I know, I'm supposed to update Random Acts of Kindness, but this story pressed in my head again and again. Please keep in mind: I have not experience most of these events that I have experienced but unfortunately, these are things people have to live through every day.

Thank you for continuing to read and special thanks to Liberty Hallway for her continued support.


Sunday: March 20th, 2013.

11:59 p.m.

Clary thought it was poetic justice. Perhaps not justice...there were too many wrongs to be righted and she would not be "winning" in the most conventional way. But she would be free. Maybe she'd even be happy. Clary tried to remember what that felt like- to be five years old and laughing at the simplest things: knock knock jokes, caterpillars, funny words.

The edge of the blade skimmed her wrist, making goosebumps on her skin. It was strange how much power lay within the simplest flick of her wrist. Cut vertically, Maia had told her, It'll be easy enough to stop the blood if you cut horizontally. But you blood flows vertically and you'll bleed out before they're able to stop the bleeding on that son of a bitch.

When she was little, Clary had heard stories about death being a cloaked figure, a feared presence or a welcomed friend ushering people into the next stage. Clary still wasn't sure what it was to her: she was afraid, the fear coiling in her stomach threatening to force her hand down, unlock the bathroom door and run screaming.

But she also knew that she couldn't stand the sadness anymore. It curled up inside of her, always constant. Sometimes it was a prickly, wriggling monster inside of her, invading her psyche. It picked apart her brain, whispered each and every deficiency about herself in her ear: worthless, stupid, ugly. It has always been there, since the beginning.

Monday: March 20th, 2000

7:30 a.m.

Today was supposed to be her special day. Clary had woken up, her arms encircling Elphy the Elephant with her mother allowing her small licks of frosting off of her chocolate cake.

"Happy fifth birthday baby." Her mother kissed her red curls, twirling one in her fingers.

"What are we doing today mommy?" Jocelyn turned to stir the batter.

"How about a day in the park? Then we can..." Her voice trailed off as the door opened and closed

Clary put down the spoon as she quietly made her way out of the kitchen. Her parent's voices echoed after her.

"Where the hell have you been Valentine?"

"You know, when I married you, I wasn't aware that I was gaining a fucking jailor."

"And I never thought that a frat boy would be the father of my child. Congratulations, today is Clary's fifth birthday and you spent it drinking."

"She's five, she'll have plenty more. Honestly, there's something wrong with that brat, always cooped up in her room. There's no way she's mine."

"You fucking bastard!..."

The rest of the argument was lost on Clary as she slipped out the front door. The streets weren't that busy yet and so there weren't that many cars. She opened the gate to the children's playground, with the cutout images of the nutcracker greeting her at the entrance. She began to walk towards the tire swing.

They had always fought like this. Clary couldn't remember an evening without the acrid smell of vodka, without her mother's shrill cry. But today, there was an odd feeling in her chest, a heaviness. Clary remember a story that her mother had told her, about a girl who had swallowed her sorrows and lived with a stone in her heart. Clary suddenly wished that mommy was here to read her that story now.

"Damn it! Expelliarmus! Gandolf the Grey! Equivalent Exchange!" Curiosity piqued by the strange words, she giggled as she weaved her way towards the tire swings. The dark haired boy struggled with the grip of the chains. He caught sight of her and sighed. "Humiliated in front of muggles, just great. Hey! How about a little help here little red!"

Scrawny Simon appeared to be a Hobbit-Wizard that had missed his letter to Hogwarts and was spending his time practicing "alchemy". But Clary didn't care. She liked that he shared his oatmeal cookies once she told him it was her fifth birthday (and he confirmed she wasn't lying to gain the contraband). She liked that he would tug on her hair lightly every time she laughed at one of his jokes. She liked his crooked glasses and funny words.

The sun had set once she had returned home. The door to Father's room was closed and mommy lay on the couch with an arm over her eyes

"Not tonight baby, mommy's tired." She murmured before rolling over. Clary ate the cake until she puked.

Maybe she was alone, and maybe she lived with a stone in her heart but that was okay. Because today was her birthday and she had made her first friend.

Tuesday: March 20th, 2005

12:13 p.m.

Today was the day of death for Clary. They had come into her classroom as she sat in the corner (as always) with Simon finger painting. Art was her favorite period. It was the time when the teachers chose to leave her alone. It was just her and paint. Although there was always the after. The guidance counselors that held her colors in their prying hands. What does the black mean Clary? Are you sad? Why is there so much red? What's making you angry?

