The Descent Into Hell Is Easy

Chapter Four - Hells Angels

Lady, running down to the riptide
Taken away to the dark side
I wanna be your left-hand man

~ Vance Joy

{Jace}

Sunlight through an open window, the summer breeze blowing the curtains towards her face while she sings, sweet and lilting in-front of the kitchen sink. The smell of lemon, suds up to her elbows and her usual lavender drifting over to me at the table. The smell of home.

She looks over her shoulder at me, her blonde hair like straw down her back, curling slightly in ringlets, shifting in the soft breeze. When she smiles her whole face lights up, her eyes crinkling like I'm the most important person in the entire world and I know, for the first time in my life, I am aware that she is the centre of my small universe. All things revolve around her, and the closest is me.

There's blood everywhere. How had I not noticed? There's blood on her dress, matting it to her golden skin. There's blood on her face, on the floor in thick, disgusting puddles. There's blood all over me, my hands, my face, my hair, in my eyes and there's screaming coming from somewhere that I can't locate. Horrible, gut-wrenching screaming like someone being slashed to ribbons. Is it me? Is it her? Is it coming from both of us?

"JACE!"

I fire up in bed, my breath caught in my throat and choking me till I'm doubled over myself. I'm drenched from head to toe in sweat, my hair sticking to my forehead and I push it up and out of my face, my other hand fisted tightly in my t-shirt. You're not having a heart attack. It was a dream, just a dream. Breathe. But I can't, I can't get enough air into my lungs. I can't see in the pitch black room. I reach over to the nightstand and fumble around for the switch for the small lamp. Knocking a glass of water to the floor.

When it illuminates the room I'm faced with the outline of the garden, the mural. Peaceful, gentle. Not a drop of blood in sight. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth like I've trained myself to. Breathe. Get a grip of yourself and fucking breathe like a normal person.

Slowly the panic subsides. I hate it about myself but this is how I spend most nights, it shouldn't still rock me the way it does but the dream, well, the memory, never fails to have me thrashing in bed like a coward.
I swing my legs out of bed and check the time. 6am, my alarm would be going off soon anyway. The blackout curtains in here make it difficult to work out what time of day it is. I turn the alarm off and step through the wet puddle on the carpet towards the bathroom.

I strip off my soaked clothing in the fluorescent lighting and avoid looking in the mirror while I climb into the shower. The water is freezing to begin with but I don't mind, I'm running so hot that i welcome the feeling. I rest my head against the glass while the water warms till it's almost scalding and even then I leave it. Alive. I'm not dead, they didn't kill me. I'm alive and able to feel the pain of the water splashing across my back.

Eventually I turn it down before I do some real damage but even this is something I shouldn't have to do. This was weak, and I wasn't weak. Not anymore.

By time I wash my body and get dressed, change the sheets in the bedroom, throw a window wide open to air the room out it's 7.30, meaning that Clary will be here soon. Clary... fucking hell if only she knew. This was why I didn't sleep next to people. Sooner or later they'd realise the depth of the secrets and murkiness I keep under the surface. I had to get my head on straight before she got here.

I pick up the glass on the floor and carry it through to the kitchen, dumping it in the sink and fill Novas dish in the corner of the living-room. She likely spent the night like most nights, getting up to mischief, knocking over items on my bookshelf, sprinting all over the apartment and will be ravenous when she wakes up, wherever she is this morning. Likely on-top of the bookshelf again.