in the evening now and she'd done chores last night, before Valentine had come home because Jonathan hadn't had football practice. So she got all her chores done early, just in time for Valentine's two hour marathon of beatings and rape. Whoopee. She'll probably go to bed in a few minutes but she wanted to sketch for a little while. Pulling up the desk chair, she flipped open her leather bound sketch book, past her portraits and landscapes. She paused on one of her portraits of her mother and father from behind. They were sitting on the hill in the backyard, watching the sunset. Jocelyn had her head leaning against Valentine's shoulder and Valentine leant his cheek on top of her head.

Clary had sat behind them and sketched it out then added colors later. They hadn't known she'd sketched them but she cherishes the picture. It was when they'd all loved each other and it'd been peaceful. Tears sting the backs of her eyes as she stares at the illumination. It was when she'd had her virginity, her freedom, her friends and her dignity. Now she was a slave and a prisoner. She wasn't allowed to go out lest she be punished. Valentine feared she'll actually make friends who could make more accusations against him and her brother. Jonathan was too possessive to let her out of the house when Valentine's at work.

Well, actually she could walk out the front doors right now and no one would notice, it would be the coming home that scared her. So here she sat, every evening, waiting for one of the men to barge in and use her. In the picture it didn't used to be like that, they would all sit down to dinner and laugh around the table. She'd used to sit in between her parents on their bed while Jonathan laid across the foot as they watched T.V. She remembered when Jonathan would pick her up and swing her around the yard as she shrieked with laughter.

She also remembered Jonathan coming in to her room when she was ten, his perfect fourteen year old face marred by a bruise and tears. It was around midnight and Clary had gone to bed early because she had an art show the next day. She rolled over in bed to face her brother standing in the doorway, shaking with pain only she hadn't realized it then.

"What's wrong Jonny?" She'd asked in her prepubescent, girlish voice, calling her brother by his nickname. He'd smiled weakly and crossed the room, brushing away her red curls from her sleepy face.

"Nothing, Clare Bear. I just wanted to come in a say goodnight," he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. Clary wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a hug. He'd hesitantly hugged her back, moving as though every jolt caused him pain.

"Love you Jonny," Clary had whispered.

"Love you too, little sister," he'd whispered back. He kneeled on the bed. "Do you mind if I sleep in here tonight? I think my bed is made of rocks."

Clary had giggled sleepily and pulled away from him, tugging back the covers. "Of course silly," she said quietly, scooting over so he could slip in between the sheets. Clary had rolled over as her brother settled on his stomach, reaching over to clasp her hand, squeezing almost painfully but Clary hadn't said anything, thinking he was having a nightmare. She didn't know then that he laid on his stomach because his back had been bleeding and raw or was holding her hand in a death grip because the pain was too much or that he asked to sleep in her room because he couldn't make it to his own room.

"Goodnight," he whispered.

"Goodnight," she replied, not knowing that that single word had set off her brother's amoral attraction and had damned her to her current fate. She was only being nice. Every time after that, Jonathan had wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. Clary had always turned to him and tucked her nose in his shoulder.

She changed her mind about sketching, reliving all the bad memories of the last six years, the bruises and breaks and cuts and rapes. Closing her sketchbook, she put her head in her hands, resting her elbows on the desk. She held back the tears, she didn't need to be crying. Today's supposed to be a good day. She got her homework done, Valentine's stuck at work and Jonathan was angry but off taking his anger out somewhere else. She got her chores done, dinner made and gets four extra hours of sleep to herself.

But she had to ruin it with bitter memories. She choked as she pressed on the bruise branded on her cheekbone. Valentine had backhanded her for screaming as he took her in her own bed. Gripped her shoulder painfully as he drove himself into her. She's surprised she wasn't broken yet but no, her body was determined to keep up its vigor. She stood, pushing her chair away from her desk and striding over to her bathroom to wash away all her makeup and dirt from the day.

After finishing and dressing in a cotton tank top and shorts she stood in front of the mirror to access the wounds she didn't get a chance to yesterday. The whole of her right cheek was black and blue, her shoulders a patch work of bruises. Her hips ached in pain from being repeatedly slammed into. Rotating her left wrist she thought it might be sprained and she had a cut with dried blood across the front of her chest. It's not as bad as he usually is. Most times she couldn't move properly for a solid twenty four hours and she had at least one break or sprain.

She turned away from her mirror and walked back into her bedroom. She jumped as she saw her brother standing illuminated by the autumn moonlight in front of her windows. Her heart sank as she knew the only reason for him to be in here. Well, at least she'd held the fantasy of a free night for just a little while. He's leaning against the wall, looking into the room and more specifically at her with his arms crossed in front of his chest. She didn't say anything as he pushed off from the wall and strode over to her, his body moving with a deadly grace born of vigorous exercise.

Standing directly in front of her, he leaned down and brushed the backs of two fingers over the bruise on her cheek. She jerked her face away, wincing at the contact. She didn't allow her brother to show her sympathy in her wounds when he's usually the cause of a half of them. Jonathan turned her face back up to his and kissed her. She didn't return the kiss, only let her brother manipulate her body as he spun her around and tossed her on her bed.