"Clary rarely participates in class and she is often in the corner away from the other children" They'd comment, "Perhaps she should transfer to a...school that can better suit her needs."

"Such a disturbed child." The monster whispered, "Don't you see that no one wants you?"

"My Clary does not need any special school," Her mother would say firmly, "She's doing just fine. And she will stay at this school unless you would of course, like an email sent to the Chancellor."

Clary wanted to scream. All she wanted as silence, peace. She smeared her entire hand in bright, canary yellow and watched the sickeningly bright paint drip onto the canvas. Let them think about what that means. She thought smugly. The door opened and her heart sank as she saw the guidance counselor enter.

"Clary? Ms. Branwell would like to see you." That look of pity was always there on teachers' faces. Their eyes narrowed at the bruises she tried to hide with long sleeves but they never said anything. Not. One. Word.

Ms. Branwell had a plump face that always wore a smile. Today her lips were pursed in a thin line. She bent down on her knees. Clary wanted to tell her that she hated that. It looked uncomfortable and awkward. Clary wanted to tell her to leave her alone, because that look in her eye was not something she wanted to see ever again, but would have to face every day for the rest of her life.

"Clary...there was an accident today. Your mother was found...in your house and...I'm so sorry Clary." She broke down crying. "S-she died." Clary could only stare at Mr. Branwell as she cried. Wasn't she supposed to be sobbing? Wasn't she supposed to be grieving? She raised an unsteady hand and placed it on Mr. Branwell's shoulder. Ms. Branwell clutched it for a good ten minutes.

It was on her tenth birthday that she was interviewed by the police. Her mother had been found with her throat slit on the floor of the kitchen.

"Was your mom...ever sad?" The social worker asked after handing her a juice box.

Every single day. "A few times I guess...but not much."

"Did she have anyone...who was particularly mean to her? Or to you?"

My father. "No...I don't know anyone like that."

"How many times did you and your mommy go out? To the park or the library or the museum? Even just to buy groceries?"

Not since I was four. "A couple of times a week I guess."

"Okay last question," She leaned in close and Clary could smell the flowery perfume of her, like her mom. "Does your father ever...hurt you?"

Every single day. She opened her mouth to speak.

"What the hell is this?" Her father's voice boomed in the room. "Why is this bitch talking to my baby girl?" His hand wrapped around her forearm and squeezed it tight. Painfully tight.

Clary never talked to the social worker again. Sometimes, she wondered what she would have said. What the difference a few seconds would have made. But nothing would have changed. Nothing ever changed. Because the next week, she was dressed in an itchy black dress and watching her mother's corpse being lowered into the ground. Her mother was sad, distant but she was still mom, she wasn't selfish. She would not have left Clary alone. But that didn't matter. Her death became a cold case.

Clary had lost life before, goldfish and puppies but today was different. Because today, Clary had just entered double digits when she learned what death was.

Wednesday: March 20th, 2008

9:17 a.m.


"So fucking weird."

"Is she like mute or something?"

"So freaking scrawny. I swear she's bulimic or something."

"Is she like queer?"

"Nah, she always with Simon, you know pimply loser. They're probably fucking."

"No, I heard she was hooking up with Garroway."

"No way! The English teacher?"

"Wow that much be how she gets her A's. She's such a freaking slut."

Clary had gotten used to guidance offices but principals' officers were something else entirely. Robert Lightwood had papers scattered all over his desk and a computer perpetually set to open on Excel. Nothing about his wife or two children and Clary couldn't help but notice the missing ring on his finger as he settles into his seat, adjusting his tie, and closes the door cutting off the giggles of the receptionist.

"Ms. Fray, these are some serious allegations." Clary loved her last name. Her mother had kept her own, and passed it onto her. It was a part of her that never left but now her stomach twisted as Principal Lightwood rolled it around in his mouth.

"I'm telling you the truth sir, he never touched me." She stopped fidgeting with her hands. "We just...talked." That was the truth. Mr. Garroway had always been her favorite teacher, though she had never liked English, it was strangely the story of 1984 that had drawn her in. For the others, it had been the Doublethink and torture and sex that appealed to them but for Clary, it was the loneliness. Winston Smith was always so alone, in his mind he thought he was insane.

"Well that gives an entirely different definition of reality doesn't it?" Mr. Garroway grinned as he drank coffee out of a cup that had: "What Would Buffy Do?" printed on it in bold letters. It had started when Clary had started coming to school an hour early just to escape her father's daily, morning . Garroway had found her on the school steps, reading the latest edition of Fullmetal Alchemist that Simon had loaned her.

