I do not own any of the characters!
Clary stood leaning in towards the mirror analyzing the bruise on her right eye. She sighed and put the ice pack back on, knowing that if she didn't keep it on it would just swell up more and get worse.
"CLARY! BRING ME ANOTHER BEER," her father shouted. Clary just rolled her eyes, but decided to get it knowing that two black eyes would be too difficult to cover up. She ran down the hall and got a bottle of beer from the fridge, which was barley twenty feet from where Valentine was sitting.
Lazy Bastard she thought as she opened it up and brought it over to him.
"Finally, I was wondering what took so long," Valentine's words slurred together, probably because of the six empty beer bottles sitting on the table in front of him. He had his feet up and his head was back, their tiny static TV was playing some sort of weird news channel but Clary figured he was too smashed to realize.
Clary's house was disgusting. It was a one floor tiny building that had the living room and kitchen connected, then one hallway which had two bedrooms and one bathroom. The place was a dump. There were clothes scattered everywhere, spider webs in all the corners, and nothing but dirt and dust filled the air. The dishes were sky high and pots and pans lay around there tiny kitchen. The only clean room was Clary's, or as clean as an artist's room can be. Her wall was originally white until she splattered different paint all over it, her room consisted of a bed, a dresser, a tiny closet (which had about one pair of shoes two pair of paints and five different shirts), and a desk. She had different sketchbooks laid out on her carpeted floor, with different kinds of drawing utensils scattered from the dresser to her desk to laid out in her closet.
Looking at her father always sent shivers down her spine. She looked nothing like him for she had received all her looks from her mother. From her short height to her bright red hair and glowing green eyes, she was the spitting image of her mother.
"That bitch," Clary muttered to herself.
"Did you say something?" Valentine said, tripping over his words. Clary just rolled her eyes not realizing that she thought out loud, and went back to her room.
Thinking of her mother did nothing but piss Clary off. Her mother was a weak selfish bitch who ran away and left Clary. She made a promise of coming back and never did. Thinking back to the day her mother left still made her furious. She didn't blame her mom, Valentine was always a psycho d-bag and it was just a matter of time before her mother left, she just didn't appreciate the fact that Jocelyn didn't take Clary with her.
"Mommy please don't go, please mommy," Seven year old Clary said, trying not to cry but failing. Jocelyn had crept into her room one night while Clary was supposedly asleep and said that she was going on a vacation.
"Honey I have to, I can't stay here any longer. But don't worry baby, I will be back for you I promise." Jocelyn was wearing a black hoodie with black pants and was holding a navy blue duffel bag.
"But why can't I go with you now?" Clary whined.
"It'll raise too much suspicion. It'll be harder to run if we're together. But don't worry, I will find us a nice place to live and I'll come back and we will live happily together?" Jocelyn was holding back tears as well.
"Remember what I told you, this conversation never happened. I love you Clary." And with that she left.
Clary snapped back to present time and wiped the tears off her face angrily. Her mom was a liar. The next day Valentine was furious, and knew she ran due to her missing clothes. He never moved with the hope that one day she would come back to him, but as months passed and her return never came, Valentine started to get enraged, and take his anger out on Clary. It started off with yelling, but soon he became very violent. Clary was no longer his daughter, she was his slave and punching bag. Clary is sixteen now, and her mother never came back, never called, never reached out. Clary has no other family members, and she has no friends, for everyone who tries to get close to her she pushes away. They'd want to come over, they'd start questioning her past, and the answers were something she didn't want to talk about.
The last time she had a true friend was when she was eight. His name was Simon and they knew each other since they were babies. The first time Valentine hit Clary she ran to Simon and told him everything, Simon told his mom who called the police. But when the police came and questioned Valentine, he put on his usual charm and explained how Clary had 'fallen off the swings'. They left with no further questions, and Clary got the shit beaten out of her the next day. Needless to say, she never talked to Simon ever again. He would try but she just ignored him, too scared of what might happen if Valentine found out. Eventually Simon just stopped trying. He never told anybody her secret-Thank God- but she lost him as a friend. Although they go to the same school and occasionally smile at each other when passing in the hallway, they haven't talked since they were kids. So Clary is completely alone, and will remain alone until she is 18 years old and finally old enough to move out.
"And this is the math wing," said Mr. Lance, the pudgy bald principal of St. Xavier High School, "your homeroom class is room 132 which is right there. If you have any questions any teacher will answer them, and my office door is always open."
"Thank you sir, I think I'm good for now though," The blonde boy said as the principal answered with a smile and walked away.
Looking back he wasn't paying attention to the fiery red head that was speeding in the hallway, causing her to stumble back and drop her sketchbook and having all the papers fly out.
"Oh come on, I just organized those!" Clary whined.
"I am so sorry," The blond boy said picking them up and handing them back to her while noting how great the drawings were.
"It's not your fault, I should have been paying more attention," She said taking the papers back.
"I'm Jace, I just moved here," he said sticking out his hand.
What is this the 1950s? Nobody shakes hands anymore, she thought to herself as she took his hand smiling and muttering her name.
"Well, it's nice to meet you Clary, and your drawings are really good," Jace responded. Clary smiled at him as she started to notice his looks. He was gorgeous, like beyond gorgeous. His golden eyes looked like they were peering into his soul, and his blond hair made his eyes glow even more.
Before she could say anything else, Aline and Seelie were already beside him.
"Wow Clary, could you be any more of a spaz? Must you bump into everyone you meet?" Aline said.
"It was my fault, I wasn't paying attention," Jace chimed in. Clary was surprised, why was he defending her?
"Oh please, Clary runs into everyone don't worry. Always has her nose stuck into her dumb paintings, huh?" Seelie smiled and turned towards Jace, "I'm Seelie and this is Aline."
Aline gave a small wave while flicking her perfect hair back. "Jace," he responded.
"Well it is a pleasure to meet you, Jace," Aline smiled and then looked towards Clary, "don't you have somewhere to be loser?"
Clary just rolled her eyes and continued walking past them without another word. "It was really nice meeting you, Clary." Jace shouted before she could fully exit. Clary turned around surprised and smiled shyly before walking away again.
Before Jace even had a second to think Aline and Seelie were already blabbering on but Jace wasn't paying attention, he was watching the mysterious redhead slip into her classroom.
So tell me what you guys think! I really hope you liked it. I won't be updating until I get 10-15 reviews so please R&R if yuo want more! Love you guys xoxo