She laid on her back, staring up at her canopy as she heard her brother strip his clothes. She closed her eyes as she heard the fabric whisper to the ground, wishing she could breeze away from this life or at least blank her mind out enough to not be present but all she ever did during sex with either her brother or father was remember what happened to put her here. Her mother's death, the beatings that followed, the brutal night when her virginity was stolen by her brother. He'd gotten to her first before Valentine figured out she looked so much like Jocelyn he could use her as a visual substitute. Having been deflowered by her brother though only caused Valentine to lash out at her, calling her a slut because she wasn't a virgin.

That's all she could remember as she felt her brother stripping her shorts and panties from her. Prone beneath her brother, she felt him stroke into her, felt him touch her in all the places Valentine didn't bruise, essentially guaranteeing a bruise on the only working parts of her body once her brother got up to pace. He knew where Valentine liked to hold onto her and to strike her and he made an effort not to touch her in those places, hold her in the places that didn't hurt. That's why he's being so slow and gentle right now, because he knew she's hurting but once his hormones and orgasm take over, he's lost to it and all those unmarked places get bruised with the ferocity he drove into her with.

She moaned as her hormones built and her pleasure coalesced, Jonathan making his effort to give her some semblance of pleasure. He's kissing her neck as he stroked but Clary didn't take anything more than the skin deep, biological pleasure brought on by sex. She used to think herself a monster from finding pleasure in sex with her brother but the more biology and sex education classes she'd taken, the more she realized it was only a natural reaction and nothing more, not if you didn't love the man who's penetrating you. In this case she loved him as a brother, she always would, no matter what he did to her but that love has been greatly reduced and would never reach or come near the incestuous desire her brother had toward her.

She cried out as her brother triggered her orgasm. Her body slick with sweat, she laid still beneath him as the pleasure rolled through her and Jonathan continued to slam into her, looking for his release and heightening hers with his movement. Finally, he was pushed over the edge and Clary could relax as he withdrew. She could already feel bruises forming and her hips and pelvis ache painfully as she tried not to shift around.

She might as well just sleep where she was, in only her tank top on top of her sheets but no, her brother had to move her under the covers. Though he did it gently, she had to take great effort in not whimpering or screaming out in pain. Once beneath her sheets, she let herself drift, blocking out the dip of her mattress as her brother crawled in after her, laying a light arm across her stomach. She didn't think Jonathan realized he did it out of habit but ever since that night and the many whippings afterward, even when he's not injured, he slept on his stomach as he did now and she could feel him beside her.

She heard her brother say goodnight and didn't bother responding. The little girl who welcomed her big brother into her bed, who would have said goodnight, died alongside her mother on the streets of New York. She eventually fell asleep to the constant throbbing rhythm of her bruises and aches, despite the presence of her brother sleeping beside her. She's just grateful he didn't do a two hour marathon like Valentine last night and that she at least got a couple hours extra of sleep.

She woke in the middle of the night to the front door slamming. Her heart practically burst from her chest in fear as she realized Valentine's home. She also was crushed by how badly her body hurts and the prospect of how much worse it's going to feel in the morning when she had to get up for school. She could hear him trudging up the stairs as she stared at her ceiling, not having the will to move. She tensed as he got closer to her room.

Almost jumping out of her skin when she felt fingers tracing light circles over her hip, she whimpered. She looked over to see her brother still here, still had his arm draped over her. His eyes were still closed but his breathing told her he's somewhat conscious.

"Don't worry. He won't come in this late," Jonathan murmured drowsily. Knowing Valentine, she wouldn't put it past him to barge in, wake her up in the middle of the night and beat her, rape her then leave her to recover but with her brother here at least she had some reprieve because the men seemed to have a lasting deal where if one's with her, the other didn't disturb in any way, shape or form.

True to Clary's beliefs, her door opened and she didn't dare turn her head, knowing who it was. Her body tensed unbelievably but Jonathan just splayed his hand across her stomach. She held her breath.

"Go away Father. Go get some sleep," Jonathan said, loud enough for the man at the door to hear through his muffled voice against her pillows. She let out her breath as she heard the door close but her stomach sank at the prospect that attempt had set up for tonight.

She soon returned to a fretful sleep, like most sleeps she had when Jonathan had decided to take up temporary residence in her bed. Even in sleep her body knew not to move, lest she aggravate the pain radiating through her muscles and skin. Eventually, the sound of her alarm blaring the morning news woke her again. She opened her eyes and laid there for a few minutes, listening to the forecast and how another shooting took place in downtown last night. She forced herself to move, causing her body to scream out in pain as she turned off the alarm.

She moved to haul herself out of bed to dress and conceal her new bruises and almost cried out as an arm tightened around her waist. Looking over she saw her brother still lying on her bed, still mostly asleep and holding her in bed, his arm pressing against some of the more sensitive and painful parts of her body.