"Come on in Clary, how else are we going to discuss 'equivalent exchange?'" He ushered her into the classroom. Everything followed after.

"What do you mean?" Clary asked as she wiped the board, "reality is always reality. That doesn't change."

"But how we see it does. What makes reality? Is it the people around us or-" He was cut off by the door opening.

"Oh. Sorry, was I interrupting something?" Kaelie Fae walked in, her long legs and blonde hair accompanying her bubble gum chewing. She narrowed her eyes at Clary and tilted her head.

"No Kaelie, here to hand in your thematic essay?"

"Huh? Oh yea my essay." She kept her eyes on Clary as she handed her paper to Mr. Garroway and walked out. Clary turned back to Mr. Garroway after she left, feeling the twinge of uneasiness.

"Clary!" Clary was jolted to attention as Principal Lightwood frowned. "Look Clary, this is a safe space, if Mr. Garroway is...holding something over you I promise you will not be in trouble."

Clary wanted to growl in frustration. Didn't they understand? Mr. Garroway was one of those few teachers that actually became a teacher because he wanted to teach. He learned the name of each and every student within the first two days plus the names of any pets. He dressed up and performed caricatures of characters in the books they read. He gave out cookies on someone's birthday.

"No I'm telling you, nothing happened."

"Well we received a complaint from a...very concerned member of the school community."

Kaelie, of course. Her word over that of a social outcast. Clary thought back to Winston. "The greatest minds are always separate from everyone else's." Mr. Garroway had told her, "That's what makes Winston so interesting, his resistance despite all the indoctrination. His hope."

But it was crushed in the end. In the end, nothing changed. In the end, Winston might as well have died. Clary stepped out of the office, feeling a strange sense of shame that had not existed before.

"Slut." Someone coughed. Clary kept her head down as she walked quickly home. For once, her father was there to meet her at the door.

"So I got a call from school today." He said mildly as he poured the whiskey from his tumblr.

"Dad-" He jumped at her, wrapping his hands around her throat so hard she saw black spots.

"I swear to god you little bitch, you better not have let on anything about me or that abuse shit okay? I don't care if you're fucking your teachers but if any of that shit comes back to me I swear you'll regret it." Clary gurgled an affirmative. "Now don't let me see your face again you fucking whore."

Clary ran upstairs. She picked up her worn copy of 1984 and began reading. While she was immersed in the story, Mr. Garroway packed up his books, pausing at the coffee mug before placing that in the box as well. He paused for a moment, paying homage to his favorite student and wishing her a farewell, before turning off the lights and locking the classroom door.

Clary never saw Mr. Garroway again. She never forgot him though, every time she entered the English room she remember and always wanted to forget. Because today was Clary's thirteenth birthday and she realized what a lie the truth of reality was.

Thursday: March 20th, 2010

10:24 a.m.

Clary couldn't believe he was even looking at her. She flushed as their eyes met and she quickly turned back to her biology textbook. But the words about cathodes and anodes were lost as her mind swirled with excitement.

"Seriously Clare? He's not that hot." Simon scoffed as they ate the soggy chicken patties at lunch.

"But Si, it's Sebastian Verlac. He's just so..." She sighed. But reality was always nudging at her brain. He was shortstop on the baseball team, MVP of the basketball team and aced every test with the flick of his wrist and the lazy grin on his lips. She was just the quiet art nerd in the corner that rarely spoke.

"Whatever, so what are you going to do today? You're 15, divisible by three and five halfway to twenty-"

"What? Today's your birthday Fray?" Sebastian smiled at her as she flushed.

"Uhm...I- Yes, I'm turning fifteen." She whispered.

"That's cool. So I was wondering...maybe as a way to celebrate, you could go with me to Kaelie's party? Her parents are out of town and..."He drifted off.

"Oh I- uhm- Yes, sure, of course." She stuttered, mentally hitting herself for appearing so stupid.

"Great, I'll text you the address." He scribbled numbers onto her sketchbook as Simon gaped at her.

"Not one word." She warned him once Sebastian walked away. Simon didn't try to talk to her.

12:26 a.m.

Clary felt like a newborn colt, her shaky legs encased in a black dress she had dug out of her mother's closet. She wanted to run once she smelled the heady scent of alcohol but she stood firm in her mother's heels, praying that they would give her strength. She quickly found Sebastian playing beer pong but he straightened once he saw her.

