Half Truths

Being A Good Girl

  Clary stared at her reflection in the now sparkling-clean bathroom mirror. She'd scrubbed it so hard trying to remove any trace of the eye and message that she'd taken off a bit of the finish near the bottom-left corner. Dark purplish semi-circles lined the underside of her eyes and stood out against the stark paleness of her skin. The red of her hair looked more orange than normal, and her green irises appeared dull and flat. She sighed and ran a brush through her messy curls, tangles catching on the bristles. Once she finished, she set the brush down on the edge of the sink and leaned in, reaching up to run her fingers along the white, rectangular bandage covering the thin, red line at the base of her throat.

She still had no idea what the man had wanted. Looking down at the plain-gold locket lying near the faucet, she couldn't help but wonder if he had been trying to take it. The question was: why? Why would he want it?

She picked it up and pressed in the tiny clasp on the side. It opened, revealing the same photo her father had of the entire family in his office. There was nothing significant about the necklace. It wasn't even worth a significant amount. The only reason Clary had it was because her mother gave it to her just before she died. Her father had gotten rid of everything her mother owned shortly after, and this was all she had left.

Closing the locket once more, Clary stashed it in the medicine cabinet, not wanting to wear it until her neck healed. It made her sad to put it away since she hadn't gone a day without it since her mother's death.

She stepped back from the sink, wincing as an ache spread through her ankle at the movement. Looking down, her eyes focused on the purple bruise in the shape of a hand. It didn't hurt so bad that she couldn't walk, but she hoped she wouldn't have to run anytime soon because that would probably prove impossible. Even so, Isabelle insisted she wrap it to help not pull anything else while it healed. Clary thought it stupid and useless, but Isabelle insisted.

Unfortunately, none of them seemed to have anything to wrap it with, so Isabelle said she'd get something. That was hours ago. Not that Clary was complaining about the respite. Ever since the first message crossed her phone, she'd not had a moment's peace. Someone was always hovering around, watching, waiting. As much as she appreciated the concern, she really hated feeling like people thought she was fragile and incapable of taking care of herself.

Ten minutes earlier, when Simon announced he was running up to the store and would be back in "three ticks," Clary nearly jumped into the air and danced around the room. She needed a little time to decompress and put her thoughts into perspective. Having everyone hovering around had made that almost impossible as of late. She knew she seemed a little unappreciative, and it wasn't that she didn't feel grateful for everything everyone had done for her. It was just that sometimes she needed to be alone. Needed to know that she was capable of being on her own. For so long, she'd been overshadowed by the huge presences of her father and brother. This was her time now. Her time to be the person she always wanted to be. And weak and needy had never been in the plan.

Clary sighed and hobbled back to the living room, plopping down on the couch just as the doorbell rang followed by three sharp raps. She groaned and heaved herself up, hopping on one foot just because she didn't feel like walking so slowly. So much for her supposed "alone time."

Twisting the knob, she pulled the door open. The air the movement created caused a few strands of hair to fly into her face. She reached up and pulled them away, narrowing her eyes at who stood in her doorway.

"Do you really think it's smart to open the door without even asking who it is? I could have been some deranged lunatic bent on ravaging you for my own sadistic pleasure."

"Aren't you?" Clary stared at Jace, giving him no indication that his mere presence caused her traitor stomach to flip and try to leap out of her abdomen. "Sadistic, I mean." She crossed her arms over her chest.