"Don't leave yet," he mumbled.

"Jonathan, I have school," Clary complained, wiggling around a bit so his arm didn't press too harshly against her.

"I'll call you in sick then," he replied, dragging her back over to him.

She pushed his arm away and slipped from the bed. "No," she said. There is no way she's missing a day of school, the only thing that gave her a break from her brother and father. If she stayed here, Jonathan would have at her again, not having classes until noon and after he left, Valentine would start in on her and she didn't think she'd recovered enough, nor would she be within the next three days, to deal with his anger.

"Just because you're a legal adult and can pull me out of school whenever you want doesn't mean you should. I have class and projects due. I need to go," she said, pulling of a pair of loose jeans and a sweater. After concealing her visible bruises she pulled on her biker jacket over the sweater and grabbed her school bag and bike keys, her brother not having practice today.

Jonathan was still lying on her bed and she ignored him as she headed out the door downstairs to her Hayabusa. The only benefit of having to go to school was waking up before her brother and leaving the house after her father. Though today she suspected he's still crashed in his own bed from the all-nighter he pulled. In the kitchen she quickly made herself a piece of toast, stuck it between her teeth and headed out the front door, locking up behind her.

She straddled her motorcycle as she finished her pathetic breakfast and zipped up her leather jacket. She pulled on her black helmet, tucking her red hair up and lowered the tinted visor. It was still mostly dark out due to the changing of the seasons and she turned on her headlight before starting up her bike. Pulling up to the gate, she pressed her controller to open it and peeled out into the almost abandoned New York street.

Her school was about five miles away and she traveled the back roads, loving the silence and peace of it. Due to her own bike she didn't hear the sports car pulling up behind her. She's racing down the street, almost to the entrance of the high school parking lot when a gray Aston Martin zoomed past her, coming close to clipping the side of her bike. She rolled her eyes, mumbling 'jackass' under her breath as she watched the Aston roll into a parking spot near the doors. Clary pulled into one of the motorcycle spots down the row.

She put her kickstand down, turning off her bike. She's always early, always wants to be early so she could get away from her family. She loved the sunrise peeking over the school building. It made her feel like she's the only person in the world. She closed her eyes and breathed in the cold morning air, relishing in the freshness of it that was until she felt a hand clap her shoulder, the bruised one. She jumped, drawing in a breath between her teeth before wrenching away from the hand. She turned, pulling off her helmet and facing the person who'd clapped her on the shoulder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Clary asked, furious. She hated being touched by her brother and father against her will and she certainly didn't like being touched by anyone else. Especially on one of her bruises or injuries. The man behind her was tall and blond and drop dead gorgeous but she really didn't care about men nor was she interested in a relationship due to her family. But she had to admit, his golden curls framed a perfect face and his build was tall and lean and muscled. He was wearing a tanned leather jacket with nice, designer jeans, meaning he's probably a spoiled rich snob and his arrogant gait all but confirmed it.

Though right now, with Clary glaring at him, he stood shocked and openmouthed. "I-I was, uh," he paused and cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "I was coming over to apologize for almost running you off the road. I didn't see you there."

Clary put her helmet on her bike and swung her leg over, pulling her keys out and slipping them in her pocket. She checked her bag, mumbling, "It's fine" before she took to the sidewalk and walked toward the school. The blond man followed her, slinging his pack over his shoulder and running to catch up with her. She really wished he would just go away, all the other people left her alone and she'd always been content without the attention.

"Hey, I'm new here," the man said beside her and Clary pushed open the door.

"That's a peculiar name," Clary said, still ignoring him. It's still about a half hour before school starts. She's usually the only one here besides teachers and she painted in the art room. She didn't know why this man would be here this early, maybe to get his classes or schedule. She continued walking, ignoring the man and hoping he'd go away.

She heard him laugh but didn't bother looking at him. Please go away. "And I was hoping you could show me around. I don't know where half these classes are."

She paused in the doorway and turned to the blond. The look on his face was cute, confused and hopeful. She sighed and held out her hand, hoping the stiffness of her movements wasn't terribly noticeable. "Let me see your schedule," she said quietly.

The blond dug in his bag before handing her a slip of paper. She looked over it, the black ink slightly fuzzy as her headache came back from yesterday. After a second it cleared but not before rain splattered down on the paper. She looked up just in time to get drenched in the sudden downpour. The blond laughed and pulled her inside the doors while she wiped away the water from her face, being sure not to press too harshly on her cheek.

"Sorry about that," Clary said, wringing out his schedule. "Um, your first class is with Mr. Starkweather, biology. I have him first class too, so I'll walk you there. C'mon," she said, avoiding his gaze and walking down to Mr. Starkweather's class room.

"I'm Jace by the way. I just moved here from England," he said, keeping close to her side. She slid away, chills running down her spine at the proximity. And not the good kind.

"England? Really? Where's your accent?" Clary asked, walking past Ms. Penhallow's classroom, Jace's third class as well as hers. Looking over his schedule, they had the same classes, all except two.