"Wow Clary you look...hot!" He chuckled. She looked down and blushed. "Oh god, I'm being so rude. You wanna drink?" He shoved a red, plastic cup in her hand. She looked at the thick, amber liquid swirling in the cup. It was no stranger to her, it decorated the numerous shelves of her home but she held her breath and swallowed it in one gulp.

Immediately the world became a fuzzy mess of color. Clary would say that she did not remember that night. She did not remember Sebastian's hard grip as he led her through the throng of dancers into a bedroom where the music was only a background buzz.

She did not remember his hands ripping off her dress, occasionally pressing against her bruises both old and new. She did not remember crying, thinking that her mother's dress was gone. She did not remember the sharp pain, almost as if he was splitting her body, her organs open when he thrust in and took her innocence. She did not remember the quick grunts and shaking of the man no boy, above her, did not remember her tears that night, her fear so thick that she could taste the metallic tinge of it in the air or perhaps that was just blood from biting her lip from the pain. He kept her heels on.

She did remember after though. Remembered how he didn't even know her name the next day, remember how her classmates had commented on "her hot, curvy body under all those layers."

"You're fucking pathetic you know that?" Kaelie's eyes glimmered as she cornered Clary in the locker room. "Looking at him like a lost puppy. It's sickeningly really. I bet him a blowjob if he managed to lay you. But I really applaud him. I mean, look at you. How many pounds have you put on? It's making me feel queasy just looking at you." She tossed Clary the sheet from that night. "Here, my folks will think I'd murdered someone or something."

That night Clary tried to wash the blood from the sheet, it ran red down her sink and she watched, both disgusted and fascinated. Today was her fifteenth birthday and she learned what cruelty was.

Friday: March 20th, 2012

4:55 p.m.

"Do you still have thoughts about hurting yourself?" Amatis glanced at Clary from the top of her spectacles.

Clary shrugged, "Occasionally."

"Well it's good at you're not thinking about it constantly." Clary wanted to laugh, are you sure she was a PhD in psychology? Valentine had only sent her to a shrink to shut the school authorities up. It was just an hour of silence.

"You should be looking at colleges...any particular interests? I went to Brown, had some pretty wild years there," she chuckled. And Clary could imagine it. Amatis saying goodbye to both of her parents as they clutch at her to stay, her partying at frat parties without a care in the world about loans and debt, pulling all nighters for papers, settling into her own practice once she'd calmed down from her wild years. It was the rise and fall for every human being.

"Might just drop out." The look on Amatis's face was comical.

"Clary please! You have such a bright future for yourself, think of all the possibilities..." It was strange how blase she had been at the mention of suicide but when dropping out suddenly became an option...Clary wanted to snicker. It wasn't like she needed a diploma where she was heading.

She walked outside, just as the sun was setting spilling gold and scarlet over the skyline. Her attention was tugged when she heard the quiet murmurs of the boy.

"Yes Maryse I went in...well I'm not likely to burn your house down, I think that's pretty good news...what do I want to eat? I don't know...wow okay I'm not going to discuss the merits of meatloaf or chicken with you that's just too...domestic...okay I'll see you later." He rolled his eyes and shut his phone.

Clary couldn't stop staring at him. Perhaps it was the artist side of her, he was beautiful with symmetrical cheekbones and a strong, sharp jaw. His golden eyes landed on her and his mouth curved into a smirk. His skin was the color of gold in autumn.

"Why yes, I am the perk to this complete and utter hellhole of a place. And you are?"

Clary felt her tongue stumbling for words until she blurted out, "I'm sorry your bone structure is beautiful." She immediately flushed, cursing herself for saying something so stupid.

His grin widened, "Is that all you find beautiful."

Clary found the courage to look him in the eye when she quietly said, "No."

6:30 p.m.

"All I'm saying is that they should ban ducks from parks! They're a public menace." Jace declared. Clary laughed as she took another bite of the pancakes from a shady food restaurant that Jace (the name of the hellhole perk) had ushered her into. He grinned at her. "So what were you in for?"

Clary raised an eyebrow, "In for...?" She questioned.

"Come on, no one actually goes to that shrink willingly. It's either a judge or a parent forcing them in. What about you?" Clary grimaced and looked down. There was a moment of silence before Jace spoke again, "Alright, that's okay. For me, it was my adoptive parents, guess they were scared I'd murder them in their sleep or something." He chuckled, "But Maryse is alright, I suppose, I could have done worse."

