WARNING: This story is rated M for mentions of child molest, and abuse. Don't read this if you don't think you can handle that.

~KissingFire

Eight Years Earlier

Clary

What's happening to me?

I was eight.

He was so much older. Bigger, than I was

"Daddy," I whispered. "What are you doing?"

His smile wasn't like the Daddy I knew. This wasn't the daddy that would hold me when I cried, let me sleep with him and Mommy when it was storming. This wasn't the daddy that would kiss my skinned knees and elbows.

He was ferocious, and, though I was too young to recognize it at that time, lustful.

My door was never locked, because saftey reasons, Mommy always told me.

But Mommy was asleep on the couch. Daddy told me that she was sad, and that was what her pills were for. I wasn't allowed to touch them, I guess. One time I tasted one, because Mommy always had a happy, blissed-out look on her face every time she swallowed one of her pills.

Jon saw me, and told Daddy, who whipped me till I couldn't walk anymore.

They made me woozy; I sure didn't feel happy at the taste. The pill made me throw up, and fall asleep two hours before my bedtime.

Daddy never came into my room after bedtime; Unless it was storming or to tuck me in.

He was over me; Pushing my shoulders into my pillows too roughly, his face hovering over mine.

"Relax, baby girl," he cooed, the nickname he'd always called me. "I'm going to make you feel good. Is that alright?"

I frowned. I didn't understand. He wasn't making me feel good. His hands were too hard and rough, and I couldn't breathe right with him straddling my waist like that.

It wasn't alright.

"Get off me," I said in a polite voice. I didn't want him to blow up and slap me like he hits Mommy. I've always seen her cry after he does that. It makes me sad. "Please."

"It's alright, baby girl. Just let me make you feel good..."

What's he doing?

...Don't touch me there, Daddy.

What-

Stop!

Please, make it stop...

"HELP," I screamed through my sobs; Daddy slapped his hand over my mouth, his black eyes angry. "Shut up," he snarled, slapping me across the face.

Nobody came to help.

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It didn't feel good. It hurt. So much.

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I cried myself to sleep, sleeping under my bed in case Daddy came back. Well, that and there was some blood stains on my sheets.

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Mommy didn't believe me. No, she slapped me. Screamed that I was a liar, and locked herself in her room with her Sad Pills.

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Nobody believes me.

I don't think this torment will ever end.

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I tried to talk.

But I can't.

There's something wrong with my voice. Nobody hears me. Nobody ever hears when I scream for help. Scream for him to stop.

I pray, instead.

But God doesn't help, either.

I've given up on everybody, now.

I'm alone.

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Present

Jace

People sterotype me almost immediately.

Not because I'm blonde, though I used to have a friend who gave me hell, calling me a dyed-blonde, wannabe Goth. I wasn't Goth, I had no idea where he got that from.

People think, that just because I own a tattoo parlor, I'm a gang member of a motorcycle group. That I'm a drug dealer, or just recently escaped rehab.

And that I'm probably covered head-to-toe with tattoos.

I actually only have two.

I never really saw the need to have anymore than that.

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My most frequent customers are Kaelie, Magnus, and his sister Aline. I have other customers, but they only have two or one, and don't come around but once a year, or something like that.

I don't really remember people other than them. That stand out, or come to mind, anyways.

Magnus was inked up, and sometimes his boyfriend Alec, who's actually a buddy of mine, would come with him to watch Magnus get his done. It's a fascinating process, I agree, but I don't know if it's normal or not for someone to get so horny while watching his boyfriend get his tattoos done.

But who am I to question their sex life?

Aline was hot, but she was completely taken, and I was completely not interested.

Kaelie, on the other hand, was useful.

The chick never had money. Coincidence? I think not. But she made up for it, let me tell you...

So basically, those three, and a handful of uncommitted customers, were the only faces I ever saw.

Until she started coming.

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It was a normal Friday afternoon; Nothing interesting, unless you count Kaelie coming over to "work off" her payments.

I was doing what I usually did when there was nothing left to do; Sit in my office and have a few smokes, staring at nothing. Oddly enough, that was the part I enjoyed most about my Fridays.

Kaelie was gone; Magnus and Alec were off vacationing in Europe...And I had no idea where the hell Aline was.

I'd just put the 'CLOSED' sign up in my front window, and was already lighting up my first cigarette, when I heard the tinkling of the bell hanging over the front door.

Tensing, I stood up, pulling my trusty revolver out of one of my drawers, and barged out of the office.

"The damn sign said that I was closed!" I barked angrily, pointing my revolver straight at the intruder's head.

I blinked when I took in her figure, slowly lowering my gun. Even if she was here to rob me, my dead mother would turn in her grave if she ever realized I held a gun to a young girl.

A petite, pixie-like looking girl was staring up at me with wide, green, curious eyes, flinching slightly when she realized I had a gun. She was pretty, in a cute, faerie way. Not my type, exactly, but still pretty.

I narrowed my eyes at her.

She was wearing short, black cut-offs, knee-high combat boots and a skimpy black halter top. Her curling red hair was limp looking, and she smelled like she hadn't showered in weeks.

I was willing to bet she was a prostitute.

But there was no way...She couldn't have been more than fourteen!

"Kid," I sighed, hooking my loaded gun in my ripping belt loops. "Don't even tell me you're here to get inked."

She didn't say anything. In fact, she didn't even blink or make any gesture that she'd heard me at all.

I frowned at her. "Hey. What're you, mute? You're too young to get a tatto, and I'm closed. Get the hell out of my shop."

