I Hate You (IN EDITING)

Chapter 18

Clary's eyelids felt like bricks, as she forced them open. A distant sound, like it just couldn't reach her ears. Something peachy-coloured, and black danced in front of her eyes. She giggled, a high pitch sound in the infinite static. "Oh," she heard, the voice familiar, and normally easily placed. Right now, though, the name just wouldn't come to her. "Magnus, come here," they called. The voice was feminine sounding, so it had to be Isabelle. Yes, it must be her.

"Clary," Magnus snapped his fingers in front of her face, but all she could make out was the blurry outline of a darker-peachy colour than who she assumed to be Isabelle. Clary used all the strength she could muster, and pushed herself up. She immediately felt dizzy, like the room was tilting and swaying. "Clary," Magnus said again, his tone gentle. "Clary, stop it. You're going to make it worse."

"What-?" Clary managed, placing a heavy hand on her head. The room had stopped swaying so much, but it still tilted gently, like waves rocking a boat. "Oh, Izzy," Magnus said quietly. "Look at this," he pulled his hand away from the back of Clary's head, where it had apparently been. The blurry image dissolved to a slightly fuzzy one, revealing to Clary something that made her panic; red. Red all over his hand. Red everywhere.

Clary whirled around, the room spinning even faster than it had originally. The hard wood behind her was painted red. The table beside Clary's small bed was red. It looked like a scene from a horror movie of some sort. Only, there were no dead bodies, or serial killers after them. Clary ran her hand over the red, her fingers felt wet afterwards. She rubbed her fingers together, spreading the thick, warm substance all over her hand. She looked back at Magnus and Isabelle, her expression somewhat distraught, but over all confused. The room had stopped spinning and swaying, giving her a clear view of both Magnus and Isabelle, who didn't look themselves; Isabelle's hair was matted, her under- eyes decorated with dark circles, while she was clad in an overly large t-shirt, and flannel shorts. Magnus, just wasn't Magnus without his glitter. His usually gelled and spiked hair, was gone, replaced with a messy, bed-head look. His eyes lacked the usually flamboyant makeup that just made you want to look at him. To say they looked stressed was the biggest understatement of the year.

"Clary, how do feel?" Magnus asked, he was crouched down beside her, brushing hair back and behind her ear. Clary brought her hand back to her head-not the smartest choice, since it was covered in blood, but she didn't really care. "Dizzy, sore...awful?" It came out as more of a question, than anything else. "My God, Clary," Magnus said, his tone still gentle as ever. "Do you know how worried we were? You've been out for over two hours-and we...we didn't know what to do-there isn't a hospital for miles from here."

Isabelle sat down beside Clary, and brought Clary into a hug. "You scared me so bad," Isabelle whispered into Clary's abundance of red curls. Soon, Isabelle was sobbing quietly into Clary's hair, a hiccupping noise escaping her ever once in a while. Isabelle tentatively ran her hand over the back of Clary's head, where the cut lay. Clary winced, when her hand passed over it, bringing Isabelle's hand to an abrupt stop. Isabelle pulled her hand away, looking down at her hand, it was covered in Clary's blood, which only managed to make Isabelle sob even harder. Magnus soon pulled her away, whispering something into her ear. She nodded, wiping at her puffy under-eyes, before disappearing into the en-suite bathroom. Magnus approached Clary, he stayed silent. She felt numb, in a way, like nothing was reality, like this was all a dream. But it wasn't, and she'd had enough "dreams" to last her a lifetime. Clary needed to tell Isabelle-tell her she was okay, and that something had come out of her...accident.

Without warning, Clary stood up, bringing on a wave of dizziness. She fought through it, bringing her fist down on the bathroom door. Three hard knocks, each like lifting a pile of bricks. Isabelle whipped open the bathroom door, her eyes red along with her cheeks. "Clary, you shouldn't be walking around-and you need to get that cut cleaned up. Stitched, or something," Clary shook her head, a fresh wave of dizziness taking over her.