Clary nodded, still looking down, A sense of embarrassment washed over her and suddenly the monster she had not encountered since she was ten wriggled inside of her. Who are you next to him? You're ugly and stupid and look at him all gold and beauty. You are a disappointment. Your brain can't even work right. Fucking retard. She looked up when Jace's hand enveloped hers.

"Hey, it's okay if you don't want to tell anyone. Let's be honest, they all think we're insane no matter where we come from or who sent us." he squeezed her hand, "So we'll just be crazy together." Clary smiled, feeling the fluttering in her chest.


They stepped out of the restaurant, feeling the chill of the evening. It was dark and the streetlights were on, but Clary didn't care. She would have to go home, alone again. Nothing changed. Not even on her seventeenth birthday. They stood at the train station, Clary turned to say goodbye but the words were caught in her throat. Jace stood so close to her that she could feel his warmth.

His lips pulled into a smile as his hands raised up and tucked a curl behind her ear.

"Can I kiss you Clary Fray?" Her voice box couldn't seem to work so she only nodded. His lips pressed gently against hers. It was an odd feeling, gentleness. Even Simon recklessly grabbed her hand, her Father had always been brutal with her and the kids at school had never even bothered with her.

But it seemed as if every atom in Jace's body reacted to her. Ad Clary could feel his warmth spreading through her as she felt that moment of her first, real first kiss. He pulled away and smiled at her.

"I'll see you later my beautiful girl." He sauntered away. The butterflies in Clary's stomach never ceased because in that moment, the monster melted away.

Clary's lips pulled into a smile. Today was her seventeenth birthday and she had learned what beauty feels like.

Saturday: November 17th, 2012

4:24 p.m.

Today was not her birthday. But it wasn't different that any other day. She slipped out the door early, avoiding Father's morning tirades.

"Sorry Clary...it's just-there's- Karlie invited me to-"

"No it's okay Simon." Clary forced a smile he couldn't see as she spoke into the cell phone. "I just thought..well have fun."

"Yea okay...bye." The line shut off and she furiously blinked back tears. It was bound to happen any time. It was the tenth time he had dodged her and Clary was getting the message. I outgrew you. I don't want you anymore.

The door squeaked open and Clary narrowed her eyes and blinked rapidly at the sudden light. She hadn't even realized she had walked here. But he was here. For the past few months, he had been sanctuary. Small meetings in the park or long talks at Taki's...for a moment she was a normal girl with a normal boy. And she loved the feeling. Suddenly the itchy weight of her wet jeans and frizzy hair from the rain seemed glaringly noticeable.

"Baby are you okay?" His warm arms wrapped around her and she breathed in his scent.

"I'm sorry." She choked out, "I don't even know what I'm doing here. I'm so..." He shushed her and rocked her back and forth in his arms. Clary's sobs dwindled as she listened to the slow beating of his pulse.

"You can come to me for anything Clary, and I'll beat the shit out of whatever's making you hurt." He kissed the top of her head. Clary had never felt safer.

"Jonathan? It's freezing outside, get back in here...bring your friend in as well." Jace sighed as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Come on, the monster's calling."

Maryse Trueblood was not a monster. A tall, formidable woman, she glanced at Clary's soaked clothes before calling Isabelle over to lend her some dry shorts and a t-shirt.

"I have an ex husband who enjoys his late night rendezvous with 20 year old receptionists," she said once Clary protested that the clothes and dinner were too much, "you're the most welcome guest we've had in five years."

"So how the hell did you get a girlfriend Jace?" Isabelle smirked over the dinner table, "Always assumed you were gay."

Jace rolled his eyes and squeezed Clary's hand before answering, Not every guy who doesn't wanna date you is gay Isabelle...they're just smart."

"Then she must be another nutjob to want to date you." Isabelle laughed while Jace stiffened.

"It takes crazy to handle crazy." Clary smiled. Jace stared at her for a moment before a grin spread over his face. Isabelle's laughter faded into the background as Clary looked down and blushed. She stayed quiet for the rest of dinner, watching Max throw small pieces of food at Alec as the older brother rolled his eyes. She watched Maryse fend off Jace's sarcasm and Isabelle's misplaced humor, while doling out dessert (keeping the biggest piece for herself of course).

And later, when Maryse asked her if she had anywhere to go. She said no.

When she asked Clary to stay for the night. She said yes.

11:36 p.m.

Today was still not her birthday. But she still had a nightmare that night. Her footsteps did not echo on the empty, unfamiliar halls that night. The door did not creak when she opened it. He did not stir when she slid between the warm sheets.

