By the Angel

Chapter 46

Clary's POV

When I open my eyes I'm surprised to see Johnathan curled up at the foot of my bed, my heart aches for him. Deep down inside of him, there is a part of him that is good. It took
family to turn him into a monster and it took family to bring him back, I just wish it wasn't too late for us.

I quietly slip out of bed and gather my things, or I guess his things. I slip on the mittens he had on me so my wrists wouldn't chafe as I zip up my jacket. I gently slip the sheets out from under him. But I don't have a bag, I look around the metal cage when an idea dawns on me.

I take the pillow out and use the silky case as my bag, I stuff as much as I can in there the sheets, the leftover food I didn't eat from the breakfast he brought me which consist of one bottle of water, two rolls and half of a ham and cheese sandwich. Not much but I'll make it last.

I start to walk out but stop when I pass Johnathan. I gently pluck the black cashmere scarf from around his neck wrapping it around my own. It may come in handy and there is a slight possibility I might want something of my brothers. Crazy I know but he's my brother, the only blood family that gives a damn about me and as demented as it sounds I give a damn about him to, probably always will.

He's not the monster from that night, even his eyes are different shades. I didn't even know that was possible, that night I saw eyes black as night but now they are green just like mine. I don't know if he was wearing contacts that night or maybe my brain was just trying to protect me from discovering our connection during the attack.

Strange how the mind works. What it chooses to forget, what it chooses to make you see over and over again until you can no longer bear the sight of your own reflection. When I was younger I would drape the sheets over my mirror and avoid them at all cost, I thought the blue and black bruises that covered me head to toe made me hideous but now I see they made me a warrior.

Every scar, every burn, they're lessons, sometimes the monsters end up being the ones who are supposed to protect you. Most kids are terrified of the fictional creatures lurking under their bed but me? My monster wasn't a figment of my imagination at all, he was supposed to be my protector, my savior, he should have been the hero of my story but instead, my father was and is the villain.

So when I look at my scars now I still see the pain but I also see strength. I'm the hero in my story, I've saved myself before just as I will now and maybe just maybe one day I can save my brother too. Monsters aren't always born, sometimes they are created and sometimes they can be saved.

I spot a notebook and pens on the bookshelf and walk over to grab it only to realize its a sketch pad and pencils. My eyes well up with tears for what feels like the hundredth time tonight or today I don't know which but I guess I'll soon find out. I flip the book open and almost drop the book when I see what he's sketched. It's us sitting on a gray and black couch laughing as we fight over the control.

The Tv is playing a sitcom that we are too busy arguing to pay attention to. His nose is crinkled as he's laughing just like mine does and I find myself wondering just how similar we are. At our feet is an Alaskan malamute snoozing like he's tuckered from an adventurous day chasing his tail.

All along the walls are photos of the two of us growing up, us riding bikes down the street, dressed as Scooby Doo and Shaggy for Halloween and my favorite one of my life n his shoulders as he runs down the stairs. His attention to detail is extraordinary, another thing we share.

In the background standing behind our couch is our parents. Only instead of evil, I'm so used to Valentines cruel features are changed. His scowl is turned up into a loving smile and his soulless eyes are lightened. My mother stands by his side, her cheek resting on his shoulder and they're looking down at us both with so much love, you would think they would go to the ends of the earth to protect their children instead of being the ones to destroy them.

As if my heart wasn't breaking enough, scrawled at the bottom are the words, "I would do anything to turn back the wheels of time Clary. If I had one wish I would use it on this. This is the family you deserved, the brother I should have been. Love always, John."

I tear the page out carefully, folding it so it will fit in my pocket trying not to let my tears that now consume me hit the beautiful drawing. I flip to the next page and write him a letter. I can't leave without saying goodbye I just can't.

Johnathan,
I will never forget the things you've done but... I do forgive you. I forgive the brother I should have had, I forgive the brother that changed for me. I truly believe you want the best for me though the path you've chosen in order to achieve this is seven kinds of wrong and eight kinds of mad, I forgive you for that too even if it makes me just as mad. I don't know how you captured my fantasy on paper but I will treasure it forever. I hope you don't mind me taking it, or your scarf for that matter, I guess I just want a part of my very brother with me forever. I know everyone abandoned you and you've always felt alone but you don't have to feel like that anymore. And I'm not abandoning you now Johnathan but I also can't abandon my other family. I have to go back to them but just because I'm leaving now doesn't mean there isn't a place in my life for you. I know your hope is all but gone but the funny thing about hope? It blooms in the most unlikely of places.
Goodbyes are not always forever. Sometimes it's only until I see you again.
Love always your sister.

I fold the letter and place it by his side, I try not to look back as I shut the cell door but I do and it almost makes me not want to leave... almost. With one last look, I open up the door and step out into the blistering cold. I'm blasted by a gusting wind so intense I'm almost shoved back inside.

I take off into what I'm realizing is a raging blizzard. I don't let that stop me though, I've faced worse, I've survives worse. I keep repeating that mantra over and over in my mind as I race through the snow as fast as I can. I keep sinking into the ground with every step but I push through.

I don't know how long I've been running when I stop to catch my breath, my best guess is at around thirty minutes. But stopping was a grave mistake. I didn't feel the cold before, chalk it up to adrenaline but I sure as hell feel it now.

So I start running again what choice do I have? I run until nightfall and only then do I stop. When I can no longer see in front of me the reality of the situation hits me. I was so focused on my family I didn't stop to give a seconds thought to how I would find my way out of here.

I wrap myself in the sheets and prepare to bundle up until daylight assuming I make it that long. I try not to pay attention to the chattering of my teeth or my fingers turning blue.

My impulsive nature may have just gotten me killed.

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Published 5/27/19