"Right here," he said with a perfect English accent. "I just didn't want yet another thing making me the odd man out. I'm already new."

Clary stopped in front of Mr. Starkweather's classroom. She knew how he felt but she wouldn't let him know that. She smiled shyly at him. "Yeah, well I'm sure with your looks you'll be fine around here. This school is built on the shallowness of other people."

Clary pushed open the door and found Mr. Starkweather sitting at his desk. He looked up and smiled at Clary. "Good morning Clarissa. What can I help you with?"

"Not me, Mr. Starkweather. You have a new student and I was just showing him around." Clary turned to Jace who's standing behind her. He stepped forward and extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Starkweather," Jace said, shaking his hand.

"And you, Mr. …"

"Herondale. Jace Herondale."

Clary hiked her bag up her shoulder, the unbruised one and turned to leave. She wanted to go down to the art department and paint for a little while before school starts. As she reached the door, Mr. Starkweather called after her to come back. Pursing her lips, she let go of the door knob and turned back.

"Yes, Mr. Starkweather?"

"Are you okay? Do you need to go to the nurse?" He asked, stepping around his desk. Clary blanched as she heard the question. How did he know? No one was supposed to know. A flash of Valentine's hand cracking across her face whipped in her mind as she tried to compose herself.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Clary said, brushing her soaking wet hair from her face. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Jace stepped up to her and studied her face. She took a step back, looking up at him incredulously, how dare he invade her personal space. "Because of the bruise on your cheek," he said softly, curiously.

Clary stepped back as the night before last washed through her. She shivered then composed herself. "Yeah, my… brother accidentally opened the door on me. I'm fine really. I'll see you in class," Clary said haltingly, touching her cheek before dashing out of the room and down toward the basement where the art room is. She stopped off in the bathroom first, digging in her bag to find her concealer. The rain had washed away some of it from her cheek but thank god it didn't wash away all of it. She wouldn't have been able to pass off the whole of her right cheek turned black as someone accidentally opening the door on her. Only the portion right along her cheekbone had been revealed and she quickly dried her face and concealed it before slinking back into the hallway.

She stopped at her locker as other kids start flooding into the building. Great, so much for painting. She shrugged off her leather biking jacket and bag, making sure her hair was down around her shoulders to hide the marks going up the back of her neck. She grabbed her books for the next four classes and headed back to Mr. Starkweather's classroom to take her seat. It's about five minutes to the bell when she took her seat in the back by the window.

As usual and to her great relief, no one paid her any attention as they all filed in and took their seats. She's pulling out her biology notebook to write down the homework for tonight when someone took the seat beside her at the two person science table. She looked up to see Jace sitting down and pulling out his own notebook. She avoided his gaze as she scribbled down her homework and the bell rang. Mr. Starkweather stood to begin class on genomes.

"Hey," Jace said under his breath, leaning over toward her. Her throat tightened at his nearness and she leaned away.

"Hi," she said, trying her best to focus on the lesson. He's saying something about genetic defects caused by said genomes.

"I'm kind of lost," he said, gesturing down at his blank notebook.

"We all are," Clary said, excluding herself as lost, before jotting down some notes. "Just take notes then look it up on Google when you get home." She scooted away from him and immersed herself in the lesson. Jace didn't say anything for the rest of the class and when the bell rang he followed her out of the classroom.

She turned around to snap at him to leave her alone but the look on his face stopped her. He's studying her with those molten gold eyes. She didn't realize he had gold eyes. They're so beautiful and stunning, what an odd color. She shook her head.

"You're next class is with Ms. Whitelaw. I have the same thing, I'll walk you there if you want," Clary said hesitantly, her previously defensive voice mousy and shy. She really shouldn't be getting friendly with anyone, not after what happened to Simon when he got too close. She wouldn't let that happen to anyone again.

"I'd love that, thanks. This school really seems like a maze. I'm sure I wouldn't have ever even found the doors if I hadn't almost run you off the road," he said with a laugh. Clary smiled back weakly and gestured for him to follow.

The rest of the day and the other three classes she had with Jace passed quickly and each time the prized empty seat beside her was claimed with Jace's presence, per the teacher's orders. All she wanted was to get away, the longer he was with her, the longer he had to puzzle her out. No one else ever bothered with her nor did she want them to. Her brother's come to pick her up so many times and scared away all the people even remotely interested in talking to her away with their tails between their legs. She didn't mind, anyone who's ever tried to become 'friends' with her aside from Simon had just wanted to be close to the money her father made.

This golden boy, though, didn't leave her side. He shadowed her the entire day and it's setting her on edge. He didn't seem like the type to be shy but he's too intrigued by her to go away. She tried to seem boring or uninterested but he wouldn't branch out, wouldn't talk to anyone other than her and she didn't have the guts to tell him off. The other times she's tried to tell her brother or father off she ended up in her bed for a week. Take that either way. She managed to escape him for lunch, not having a class with him before lunch. She caught a glimpse of him sitting with a group of popular kids, the Lightwoods and their gaggle she thought, she didn't keep up with school gossip, during lunch and slunk off to the hidden lunch pavilion that she'd discovered last year.