"Clary?" His voice rasped. His eyes opened and focused on her. He did not get up, or tell her to get out.

"Just stay here with me." She whispered. His arms found their place wrapped around her. And she knew. He didn't say it but Clary knew. And for the first time, as she slept in Jace's arms, she dreamt sweetly.

Today was not her birthday, but it was the best day because Clary had found sanctuary.

Sunday: March 20th, 2013

4:10 a.m.

He never came into her room. Never. Until this morning. Actually, it wasn't even morning. The sky was still finger painted with the black streaks of night when he entered the room. When he pulled down the sheets, smelling like whiskey. When he grabbed her hair so hard, she thought her scalp as bleeding. When he covered her mouth as she noiselessly screamed.

"Jocelyn..."He whispered. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine her sunlight boy. It was back, the darkness inside of her and she wanted to die.

Today was her eighteenth birthday, the day of her freedom, and Clary learned what a true monster looked like.

Sunday: March 20th, 2013.

11:59 p.m.

It was ironic really...it wasn't. Today was still her birthday. Eighteen years ago, she was born and she was alive. Clary looked down at the razor. Now she wasn't so sure. No one would her...no that's not right. Her Father would drink her away, never remembering what he did to her. Simon would think about her for a few years but then life would inch her memory farther and farther away until it completely erased it.

And Jace. Clary closed her eyes as she thought of her sunlight boy. He could still smile, still laugh, even with that darkness inside of him. And she loved that about him, love everything about him. And he still isn't enough to save her, still wasn't enough to kill this monster inside of her.

The music played gently in the background, Nora Jones singing her softly and steadily to her end. She locked the bathroom door. If her father bothered, he'd have to get the fire department to break it down. Jace would find out...there was no need for him to see her like that.

It was funny was people amounted to in the end. You are born alone. You die alone. You are alone for everything in between and funnily enough, Clary was scared to be alone in the end.

"I'm sorry." And then she allowed herself to run red in the tub, closing her eyes.

Today was her eighteenth birthday, and Clary finally found relief.

Monday: March 20th, 2015

2:13 p.m.

Today was her twentieth birthday. And it was funny how stone doesn't age, how memory never does as well. Jace stared at the gravestone.

"I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead. But you were so fucking stupid. I hope wherever you are, you are burning the in hottest flames of hell." He closed his eyes and remembered that day. The panic that left him breathless as he sprinted down the street when he got that phone call from Isabelle, who was called by Simon.

Not her, not his girl, not his Clary. The gasping of breath from her throat as her little body lay there. He saw the cuts on her arms- horizontal, not vertical. He remembered the feel of her skin as he held her in the ambulance with the workers creaming at him to move, remember whispering furiously to her, don't you dare Clary, don't you dare be so stupid ever ever again. I swear to god, you are going to live. Please, God please.

She had opened her eyes, her beautiful, amazing green eyes that still had that light in them. "You never pray." She croaked. And he had laughed, a breathless, crazy laugh of relief. Because her heart was still beating. Because she would live to see nineteen.

"You found her you son of a bitch," Jace whispered at the gravestone, "You were her father, out of pure luck or chance, you were a part of her life and you hurt her. But you found her and you called for help. And that is something I have to thank you for. But I'm still happy you're dead. I'm happy that you're not here to hurt her anymore. I'm happy that I won't have to choose to kill you because that is what I'll do to protect her."

A small hand wrapped around his and she looked at him, still with those amazing, green eyes of hers. "I'm done with saying goodbye." She whispered.

He brushed his lips against hers. "Never again, baby. You'll never have to do it again." She smiled at him and they began to walk back to the car.

Today was her twentieth birthday, it had taken her twenty years but Clary had finally found family.

This is probably the most emotional and darkest piece I have ever written. Most people get really queasy and uncomfortable when I tell them that I write about really dark themes like suicide and depression but I think it's important to do so because they are real things. Even though they are depicted in fiction, they are very much real to many people out there and to discount that fact is and ignore it and pretend it doesn't exist is I think, disrespectful to the survivors of abuse.

So if this story is not your cup of tea, that's okay. It's fine. Just please don't start insulting me or the work I put into it. Because the situations in this story, though horrific, is very much real and for me, writing is a way of getting through the turmoil of emotions and a way to work through life. Some of these are based on the experiences of people I know who, knowing my writing style, has given me express permission to include their experiences into an overall story. So please do not disrespect their emotions and experiences.

With this, I hope you understand this story and everything that comes with it.