Clace: The Bad Boy and the Good Girl (#Wattys2017)

Prologue

"Grandma? What do you mean I'm leaving?" Clary asked, her red hair pulled back in a neat braid. Imogen Herondale, Clary's grandmother, was currently doing Clary's hair, braiding it in a long, thick rope down her back. "You're coming with me... Right?"

"Trust me, Clary, if i could i would, but-"

"No!" Clary turned around when her grandmother pulled her hands away from the delicate and thick rope of hair going down Clary's back. "I'm not leaving you!"

"You don't have a choice, Clarissa." Imogen sighed.

"You always have a choice!"

"Not this time. Look, i will get you back. I will get you home, okay? For now... You have to go with your father." She sighed. Clary knew that Imogen wasn't her mother, but Valentine shouldn't be able to take her. He was abusive. Physically, mentally, verbally, emotionally, every way imaginable.

"Is Jonathan coming too?" She looked like she would cry. "Please tell me he isn't..."

Jonathan, on several occasions, had done worse to Clary than her father. Her father had stopped at sexual abuse and rape... Jonathan on the other hand... Hadn't. In fact, in an attempt to clean himself of the name in public, to clear himself of the name that raped his little sister, he changed it. To Sebastian. Which wasn't much better.

Either name was plagued with bad memories for Clary. And the last name Morgenstern was worse. Which is exactly why Clary kept her mothers maiden name. Fray. Despite her father's wishes, Clary never changed it. And she never would. It was a memory of her mother, the only one she had left.

"I'm sorry, Clarissa... There isn't much i can do to stop it." Clary felt her stomach twist in pain. She was going to be stuck somewhere with Valentine and Jonathan. And there was nothing she could do...

***

A few weeks later, Clary is settled in New York, in her bedroom in Brooklyn. It was tiny, smaller than any bedroom Clary had before, and she felt suffocated, but it was the only room she was allowed to have. Valentine got the biggest, Jonathan got the game-room and the second bedroom... And Clary got the attic. Yet another shred of proof that they'd rather have her suffocate in fear than feel comfortable... "Why did he even bring me here?" She whispered to herself, sitting on the tiny, twin bed mattress that sat in the corner, it took up two thirds of the whole room, leaving only space for the door, a chair, and a suitcase.

The walls were moldy, termite bitten lengths of wood slapped together, the ceiling was a short incline, ending at a point a few inches over Clary's head, and Clary was unusually short for a 16 year old. Slowly, she sat on her bed and laid down, careful not to make a sound in case her family thought she was awake.

The only way for her to be able to sleep in peace, was to pretend she was already asleep before they could harass her. Before Jonathan got the chance to have his way again. Clary shuddered and closed her eyes, curling up in a ball under the thin cotton blanket that did nothing to keep the cold out or the heat in.

It was cold, ice cold. Outside it was snowing heavily, and Clary bit her lip, sitting up silently. She knew she shouldn't but she also knew how to hide it, so she reached under the chair, grabbed the little blade stuck under the leg, and looked to the wall.

The only way to make it feel even slightly like home... She took the blade and carved into the wall a little C.A.F. Her initials. Clary Adele Fray.