She'd always out there no matter the weather, not minding the cold that ices her always hot and throbbing body and the canopy overhead kept her shielded from rain and snow, like it's raining today. The down pour from this morning had persisted, drenching every one of New York's citizens. At the end of the day, after her last class, the only other one devoid of Jace, she headed back to her locker.

Shrugging on her leather jacket and putting the books she needed for homework tonight in her bag, she heaved a sigh, not wanting to go back home. She stuck her hand in her pocket to find her bike keys before she closed her locker and walked out the front doors. She walked past Jace's Aston Martin to her Hayabusa and slung her leg over it, pushing back the kickstand and holding it between her thighs while she pulled on her helmet.

"Hey! Clary!" She closed her eyes as she heard Jace's voice. She flipped up her visor as she looked back to see the drowned golden blond. The rain was still pouring and soaking her jeans as he came up to her bike beside her. "I was wondering if I could come over. I need some help with my classes and the materials. I thought since you were in most of my classes, maybe you could help me."

Clary looked him over, not wanting to give away any of her anxiety. "I-I uh… I don't think my-my father would want me to…" Clary stuttered. Dammit! She knew that she'll get in trouble if she brought a boy over or if she went over to his place but the look on Jace's face was so hopeful, and enthralling… No, she couldn't. Valentine was angry this morning and when she got home she didn't want to give him any other excuse to get angrier at her.

"It doesn't have to be your place if your dad's home. It'll just be over for an hour or two. I could really use the help," Jace said and she's surprised he wasn't complaining about the fact that the rain was soaking his designer jeans and jacket, that his perfect hair was getting ruined. The wet curls lay lank and plastered to his forehead, curling around his eyes. He's actually quite attractive.

She sighed in defeat; she could never turn someone down who asked for help. "I'll tell you what, if you can meet me in the pavilion around back at six tomorrow morning then I'll think about taking you home. Bring your books and a sweater, oh and a flashlight."

"I'm quite cute, you know. I don't think you'll be able to resist taking me home," Jace said, the smallest quirk of his lips lifting it into a smirk.

Clary scoffed and hid her smile at the truth of his statement. He looked like a wet puppy in down pour. "I'll see you tomorrow morning then?" She asked, thrusting out her hand. She could manage slipping away early tomorrow morning. She's sure Valentine was the one who's going to beat her tonight so she'll be alone through the night. She could get up before her father and slip out to school. She didn't need to make breakfast for either of the men because Valentine got breakfast at work and Jonathan didn't bother waking up before noon most days. She'll set her alarm when she got home tonight.

Jace clasped her hand and shook it, a bright grin on his face. "It's a date," he said a little too enthusiastically for her taste. "I'll see you at six tomorrow morning."

Clary released his hand and flipped her visor down as Jace stepped away from her cycle. She started it up and peeled out of the parking lot. Driving through New York traffic, weaving in and out with her cycle, she thought about how much she's going to regret this. If her father or her brother ever found out, she's scared of what they might do to her and to Jace. Her father could conjure up evidence in the blink of an eye to fabricate a case that didn't exist or he can slap a restraining order on Jace so fast that he'd be dizzy for a week.

But she couldn't back out now so she'd keep her mouth shut, take her punishment tonight and sneak out in the morning. She pulled into her driveway, under the car port and out of the rain, shutting off her bike before pulling off her helmet. She walked in through the front doors, noticing that her father's car wasn't in the drive way and neither was her brother's. She bit her lip in fear of how angry her father would be when he came home as she shut the door and dashed up the stairs, dropping her leather jacket, keys and school bag in her room and setting her alarm clock for five thirty before daring to go do her chores.

She walked into her father's bedroom to find it a train wreck. The bed sheets thrown about, his clothes dashed on the floor, beer bottles strewn about the floor. He did this on purpose, making more chores for her to do. She grabbed the laundry basket and picked up his clothes then the trash bin to pick up the bottles. She changed the sheets on his bed and threw his clothes in the wash before going into her brother's room.

It was even more of a crime scene. It was a college frat boy's bedroom. She didn't understand how in three days he could make it this messy. His large bed with its black silk sheets was as messy as her father's. He had pizza boxes and trash thrown about his room. His desk was awash with papers and his computer was still running. His dirty laundry basket in his closet was overflowing and more dirty clothes were thrown on the floor of his closet. He had Gucci bags with folded suits still in them beside his bed.

Used towels laid wet and dirty on the floor, candy wrappers on his desk, coffee cups on the floor beside said desk, alarm still blaring, tissues on the nightstand, bag of marshmallows on the desk and all assorted trash items randomly thrown about. She sighed and grabbed a garbage bag from her cleaning supply bucket she hauled with her so she didn't have to go back and forth to the cleaning closet and set to picking up all the trash. She found a match set from a stripper bar and tucks it in a desk drawer. She ended up filling an entire trash bag before moving on to his laundry, using his basket to stuff the rest of his clothes in.

