Maybe [The Mortal Instruments] {Rewritten}

II Katherine's P.O.V

"Your father did what?!" I exclaimed, utterly confused.

As I was closing the shop – today unfortunately was my turn – I received a call from Xander. He was so excited that he talked very fast, and while I couldn't comprehend every word, I grasped the general direction of the conversation. However, I must have misunderstood, as what I heard seemed like a miracle.

"Dad came last tonight, before Mags and I went to our date, and gave us his blessing," he repeated, this time slower.

"Wow... that is fantastic, Xander!" I told him happily. "By the way, where did he take you this time?" I asked him curiously.

Having returned to New York three months ago, Xander had been regaling me with stories about his relationship non-stop. Magnus always took my best friend to the most amazing, romantic, and expensive places in the city. I genuinely enjoyed listening to his experiences, maybe because I am very curious or because their dates are genuinely interesting. Luckily, my friend always indulged my curiosity.

"He took me to watch The Lion King on Broadway; he said it's a very famous play. In the end, it was quite good," I laughed a bit at his comment. Xander was always very picky when it came to music; if it wasn't the best, he wouldn't listen to it. Though, he also lacked a lot of pop culture. "After that, we had dinner at the Hilton hotel."

"I went there once with my family; they make really good food," I told him. "I tried their special salad; I really liked it. What did you order?"

"The steak," he answered and chuckled when I gagged. "Come on, Kitten! Cut me some slack. Not everyone can be a vegetarian like you."

"Well, you keep on killing innocent animals," I replied, acting very dramatically on purpose. "It's your soul that will suffer in the end."

"Ladies and gentlemen, that was Katherine Rosa Sangrienta for all of you, our favorite Drama Queen," he said in his best impression of a TV host, making me laugh. "I have to go now, Kitten. Mags is calling me to sleep."

"Go to your man, Xander," I told him before ending the call. He must surely be blushing, I thought with a smirk as I walked out of Macy's.

As I strolled through the bustling streets of New York, my mind replayed the conversation, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of happiness for Xander and Magnus. Their relationship seemed to be blooming, and the fact that Xander's father had given his blessing brought a smile to my face.

"Argh!" The anguished cry of pain brought me back from my thoughts.

Following the voice to its origin, I discovered a boy lying on the ground at the end of an alley. He was applying pressure to the wound on his side, or at least the most he could manage in his situation. However, what alarmed me wasn't just the painful expression he wore, but the puddle of blood surrounding him.

"Oh, God!" I muttered under my breath, rushing to his side. I took off my scarf and wrapped it tightly around his body. "Stay awake!" I ordered him. "I will call 911 for help." As I reached for my phone, a hand stopped me. "What are you doing?" I asked the boy, confused. Didn't he want to live?

"Don't... hospital... no..." he babbled incoherently, but his message was clear.

If he didn't want to go to the hospital, I wouldn't take him. After all, who am I to disobey the last wish of an almost-dead guy? I thought with a defeated sigh. Gathering all my strength, I carried the guy towards my car, then drove home as fast as I could. Why do I always find myself in strange situations?

Not knowing what else to do, I practically carried the unconscious boy to my apartment and set him down on the couch. Panic rushed through me as I tried to remember everything, I'd learned from that random first aid course in Barcelona. Who would've thought that a random class during my travels would come in handy like this?

With a sense of urgency, I gathered makeshift medical supplies—bandages, antiseptic, and whatever else I could find. I fetched a bowl of water, dampened a cloth, and gently wiped away the blood from his face. His features relaxed as if the mere touch of water had some magical healing properties. It was then that I truly looked at him. He couldn't have been much older than me, and the vulnerability in his unconscious state made me wonder about the life he'd led.

His face was unfamiliar, and he seemed disoriented, making it challenging to communicate effectively. However, amidst the chaotic circumstances, a sense of responsibility and empathy drove me to help this stranger. As I tended to his wound, I noticed his clenched jaw and the way he winced whenever I applied the antiseptic. Every pained expression etched lines on his face, and it hit me just how much this boy had endured. Questions bubbled in my mind, but I hesitated to ask. His reluctance to go to the hospital told me he was running from something dark, something that had left him battered and broken.

Time seemed to stretch as I patched him up. I couldn't shake the feeling that our lives were colliding in a way neither of us expected. It wasn't just about saving a stranger anymore; it felt like we were connected, two people whose paths crossed in the most unexpected circumstances.

He eventually stirred, his eyes fluttering open with a mix of confusion and gratitude. "Where...?" he mumbled, still disoriented.

"You're safe. My apartment," I reassured him, offering a tentative smile. "You're going to be okay."

The vulnerability in his eyes struck a chord within me. The boy did not remain awake for long, falling unconscious soon afterwards. Once I made sure that the boy seemed stable, the adrenaline that had been fueling me during the impromptu first aid session began to wane. Reality crashed down like a relentless storm, and I found myself standing there, staring at the unconscious boy sprawled on my couch. Panic started to claw at my insides, its icy fingers tightening around my heart.

I paced around my apartment, rubbing my temples as if that could dispel the chaos swirling in my mind. I tried to remember the sequence of events that had led me to this moment. A seemingly chance encounter had evolved into me harboring an unknown, injured boy in my own living room.

The questions stormed my thoughts. Was he a criminal? Did he kill someone? Or was someone trying to kill him? The shadows of doubt crept in, fueled by a paranoid imagination working overtime. Each worst-case scenario played out in my mind, leaving me grappling with the weight of uncertainty.

My hands trembled, and I resisted the urge to call the police. The boy's plea not to involve the hospital echoed in my ears, but with every passing second, my mind conjured up more sinister explanations. Was I harboring a fugitive? Was he on the run from something or someone?

Doubt gnawed at my resolve, and I questioned my own judgment. What if he had manipulated me? What if he was dangerous? My sanctuary, my apartment, began to feel like a fragile cocoon, and I wondered if I had unwittingly invited danger inside.

"Shit!" I cursed aloud, frustration and fear bubbling to the surface. The walls seemed to close in on me, amplifying the gravity of the situation. I looked at the boy, still unconscious on the couch, and the unknowns that surrounded him felt like a ticking time bomb.

Fumbling for my phone, I hesitated with it in my hand. Should I call someone? Should I trust my gut or the whispers of paranoia? The boy's life, and potentially mine, hung in the balance, and I grappled with the decision, my emotions swinging like a pendulum between compassion and self-preservation. The flickering streetlight outside cast shadows, mimicking the turmoil within me. For a moment, I was paralyzed by the fear of the unknown, uncertain whether to continue offering help or to retreat from a situation that felt increasingly treacherous.

"What the Hell am I doing?" I whined, as I marched to my room and face-planted on the bed. "Oh, God. I don't care anymore. This is tomorrow-me's problem."