Hi guys! Thank you so much for the positive response on the past chapter, even though it took me so long to update. Anyways here is the next chapter. Get ready to have your mind's blown. Much love. Feel free to PM me at any time for any reason. I am always here for all of you. Please Review! It means so much!

xx- Kelse

(Clary)

His skin is hot and cold against mine all at the same time. His hands are hypnotic on my body and I feel as if I'm in a trance. All I know is I never want this to end. I never want him to stop touching me. I throw my hands behind me on the bed and they come in contact with something wet and soft. I grasp it in my hand, running my fingers down the dripping crevices of the paper. It's the letter. Erchomai. I am coming.

I shudder and feel myself freeze. What am I doing? "Jace. Jace stop." I whisper, shoving my hands up against his bare chest to shove him off. He complies and quickly hops off of the bed. His face looks worried. "Clary? Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry I-" He begins only to have me cut him off. "You need to leave." I say. I try to make my voice harsh, but it comes off as weak. I feel weak. I'm just so damn tired of pushing everyone away.

"Dammit Clary! I'm not leaving until you tell me what the hell is going on! One second we're kissing and the next your pushing me away. I want to help you, but you have to let me in." He says. His eyebrows are furrowed together in deep confusion. You don't understand, I'm helping you. I want to say. But I can't.

I close my eyes and turn my head away. "Just leave, Jace." I mutter allowing my voice to sound as bone-tired as I feel. But being the stubborn piece of shit he is, he sits down next to me, looking at me with his sad, honey gold eyes.

"I'm not leaving you."

He grabs my hand and draws circles on it with the tip of his finger. And then I'm crying. After I told myself I was done crying. You're weak. And I am. I wish I was strong.

"Everyone leaves. Everyone I've ever cared about. And it's my fault. I kill everyone I touch." I say, my voice quiet. My mom left, my dad left, and my brother left in ways that I can't bring myself to understand.

Jace grabs my hand, his fingers soft and warm against mine, and brings my hand to lay against his cheek. He rests his hand over mine.

"I don't see anyone dying." He says with a smile. I smile a little too, despite myself.

(Jonathan)

The room is dark, so dark I feel like I'm choking on it. I try to reach out in front of me, to find a light or a wall, but my hands are bound. The chains rattle behind me as I pull as hard as I can. No, no, nonono. I pull again, as hard as I can. And I continue to yank and pull until I feel blood run down my arms. I feel my breath leave my chest.

I hear the metal door from across the room creak open. A sliver of light floods the room, illuminating the scuffed cement ground covered in red stains that Valentine would later claim was residue. He appears at the door. His white blonde hair slicked back like that of a relentless business man. His suit hangs stiffly on his body and I can feel his dark eyes leering at me even from this distance.

He walks in, shutting the door behind him and clicking the lock. His hand then reaches up and flicks the switch. The room is flooded with white light, the kind they might have at a doctor's office. The place is even scarier with the lights on. The ground is more muddy red than it is grey and the walls are a rusted metal covered in hooks from which all different items are hanging.

It is a place straight out of a horror film. And it is my life.

He walks up to me, his hands placed at his sides professionally. He looks over me as if I'm another car he's trying to sell. Like a hunk of metal, like nothing.

I'm your son! I want to yell. But he won't care, he doesn't care about anything. "Ah, Jonathan. What weapon should I use today?" He asks casually, picking at his fingernails as if he was asking me how my day at school was.

"Dad, please. Please just unchain me." I whimper, trying to slip my hands and feet from the iron cuffs once again. I stifle a gasp as I feel the metal slice deeply into my wrist. Valentine's face is enraged. "You are pathetic. What are you, 10? Look at you groveling. I taught you better than that."

"I'm 11." I whisper. And that was it. His composure snapped. He reached out and his hand latched onto the first weapon he saw. It was a small carving knife. No,no, please. As he gets closer I feel myself begin to cry. The ugly kind of crying that gives you a headache.

And then he is right next to me, his hot breath against my ear. "Next it will be your sister."

I come out of the dream violently. The sheets around my are tangled like a spider's web and my hair sticks to my forehead with a sheen of sweat. I gasp for air and try to calm my racing heart. It was a dream. I'm safe. But what if Clary isn't? I hop out of the bed and quickly climb into the shower.

I wash all of the grime and sweat from the dream. The water hits my face soothingly, dripping down my back. I trace my hands down my arms and back, feeling the raised skin of scars and tough skin of burns. And Valentine's face flashes behind my eyes. And then I'm crying.

The air is cold around me and it seems to bite on my cheeks. My footsteps are silent against the sidewalk from years of practice. One has to be stealthy to fake their own death. It takes all of my willpower not to sprint to her hotel. Not to hold her in my arms to make sure no one can ever hurt her. Sometimes I still fear Valentine will raise from the grave and harm her.

There are still a fair amount of people out and about for 11:00. On the sidewalk on the other side of the street there is a woman grasping the hand of a young girl. Her brown hair is tied in braids and her jeans are a little too long, managing to fold themselves under her untied sneakers. The woman is laughing at something and the girl seems to be smiling mischievously.

A few blocks in front of me is a gangly boy with dark brown hair. He has glasses that perch awkwardly on his nose. He looks like the kind of guy that would give up his life to save puppies. And that's when I recognize him. It's Simon Lewis, Clary's best friend. I feel an odd sense of jealousy towards him. He has, in a way, served as Clary's brother during my absence. But that is no one's fault but my own.

When I finally get to Clary's hotel, I perch outside near a bush. She is only on the fourth floor, so seeing in her window isn't difficult. She is sitting on her bed, her head in her hands. She looks sad, but she's safe.

The fear in my heart finally resides for the night.

Damn that was kind of unexpected

Poor Jon

Poor Clary

Poor everyone, sorry for being so depressing guys!

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