On her way to the laundry room downstairs, she dumped the trash bag in the can in the garage. She switched Valentine's load and threw Jonathan's in. She set the Gucci suits beside the ironing board before going back up to her brother's room to make his bed. The silk sheets glided easily back up and she pulled the comforter taut. She moved over to his desk and saw all the papers scribbled with notes about his case then English, math, economics, and financial classes. She separated out the papers and put them into his desk organizer based on class. She saved the documents on his computer, closed them and shut it down.

She threw open his drapes and went back down to the laundry room. She folded Valentine's load while Jonathan's was drying and his suits were washing. She carried her father's clothes back up and put them away in the right drawers before she walked into his bathroom. Thankfully, her father usually kept his bathroom pretty clean so she didn't have to do anything but her brother's. She physically shivered at the sight of it. She replaced his towels and wash cloths, wiping down the mirror and cleaning up the toothpaste on the counter before cleaning the toilet and shower.

She went back down to the laundry room and glanced at the clock. It's been about three hours before she got home and Valentine should be home in another hour. Folding Jonathan's laundry, she took it back up while his suits dried and placed his clothes in his drawers. She laid down on his bed for a moment, noticing only now how much her face and ribs and body hurts. Physical activity usually distracted her from it but when she stopped, it rose up tenfold to taunt her. She shifted as she felt a lump she didn't get under her brother's sheets. She pulled herself up and tugged the covers up to find a pair of her lace underwear on his bed. Her stomach turned as she imagined just exactly what her brother was doing with her underwear but left his room and returned them to her own laundry basket.

She noticed Jonathan had made her bed before he left. She smiled at the small act of decency before she brought her own laundry basket down to clean her own clothes. She took her brother's suits out and ironed them, hanging them up in his closet before drying her own clothes and putting them away in her closet. She went back downstairs to see what damage was done to the kitchen.

As soon as she sets foot in the kitchen though, she's knocked to the ground by a slap so hard to her already bruised cheek, it made her head ring. She shakily pushed herself up onto her knees to find Valentine standing menacingly over her.

"Where have you been?" He boomed. He's already changed out of his work suit into a t-shirt and slacks. His white blond hair was cropped shorter than her brother's and his broad shoulders bulged against the dark fabric.

"I was at school then I came home," Clary said quietly, her arms shaking as she tried not to collapse in pain.

Valentine kicked her ribs, sending her onto her back. He towered over her, stepping over her to straddle her hips. "Liar," he shouted, placing a booted foot on her stomach and pressing down until she could barely breathe. "I checked the gate entries. You were a half hour late from school. What were you doing? Whoring yourself to anyone who can pay your price? Tell me!" He pressed harder and she swore she could hear her rib crack.

"Please," Clary sobbed, trying desperately to remove his boot from her stomach. "I swear, I was at school. I swear! Mr. Starkweather wanted to talk to me about the genome project!" Valentine kicked her side again, rolling her onto her side. He fisted his hand in her shirt and dragged her up off the ground only to slap her down again. She landed with a crack on the tile floor and she wiped away the blood from her split lip.

"Get up, slut." He kicked her over onto her back. "Go make dinner, now, and don't be late again," he growled, walking away to the family room and turning on the T.V. She heard the shouts and jeers of the football spectators as she laid there, trying to move to make dinner. The conversation with Jace must have made her late. She could hear the front doors open and close, the faint conversation of her brother and father. She pulled herself from the floor just as her brother walked into the kitchen. She wiped away the blood dribbling down her cheek and used the counter to steady herself before leaning down and pulling out a frying pan.

She slammed it down on the stove top, still wobbly on her legs. She stumbled over to the fridge to pull out the hamburger meat. She had the meat snatched from her hands and set on the counter. She turned slowly, painfully to look at her brother. She didn't say anything, dropping her gaze and trying to step around him. He didn't let her pass, blocking her way to the heating pan.

"What do you need Jonathan?" She asked quietly, leaning on the counter as her ribs throbbed.

"Where were you?" He asked, his voice quieter and so much more menacing than Valentine's.

She closed her eyes as she could hear the possession in his voice and it ripped fear through her. "I already told Father. I was at school, Mr. Starkweather needed to talk to me about the genome project that's due next Monday," she whispered, trying once again to step around her brother. He grabbed her hips and pinned her to the counter, caging her in with his arms. He tilted her chin up to force her to look at her.

"I'm not as stupid as Father, Clarissa. What were you really doing," he said menacingly.

"I told you, talking to Mr.-" He cut her off by slapping her across her cheek. She felt blood well up on her cheek bone. The already brutalized skin, sensitive and easily broken open. She kept her cheek to her brother, her eyes on the floor as she trembled delicately.

"Don't lie to me, little sister. Where were you?" He growled in her ear, gripping her wrist painfully, causing a bruise to form. She cried out softly, trying to wrench her hand away but Jonathan didn't budge.

