I Hate You (IN EDITING)

Twenty-Two

Clary felt immensely stupid. Why would she say such a thing? And if Jace's shocked silence was any indication, he was more surprised than she was by her word-slip. She wanted to slap herself upside the head, but Jace did not laugh, he did not look at her as though she had lost her less-than-stable mind, either. 

She wanted to say something, but her voice would come out squeaky and her face would turn redder than it already was and—

Jace turned to her, colour high in his cheeks. "I-I think I love you, too," he stuttered, looking, in Clary's opinion, adorably flustered.

XXX

Clary regarded her bustling, chatting friends with distaste. Not exactly her friends, but what they were talking about—what they were rushing about to accomplish: her birthday party.

Clary had never really bothered with her birthday before, never really cared, to be quite frank. But nowadays, with Isabelle all but breathing down her neck, she had no choice but to grin and bear each and every party.

"What do you think, blue, gold and white, or blue, purple, and white?"

"How many streamers do you think we'll need?"

"How much glitter should I put in my hair the night of?"

"Cupcakes or a full-on cake?"

The words flew from her friends mouth's like bullets from a fully-loaded machinegun—with backup ammunition—and she caught none of them, only bits and pieces here and there. "Isn't this a bit much?" Clary piped up after sitting in the exact same spot for three hours, having been told not to move in the rare case that Isabelle or Magnus, or—heaven forbid—Alec needed her opinion and or help with something. And what was worse than sitting in a chair, stiff as board for three hours, afraid to move for fear of being hit by the things being thrown around every few seconds, was the fact that Jace wasn't even there to keep her company—he had gone to pick up dinner for all of them, seeing as how none of them wanted to cook, and none of them were willing to risk eating any of Isabelle's food.

Isabelle loosed a sharp, piercing gasp. "How dare you? A bit much is the amount of glitter Magnus uses on a daily basis, not—"

"A bit much? How dare you, Isabelle Sophia—" 

"Oh, I dare, Magnus Bane—more like bane of my existence—" 

"Shut up!" Alec bellowed, hammering his fist down on the counter adjacent to him. His electric blue eyes penetrating through both Isabelle and Magnus, both mid-argument. His sister's glossed lips agape ever so slightly, pink colouring her cheekbones, while his boyfriend's blue-and-black hair hung down untidily, covering his purple-rimmed eyes.

"Okay," Clary let out an exaggerated sigh, blowing a strand of scarlet hair away from her face—only to have it drop back down into her lien of view this time. "Magnus, you do use an unhealthy amount of glitter on a daily basis. And Isabelle, this is all a bit much—I'm only turning eighteen—"

"That's exactly my point!" Isabelle wailed, throwing her head back in exasperation, her arms outstretched in disbelief. "You only turn eighteen once, and—"

"I think she knows that, Izzy," Alec interjected, his lips pursing into a thin line of resignation when the raven-haired beauty shot him a deathly glare, her charcoal eyes narrowing menacingly at her older brother.

"As I was saying, you only turn eighteen once, and you're technically an adult now—well almost." Isabelle gestured with her hands, expressing her frustration at Alec and Clary's obvious lack of common sense with an ostentatious groan. The older girl threw herself down in the nearest seat, which happened to be the seat Clary had vacated not five minutes ago.