forelsket | alec lightwood

44

[ third person's pov ]

It was quiet.

It was be too quiet if it weren't for Jace's random outbreaks, and Alec's quiet cries, locked in a bedroom.

Or Magnus throwing and tossing things in his apartment, that could no longer be brought back to it's normal condition with one snap of his fingers.

The loud anger that Simon clearly felt with himself.

The guilt and regret eating him away.

Clary mourning her dead older sister, that had given her life away to keep her safe, wishing she had just been more accepting of her reasons, and spent more time bonding with her rather than arguing.

Isabelle left feeling broken and at a loss of words, feeling none of her parabatai.

She felt nothing.

When it came to attention, Luke was wounded about the fact that he had lost someone like a daughter to him.

When Maryse found out about what had happened, the great tragedy that had struck everyone, she was ashamed of what she put her through when she first started dating Alec.

Ashamed that she didn't see the kind of love they had from when they were younger.

"If it wasn't for me, Zee would still be alive!" Jace's voice rang through Alec's mind from earlier that night, when he had run right into a spear during a mission, "I put her through hell and she never gave up on me- and because of me, she's dead!"

Alec slowly walked into Zee's empty and cold bedroom, the familiar scent making his heart ache.

He had been trying so hard to keep it together.

But, his heart remained aching every second of the day, as everything had reminded him of her.

And he would find himself in her bedroom every night, wishing that maybe she would come home to him.

He knew she wouldn't.

Because she couldn't.

Alec shut the door and locked it like he had every night since the incident, slowly walking toward the desk.

His hand grazed over the material of the sketchbook she held so dearly close whenever he could catch her watching him, holding a pencil.

He opened the book that she never let him look at unless she showed him, flipping a few pages to stop at a drawing of himself.

His breathing remained slow, feeling his eyes starting to burn as his fingers flipped more pages, just to see more drawings of him on different occasions.

And he could recall every time.

He bit the inside of his cheek, taking a step back, his thumb rubbing nervously over the tattoo of her name engraved on his wrist in black ink, slowly walking over to her closet.

He pulled the two doors open, his eyes falling onto her many jackets and shirts, the scent of her engulfing him.

His eyes stared at the dress that was hung up, one that she wore to his wedding, to stop it all from happening, her eyes begging him to choose her.

It didn't stop you from kissing me in front of all those people- I have to hand it to you, you certainly know how to make a statement.

Where it all began.