Jasmunzel

Chapter 2: All Time Low.

"Marry me, Tess. Marry me and be Tessa Herondale. Or be Tessa gray, or be whatever you wish to call yourself, but marry me and stay with me and never leave me, for I cannot bear another day of my life to go by that does not have you in it."

-Will Herondale, Clockwork Princess

_____________________

"STEAKHOUSE Nachos with chicken, black beans and nacho cheese sauce as an extra," I say, running my fingers through my damp coffee-colored hair.

The girl nimbly takes down my order "That'll come to a total of $8.04, would you like a free cup of water?"

I smoothly nod, passing to the side, my nachos substantially seeping with diabetes is given to me.

I sit alone, at a corner booth away from the windows. My head is pulsing with the sporadic megrims that I've had ever since I watched my mother's casket lower to the ground.

But this time, it's not my mother's death that triggered my stress, watching my boyfriend get stimulated off the woman's silky skin, relishing in her groans made me question my self-confidence. Normally, I did feel quite content in my body, I owed that to Mom, but Mathew, he made me feel like the minute, intimated Highschool freshman that I was almost ten years ago.

It's been ten years since I shunned my body.

I pick off the corn chips and scrape a little bit of the cheese and black beans before placing it in my mouth. It's been five hours since I've broken up with Mathew, five hours of being homeless and five hours of longing to curl up into a tight ball under the heated and encouraging kilt covers of our ex-shared bed.

My phone murmurs on the table, it cuts through the gentle buzz of small talk between employees in the deserted restaurant.

"What?" I whisper sternly "Scarlett is almost one in the morning"

A very subtle chuckle escapes from my oldest Sister "Well, you could've ignored me and you sound way too lively to have just woken up, why haven't you skyped Isabella and me, like we discussed last night?"

I roll my eyes dejectedly "I'm not in the mood, Scarlett"

"Excuses, Excuses" She murmurs "What's the problem, little sis?"

My fingers sketch the markings on the table "Mathew cheated on me"

I hear scuffling on the other side of the line.

"Sorry," Scarlett's voice speaks through the telephone "Isabella's snores are too loud so I'm just outside the door of our apartment, you were saying?"

If Scarlett were here, I would've hit her. It felt penitent enough saying once. "Mathew cheated on me"

A roar that almost deafens me vibrates through the receiver "That Son of a White Bitch did what?"

"I found him in bed with some blonde girl" Tears start to float underneath my rust-colored optics.

"I'm going to cut off that bastards Micropenis, and I'm going to shove it up his ass" Scarlett snarls

"Nevermind that," I bite my lower lip and whisper softly, almost pained, like the thought was indeed the most woeful burden I had ever had. "Where am I supposed to live?"

"In a hotel?" She insinuates, her voice abruptly diminishes and I can almost hear her skepticism "You could come back to New York"

No wonder she sounded so reluctant. She knows talking about New York to me is like treading on freshly fragmented glass. That city will forever haunt me, it consumes my dreams and effortlessly bends them into unutterable nightmares. The photos of New York that friends put up on Facebook leer at me, seethe at me. The towers mock me and torment me with my repulsive past.

"No," I say steadily.

"Just think about it" Scarlett solicits "You have nowhere to go"

"I'll just live in a hotel," I say quietly

"You could just leave your job-"

"I got fired" I add, a definite absorption of wind is heard over the line.

"You've really reached an all time low, haven't you"

"I have"

"Okay so, you move to New York, live with us, Dad owns a company- he's bound to find jobs for you," When I remain speechless, she speedily recommences, "I think right now, Chicago is the city you need to escape from"

Her words make sense, yet trepidation deliberately commences to drain in as I agree

***

It's raining profoundly when I reach ORD, I only bring a handbag bag, my sudden confidence to start new seemingly also means a fresh set of clothes, I'm not complaining, though, I fit in supremely with the hypotheses of a stereotypical girl.

And maybe because I'm too scared to go back into Mathew's house.

It's ten o'clock in the morning and my plane to JFK boards in another three hours. Amongst the bright colors, I am the dullest. My hair is mattered against my soaked, navy blue jumper, my tights are deluged to the point where even my legs are wet. Even my mascara has been smeared unpleasantly across my face.

But I don't think that had anything to do with the rain.

Little kids stare at me as though I am a terrifying dog, I don't blame them, but a little less attention could perhaps leave me in my own thoughts.

But maybe it's good that they are keeping me from the thoughts, my brain is a scary place, with thoughts more dangerous than a battlefield, it's a wonder how I've managed to survive even a second.

My phone starts to ring, a piercing sound that is mute to everyone but is like a claw scraping my pounding brain.

"Hello?"

"Jasmine!" Booms dad's loud voice, it's always unknown whether he is actually shouting or if he's just talking normally.

"Dad," I say with unequal enthusiasm.

"Scarlett told me that you're moving back to New York, good, I've got you a job interview on Sunday at ten in the morning at Sullivan Enterprises"

I freeze. Sullivan Enterprises?

Sullivan Enterprises, the equivalent of Hell, owned by Hayden Sullivan, the devil's lapdog. A wealthy, promiscuous man who believes revenue is the only source of delight, the only thing that he cherishes is his clogged Bank account.

He's not known globally, but most of America knows about his company, and his womanizing ways.

"Do I have to?" I fuss

"It's a good paying job, and you'll be an architect. That's what you want, right?"

I think, true, architecture was my passion, my motivation to exist, however, working with Hayden Sullivan would be abominated more than crumbling into sluggish, agonizing demise.

"Dad-"

"Good" He roars once again "Hayden will see you on Sunday"

Irritable, I place my phone in my bag. Are Hayden and Dad on first name basis now?

I place my head in my hands. I'm tired, soaked, famished and in despairing need of a bath.

Scarlett was right, I really did hit an All Time Low.