The Pixie just smiled sweetly at me, and shuffled over to my front desk, and tried to get on top of it. Surprise, she was too short.

If I was a nice and polite person, I might have offered to help her up. But I wasn't, so I just crossed my arms and glared even harder at her. "Are you listening to me? Get out."

She pouted, having given up on getting on my desk, in stead walking around the whole damn think, and perching herself on my black metal stool, crossing her legs delicately. Cute. But she was beginning to piss me off.

"I'm going to give you one more chance. Get out; Or I'll carry you out."

She cocked her head at me, like a lost puppy.

Maybe she was just slow.

I sighed, and walked around the desk, stepping in so that I was standing right in front of her. She stared up at me, her elfin face blank and puzzled.

Probably slow.

I rolled my eyes. Just my luck...

I placed my hands gently on her hips, and was surprised at how skinny she was. Her small, delicate little bones stuck out, lumpy and sharp against my palms.

She immediately flinched from my touch, jerking away from me, and fell backwards off the stool.

I swore, grabbing her by her arms and catching her before she fell to the floor.

By then she was sobbing silent sobs, tearless, and trying to break out of my hold.

What the hell...

She hopped out of my range, and ran over to the front door, glancing over her shoulder at me, fearfully.

"Wait!" I tried to stop her. She was so naive, too innocent to be out on the streets like I suspected she was.

But she took one look at my outstretched hand, and opened her mouth in a silent cry, before she was gone, the door slamming behind her.

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I forgot about her, after two days.

She was just another Jane Doe; I saw a lot of those, I lived in New York, after all.

And I didn't even live in a good neighborhood, so it wasn't uncommon to run into a John or Jane on my way to the grocery, or dry cleaners.

It took two days, before the memory of her thin face had left my mind.

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"Dude, you're digging too deep in my fuckin' arm. Ease up," Sebastian whatever-his-last-name-was hissed, his black eyes angry.

I lightened the strokes of my tattoo gun, apologizing in a murmur.

I'd been tense for the past two days, I had no idea why. Ever since Friday, and that creepy little kid, I haven't been able to focus on my work.

I even messed up on one of my clients; I was so distracted, I drew a green eye on the dude's arm instead of blue; Which was the eye color of his wife. I never mess up.

I internally cursed that little girl, hoping that she'd been hit by a car, or mugged when she ran out of the parlor. I instantly fel guilty, which surprised me. I usually didn't care about people I'd just met, much less someone who hadn't spoken a word to me. How odd.

Sebastian watched the gun cautiously for the remainder of his time. Wimp. This was his first time getting tattooed, or as I liked to call it, "Marked", by me, and obviously wasn't aware that I didn't Mark wimps who couldn't handle what I called 'Blissful Pain'.

It burned, getting a tattoo, but it felt so good.

I sighed as he practically threw the cash at me, and ran out. I doubted I'd be seeing him again, anytime soon.

That damn elfin Jane Doe...

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It was raining.

I hated Mondays; I haven't met a sensible person who doesn't, but it was just a motherfuckin' omen, in my opinion. Rain on a Monday. Something bad, or something I would most likely would regret, was going to happen.

I stayed inside most of the day, trying to concentrate on my customers and the designs they wanted, and not her.

That part made me frown; I'd never been this fascinated by anyone before. Girls especially. They usually began to bore me after short periods of time, and I would just move on to someone else. Simple as that.

But this girl...I don't know what it was, but she was different. She made me feel strangely protective over her, even though I didn't even know her name. I just wanted...To keep her safe. Hide her from everyone else.

I haven't seen her anymore, though.

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Back to Mondays: They suck. I do my grocery shopping, and have a shit-load of clients. Not the best way to start off a new week, in my opinion.

It was still raining, and from the looks of it, wasn't going to be stopping anytime soon.

I closed the shop, and looked at my beaten up watch, that really should be in the garbage by now. 6:27. Perfect time to go to the grocery. Most of the homeless people that live on my curb move to someone else's street at this time, and I don't have to feel guilty whenever I don't give them spare change, because I'm almost as poor as they are.

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It's dark, as I walk on my street. I prefer walking to taxis; The braindead morons always cheat me, and make me pay ten dollars more than they deserve. Assholes.

As I near my shop, I frowned as I realized there was a small, curled figure on the doorstep of my Inked.

In the rain? I know that most of the time even homeless people manage to find a teeny shelter, especially when it was raining.

I jogged over, and knelt beside the figure, blinking as I recognized the black halter top, hanging loosely on a too-small body...

Gently brushing wet hair out of her face, I recognized Pixie Girl.

She was sleeping; Looking so peaceful and angelic, it would feel so wrong to wake her up, just to move her off of my steps...Oh,hell. I rolled my eyes. It was raining. It wouldn't kill me to be generous, I guess...

I picked her up, careful not to wake her, and unlocked and opened the front door with one hand.

Her tiny head rested on my shoulder, and she was so pale, if she hadn't been breathing, I would've thought she was dead.

I checked her pulse every so often on my way to my tiny apartment above the parlor, just to be sure.

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I slept on the floor next to my bed, letting Pixie get the comfort of my small, twin-sized bed.

Her slender body rose slowly-too slowly, and I would sit up, every so often, just to make sure she was still breathing. I didn't get much sleep that night; Too worried that if I went to sleep, she'd leave. And that when I woke up, she'd be gone.

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I know it's slow, but review anyway and tell me if I should continue or not...

...I'll continue, actually. But it's polite if I asked you for your opinion, I suppose. :)

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