"I was at school," Clary began and flinched as Jonathan raised his hand again. "Wait," she said, cringing away from him. "I was talking to a new student. They needed help with a school assignment. I was only helping," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm sorry I was late. It won't happen again."

Jonathan relaxed visibly but she still didn't turn her head until he cupped her chin and turned her lips up so he could press a chaste kiss to her lips, licking the blood from her split one.

"Be sure it doesn't," he said before backing away and grabbing the hamburger meat. He opened up the packaging and set it on the cutting board. "I want mine medium rare," he said before sitting down at the kitchen counter and pulling out his own college homework.

Clary set to work on making dinner, quickly cooking the meat and pulling out buns and cheese and condiments. About an hour later around eight, she had her brother's and father's dinner made. She set her brother's down in front of him as he scribbled away at some legal document and took her father's to the family room where he reclined on the couch. She handed him the plate and beer before disappearing back into the kitchen where her own food was.

Her stomach turned as she looked at the sight of food and she started leaving the kitchen to go get her own books to start on her homework but Jonathan grabbed her shirt and pulled her back. "Where are you going?" He asked.

"To get my homework," she said, pulling away and dashing away as soon as he let her go. She's back downstairs against her better judgment in a moment, sitting down next to her brother and spreading out her books. She didn't touch her food as she worked, she almost finished when her books were slammed shut by her brother. She pulled back and looked over at him. Her eyes flicked to the clock, knowing all her hours were ticking away. An hour's passed since she'd finished making dinner.

"What?" She asked quietly as he pulled away her books and papers when she reached for them.

"Eat," he said, pulling her plate of untouched food over to her. She sighed and picked up her burger. Finishing it off she pushed the plate away and reached over for her books, wanting to finish before she got pulled into the bedroom but Jonathan blocked her, pushing her books farther away. She looked up at her brother with a pathetic look. He just grinned at her and tugged her over for a kiss. Her swollen lip throbbed in pain and her brother pulled away.

"I wish I could have you again tonight," he whispered and Clary refrained from gagging. He kissed her again, pulling her off her stool and into his lap. His hands circled the places he'd bruised last night and she gasped. She had to loop her arms around his neck to not fall off his lap but startled.

Valentine called her into the family room. She slipped away from her brother to where her father stood rigid in the family room. She looked to the T.V. and saw that his favorite team lost. Heart in her stomach, she said nothing as Valentine grabbed her by her throat and threw her to the ground. She scrambled back, only to have her ankle stepped on by her father. She cried out as he leaned over, applying more pressure to her ankle.

He went down on his knees, straddling her hips. He ripped open her button down shirt, exposing her blue cotton bra. He slapped her again. "How dare you look so much like her!" He shouted at her and she knew who he's talking about. He's mad at her because she looked like Jocelyn. He ripped her jeans from her, tearing her panties along with them and unzipping his pants. "How dare you look like her when you killed her!"

"Father, please. Don't," she begged weakly but she only got slapped again. She turned away and screamed as he slammed ruthlessly into her. Pain flared around her and engulfed her surroundings. It flowed up her body. It felt like she's being torn apart. She screamed again as he pulled away. She tried to crawl away but her father flipped her over and pinned her face to the cold floor. One hand on the back of her neck, the other pinning a wrist to the floor, he drove into her from behind; she screamed out and his hand tightened around the back of her neck.

"You're a selfish, idiotic, blind, ignorant little girl and I'm ashamed to call you my daughter," he slurred. He must be drunk but she couldn't focus on anything as the pain flooded her senses. She could feel the blood pooling beneath her, flowing down her cheek and from her lip. It's her fault her mother's dead. She sent her out to get a leaf textured paintbrush. She screamed at the pain both in her heart and body. She shouldn't have let her go.

She saw Jocelyn's face, holding her and laughing with her youngest daughter. She heard the gunshot and the laughter turned to screams. Just as she was screaming now. It hurt so much, something's driving into her spine. It burned, she couldn't move. Everything was burning, her limbs exploding in pain. The world blurred as she's flipped over. She couldn't tell how many more times he hit her but she felt the sweat dripping from his body down onto hers. She felt the absence of the scorching heat between her legs and breathed in relief as her body tried to readjust.

Valentine stood and kicked her in the ribs, shouting how she disgusted him before he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. She lay motionless on the floor, her body flaming and screaming in pain. Between her legs was sticky with blood and her face was hot and bloody. Her ribs burned and her throat was raw from screaming. Her shirt hung open, her bra torn from her body to bear the cut on her stomach as the one on her cheek bleeds. Her jeans and panties laid somewhere across the dark room. She glanced over to the clock to see Valentine had been brutalizing her for three hours.

She didn't understand how he could do something like that for that long but he did and as she crawled her way out of the family room to the stairs, she used the banister to haul herself upright and up the stairs. She whimpered and clutched her side as she accidentally hit her hip on the corner of a side table. She stumbled into her room, closing the door. She fell to her knees as pain racked her body. Dragging herself to her bathroom, she pulled herself into the shower, not bothering to remove her shirt, and managed to get it on and close the door.

