I Hate You (IN EDITING)

Day One

She thought she had fallen asleep as soon as her head had brushed the cool material of her pillowcase, but she didn't remember, and she was still tired. Perhaps that had something to do with Isabelle swinging the entire top half of her body over the railing on the top bunk and cackling loudly. But the joke was on her, Clary knew—because Isabelle was much more tired than she, and definitely looked it.

The sound of something smashing was what had roused her from her half sleep, where the redhead swore she saw her twin coming to sit on the edge of her bed, swore she felt him moving her legs gently aside and tucking her hair back behind her ear the way he so often had—when he'd been able to move, when his lungs still drew breath and his heart still beat.

But she'd woken up. Just like she always did.

And he hadn't been there, and she'd wanted to curl in on herself and sob into her pillow. These mornings were the worst—and they were much too frequent for all the money her mom had washed away on therapists.

Clary didn't know if Izzy had known, been able to tell somehow, but the dark-eyed girl jumped down from her bed and pulled her hair up into a low-hanging ponytail, groaning as she stretched her arms high up over her head and stood on her tip-toes, Clary slipping into the bathroom to brush her teeth and splash some water on her face.

She didn't want her friends to know how much the survivor's guilt still choked her, but Clary had a sneaking suspicion that her friends knew it anyways.

But there had been pride shining in Isabelle's eyes at Clary's outfit—built from a pair of high-waisted jean shorts with the American flag printed on them and a thin, long white muscle shirt over top of her floral print bikini and black sandals—and something the redhead wasn't quite sure she liked flashing in Jace's eyes as she entered the kitchen, gone the second he noticed her steady gaze upon him.

"Morning," Clary smiled at Alec and Magnus, who were chatting softly as the latter poured himself a bowl of cereal.

Magnus wriggled his blue, glittery eyebrows at her. "You two certainly look like you just walked off of a hipster blog."

"Thanks," she remarked dryly, rolling her eyes. Turning to ask Isabelle whether they should go pick up some groceries or not, the question seemed to catch in her throat at the hot glare her friend bore. It wasn't at her, though—it was at Jace, who glared back at Isabelle for a moment before giving up, seemingly tired, and dropped his head in his hands before dragging them down his face.

Alec cleared his throat. "Do—does anyone want to go swimming? I want go swimming—Clary!" He looked towards her desperately as Magnus rose from his barstool; most probably to mediate whatever it was that was going on between Izzy and Jace. "Clary," he said again, "Come swimming with me."

"Sure?" She thought her voice might have cracked mid-word, thought that she caught Jace's eyes boring into hers, pleading with her to leave. But as soon as it registered, Alec was tugging her hurriedly out the door, Isabelle was opening her mouth to shout, Jace was glowering, and she was down the stairs.

XXX

Clary tugged the thin material of her shirt over her head as Alec ruffled his rumpled hair, realizing that neither of them had towels. "Fantastic," he sighed and tossed his shirt into the sand. Clary piled her clothes on top of the shirt, loving the warm feeling she got over her skin when the sun hit it.

Clary turned to Alec suddenly. "Do you think they'll ever stop?"

His eyes widened. "Fighting?" He sighed again. "I hoped...one day...But it doesn't seem likely."

"That's reassuring," Clary laughed tightly.

The two of them were still standing there, not really looking at anything, when Isabelle bounded out, tossing towels at their heads. "How are you two standing around when there's a perfectly refreshing lake right there?"