Worst few hours ever. I hate money. I hope the zombies from 28 Weeks Later get all the money in the world, bury it, light it on fire, and then eat it. Anyone else agree with me?

Thank you for all the reviews, they mean the world to me.

Chapter 8

Present New York City

So this is what Alec always woke up to every time he was here.

The hospital wing wasn't stark white, glistening with too many lights, or had the smell of iodine in the air. It was surprisingly homey, with curtains spread open that I wanted to rip back together to go back to sleep. Books were thrown everywhere, as if the reader ripped through the pages for the information needed, then carelessly stacked them back up on the floor.

I wouldn't be surprised if that's what actually happened.

The bed I was laying on was the only downside. It made me yearn for my king-sized bed at home with its silk and cotton sheets caressing my skin and my little Alexander next to me, ink hair splayed across the pillow with his lean body under the covers next to mine.

I could dream.

My muscles ached as if sore from a long needed exercise. It was then that I heard a mumbled "asshole" come from a few yards away from me.

Excusez-moi?

No one has the right to say that to me when I'm only half-conscious. At least wait until I'm well enough to make my own snappy comebacks.

I turned my absurdly-sore neck ever so slightly to the side only to see Isabelle perched on an uncomfortable-looking stool. I had to admit, I liked having someone wait for me to wake up after a semi-but-not-really serious injury.

But it really didn't feel so good for that someone to look at you like you're evil, and also just so happen to have a golden whip at her side. From the stories I've heard, Izzy was pretty much an expert with that whip of hers.

I wonder if she's ever used it on one of her boyfriends. . .

"Magnus."

My fabulous name coming from her lips broke the silence in the room. Oh, so we were going to act like this is a showdown then?

Fine. I can deal.

"Isabelle," I said. I tried to make my voice sound as cold and distant and uninterested as she did, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I was disappointed in myself at how easy it came, how easy I could act. Then again, Izzy probably didn't have any trouble with it either.

I wish I could say that made me feel better.

We stared at each other for only seconds when she sighed and her shoulders slumped down as if defeated, as if just not liking the situation, as if I was the winner of our showdown.

A metal pitcher that I hadn't noticed before was sitting atop the mahogany drawer next to the bed. Izzy's scarred yet still beautiful hands picked it up, poured water into a small glass, and handed it to me.

"Here."

The coldness wasn't in her voice anymore but somewhere between grabbing the pitcher and giving me the glass, her defiance and determination came back, her petite shoulders once again straight.

"Thanks." My reply sounded muffled as I brought the rim of the glass to my chapped lips.

Wait, chapped?! This won't do. I'll fix that little problem later.

As the surprisingly-chilled water slid down my throat, I realized just how parched I really was, but still only took two sips, not feeling the need to quench my thirst. Setting the water back down, I remembered my vision.

Alec. Alec in the past.

Crap.

I couldn't tell his family about this! Their worry would jump to escalations higher than the balloons during the Thanksgiving Day Macy's Parade! They'd blame this more on me than they already are doing right now.

That won't be good, not at all.

Now how do I bring him back without the Lightwoods' involvement? How do I bring him home?

Come on! Think, brain, think! Work with me! It's never doing well when I need it . .

"Okay forget small talk. Magnus, what the hell happened?"

Apparently Isabelle wasn't one for patience.

"I fainted! That's what happened! A little more compassion would be nice…" They're going to get suspicious if I keep fainting every time I have one of those flashbacks.

"I'm not talking about the fainting, idiot! I meant between you and my brother! What happened with the relationship?"

She really wanted to know. I could tell by the way she said it. Her word weren't necessarily pleading, but they were close to borderline. She wanted the 411. Couldn't really blame her, now could I? Then again, there's no need to call me an idiot.

"There's no need to call me an idiot, you slut!" It just came out. I couldn't stop myself. When I get attacked, someone else is either getting attacked too, or suspiciously fall unconscious and land in their worst fucking nightmare.

Reasonably, Izzy wasn't taking any BS either. She gasped and got off her stool.

"Whore!"

No I wasn't!

"Succubus!

"Overly-feminine, blue-flamed warlock!"

That was going too far. I was not overly feminine!

"At least I can make toast without injuring people!" Take that.

Her gasp was more audible this time, with her mouth hanging wide open. Her foot stomped on the tile and the pitcher flopped to the floor, spilling the remaining liquid.

Then the door to the hospital wing creaked slowly open revealing a distraught-looking Maryse. Even from the distance I was at, I could see purple bags under her eyes and the more pronounced wrinkles lining her face.

"Everything alright in here?" Mama Lightwood's voice was soothing, yet held stressed undertones as she walked over to us. After holding Izzy's eyes to confirm an answer, her blue-eyed gaze turned to me.

It was amazing to me how exact they were to Alec's.

"You're up. How are you feeling?" Her hand found its way to my forehead, and a tight smile to her pink lips.

"I'm fine now, thank you." Her tight smile and gaze drifted out to the window for a minute before turning and heading back to the door.

Izzy was setting the pitcher back on the drawer and threw the wet towels in the small trash can. We both heard the click of the doorknob being turned to its right position. Iz sat down on the edge of the bed, abandoning the lopsided stool.

"You know you can tell me Magnus. I just want to know what happened."

Her voice was significantly softer. It was almost as if she said please. I myself gave a sigh and sat up against the headboard, pulling a pillow behind my back.

"We were at my place last week, facing each other in bed. We were both ready for sleep, but then I got up and kind of blurted out that I thought we shouldn't be together anymore. It had already been in my mind for a while; I just didn't know how to say it."

I was staring straight ahead into a bookshelf. Two books had collapsed on each other and the deep black cave they created in the middle fascinated me, kept my eyes trained on something.

"I didn't want to hurt him."

I moved my eyes from the little two-book cave to the window just like Maryse had. It was beautiful outside. It was probably hot and disgustingly-muggy, but from inside the Institute, the sun looked miraculous and bright and full of energy, if that was possible.

I wasn't in the mood to tell Izzy the rest of the story, especially since the beginning was the only truthful part.

Apparently though, Izzy didn't want me to finish the story either. Her opinions and emotions got the better of her and pushed the soft-voiced woman down.

"How can you say that you didn't want to hurt him? That's bull! You knew that saying something like that would tear him to pieces. You really are an idiot! A fucking nincompoop! I can't believe you. What? Did you just get tired of him? Did you want to move on to the next thing with two legs and a dick?"

Her voice was rising and rising and honestly I didn't want to listen to her. She wanted to know the story and here she is putting words in my mouth. She's jumping to conclusions and getting pissed off in the process. Her breathing was getting deeper and deeper and she looked at me with disbelief in her eyes.

Isabelle was still yelling but I had to try to tune it out. She was the one acting like an idiot. Her words hurt me and she knew that. I know she did.

The yelling was getting to me, making me want to yell myself. I tried to hold my own opinions back. I thought it was best to let her finish and then talk like civilized people when she was done, but my will to hold back wasn't strong enough and the words just came bubbling up.

"There's someone else!"

Isabelle's rant stopped. Through the window, it seemed as if the last of the sun's energy began to dim.