The ice cold water felt almost euphoric over her burning and aching body. She lay there, not caring it's around midnight. Not caring she had to get up early to meet Jace, just lying there and letting the water soothe her as it poured softly from the waterfall spout in the ceiling. She managed to reach her arms up, her shoulders protesting to run water through her hair. She stretched painfully up toward the bench to get her shampoo and conditioner, letting them fall after they'd slipped from her reach.

She managed to get her hair washed and conditioned but her body wash, the one soap she actually needed, is too far back on the bench to reach. She closed her eyes in frustration as everything hurts and she mustered the energy to move. Flipping over onto her stomach, she tried to raise herself up with her arms but they hurt and throbbed so much she ended up lying on her stomach with her forehead pressed to the soaked tile. She heard her bathroom door open and practically sobbed at the sound of footsteps.

"What?" She asked in a weak, wretched voice. "Was three hours not enough for you?" Her shower door opened and someone stepped in. She rolled over to find one of the two white blonds standing in her shower in his boxers. He circled to the other side and sat in the water, pulling her up into his lap.

"Oh, baby sister," he whispered in her ear as she leaned against him. "Father did a number on you tonight didn't he?" She nodded, not really understanding Jonathan's sporadic mood swings when one second he was slapping her and the other he was helping her wash away the blood in the middle of the night. He grabbed the body wash and a wash cloth and started gently scrubbing her body. She didn't care that he was getting pleasure out of this, just thankful that she was getting clean.

He shut off the shower and picked her up, both his boxers and her shirt soaked through. He set her down on the edge of her tub and grabbed a towel, handing it to her while crouching in front of her. His eyes roamed her body and the various bruises and cuts while she dried herself. He left for a moment to retrieve one of her sleep shirts from her closet and to change his boxers. He peeled the wet shirt from her and let her dry herself before he helped her put the shirt on.

He picked her up gently, kissing her temple as he knelt on the bed with her, leaning against the headboard with her cradled in his lap. "My sweet little baby sister," he murmured, brushing a hand down her arm. She hated how he took care of her like this. It made her feel like she owed him something and it disgusted her. "Do you want me to get the pain meds and bandages?"

Clary just nodded as he laid her down on her thankfully goose down bed to go retrieve the kit she kept in her bathroom. She didn't think she'd ever be able to sleep on anything other than a goose down mattress that molded to her body and cradled it. This was one instant where she was thankful for the money her father provided. She closed her eyes, aware her bottom half was bare, reveling in how good it felt to be lying motionless on something other than the floor. If she laid still now, nothing hurts or throbs. There was a low heat between her legs and a dull throb but other than that, she was fine.

Everything flared up in pain as the bed dipped and her brother laid her out so he could bandage her open wounds, just like she did with him when he'd been whipped. He brushed light fingers over her skin before wrapping bandages over the small cuts and slices on her body. He left the one her cheek alone, leaning down to kiss her soft lips. He licked the small cut on her bottom lip before kissing her deeply again. She sighed against her will at the clean feeling sweeping through her, despite her brother's compromising touch. She always felt like this after a shower and being bandaged. He gave her two pain pills to dry swallow before returning to kissing her.

But she always felt dirty inside, being used by her father, the guilt that crushed her every time her father blamed her aloud for her mother's death. She knew it's her fault and she couldn't stop blaming herself because she had asked for a leaf textured paintbrush. She knew her brother blamed her too, both of them do. Jonathan was just less angry about it because he loved her, in that disgusting, incestuous way.

She didn't even move as Jonathan continued kissing her lips then her nose and forehead. She's lying horizontal on the bed and her brother laid down beside her, tucking an arm behind his head. Still motionless, she stared up at her canopy as her pain slowly ebbed away. Her brother lied in silence next to her, as she did the many nights he'd lain in her bed, in pain.

"Do they still hurt?" Clary whispered.

Her brother turned his head and brushed a curl ever so gently away from her bruised cheek. "Do what still hurt, little sister?"

The dark surrounded the pair of them and the moonlight coming in from the window outlined and highlighted her brother's white blond hair. "Your whip scars," she replied. She had to move her arms to get more comfortable and it sent a spark of pain through her body. She put one hand on her stomach and rested the other beside her face.

He gave her a weak smile that she could barely see. "Yeah, sometimes." He turned away then and Clary just closed her eyes, not wanting to move anymore. She felt her brother trace his fingers down her legs after a few minutes and she assumed he thought she was asleep. He splayed his palm, against her thigh and Clary forced herself not to recoil in disgust. She felt him press a light kiss to her forehead before he got up. She thought he left but he's back, covering her with a blanket, not daring to move her.

"Goodnight," she heard him whisper and that damning night flashed back. That one night where she'd accepted him into her bed because he'd wanted to have some company through the pain. She heard her door close and she choked on a sob.

"Goodnight," she whispered to the darkness before she fell into unconsciousness.