*I DON'T OWN THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS OR ANY OF CASSANDRA CLARES WORK* (I WISH) the only thing I own is the story line, oh and btw all mundane!
A hand collided with her face, snapping her head to the side. Clary fell to the ground trying to break her fall with her bruised arms. Her father, Valentine, loomed above her. Looking menacing and drew his foot back to kick her in the stomach. She cried out in pain as his shoe connected with her ribs. She could feel them bruise, if not crack. She cried out in pain as he continued his endless torment on her fragile body. She turned her head to look at the bedroom door when she heard a slight chuckle. Her brother, Jonathan, the door frame watching the whole scene with a smirk on his face. Clary didn't know what was wrong with him. When he first found out their father beat her he was outraged and helped her clean her cuts and take care of her bruises but lately he stopped caring and even watched as Valentine beat her. He had yet to lay a hand on her but Clary had a feeling that it was inevitably coming. She couldn't remember the last time she went home feeling safe. She was never supposed to life with her father, and now she knew why. Her mother, Jocelyn, had taken Clary away when she was only 5. They moved from New York to the outskirts of Brooklyn. She loved her life there. Their industrial loft always smelt like paint thinner and cookies. Clary's mothers painting sat everywhere in the loft. You had to be careful to not brush against anything in fear of walking around the rest of the day with paint on your butt. Her best friend Simon loved coming to their loft and watching both Clary and Jocelyn paint. It was only a couple of months ago that Clary was out with Simon when she got the phone call. It was a hospital near Queens, calling to tell her that her mother had been in a by eDeals" style="border: none !important; display: inline-block !important; text-indent: 0px !important; float: none !important; font-weight: bold !important; height: auto !important; margin: 0px !important; min-height: 0px !important; min-width: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important; text-transform: uppercase !important; text-decoration: underline !important; vertical-align: baseline !important; width: auto !important; background: transparent !important;">car accident. She had died on impact. The police came the next day to take her to live with her father in New York. In all her life she would have never guessed that her father and brother had only lived a city away this whole time. She never had any inclination to meet her father but she had always wanted to meet her brother. Clary was dreading having to go to live with her father but she was beginning to think that it wouldn't be that bad. She was all to wrong when she arrived at her father's house. It was okay at first, the polite but standoff conversations. The awkward run ins in the hall. Clary thought she could live with it, she still went to see Simon every other weekend and seeing as it was summer she didn't have school to worry about. That was until the second week. She was sitting on her bed when her door burst open. Her father stormed into her room, slamming the door behind him.
'Valentine, What's wrong?' she began to ask when his hand collided with her cheek. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheek and tears start to well in her eyes. She looked up about to question what he was doing when he left the room just as quickly as he had come in.
Clary snapped back to reality as Valentine placed another well placed kick at her stomach. She didn't try to defend herself. She knew that it would be even worse if she tried.
Clary closed her eyes and waited for the pain to go away. Thankfully her father was about fed up with her for the night and turned on his heel and walked out the door, leaving a broken Clary laying on the floor.
R&R to let me know if you want me to continue the story!