Just a little story, not going to be long. A little heads up though, Clary, Simon, and Isabelle are sophomores, Jace is a junior, Jonathon and Alec are seniors.

Words Can Never Hurt Me

Words can never hurt me.

That's what I told myself. That's what my motto was, what kept me strong. The words can come, but what do they know? They don't know me; they can't hurt me. That's what I told myself.

But that wasn't the case.

What they didn't know was that I sat in the basement alone, crying and hurting. Every night. For the first 16 years of my life, that's what I did. And you know what? Maybe it was because they didn't know. Maybe that's the reason I was brought down by all the words they said to me. Maybe that's the reason they called me worthless, stupid, ugly, unlikeable, and alone, maybe that's the reason they told me no one could ever like me. But they had no reason to have maybes. They didn't have the right to know. They didn't have the right to hurt me.

They say words can never hurt you, but that's where they're wrong. Words hurt the most. They are the strongest artillery. Words will always hurt me.

That was a glimpse of my high school life. Now this is the story of how I was abused and ignored then lifted up by a single person. A single person changed my life forever.

…

I shuffled along the walls of the school, head down, hat on, and books in hand. I was hoping more than ever that no one would notice me. My father had a bad morning. Which meant I was still wincing from where he hit me.

My classroom was so close, but only I could attract so much trouble and bad luck. That's what everyone told me.

"Hey there Little Red, where you going?" I felt myself cower back slightly at the sound of that voice. I refused to raise my eyes and give him the pleasure of seeing my fear in them.

He reminded me so much of Valentine, so much. His looks, his style, his personality, everything. Walking, talking, bullying, everything he did made me think of my father. I guess Valentine taught him well.

I saw a hand go down to my chin and gently raise it up, making me look him in the eyes. I cringed at his touch. His eyes. They were black. Cold, empty, cruel, and heartless. They weren't always like that though.

"I asked you where you were going, you worthless piece of trash. Now answer me."

I couldn't believe any teacher didn't see this.

"I-I'm going to class."

"You could've just answered me in the first place instead of making me force you too. Now you got my hand covered in your filth. I had to touch you, now I have worthless germs on my hand. I'm going to wash them off now. Better not be late, Clary." The boy sneered.

I cowered into the room, ignoring all the glares and nasty words being whispered to me. I took my seat at the back of the room and tried not to think about what had been said to me by Jonathon Morgenstern.

Blond hair, black eyes. Just like my father. My brother once had loved me. But that was history. He, in image, was my father's clone. He used to try and protect me, but that only brought him pain. Jon never got hit. Jon learned. My father taught him. Taught him who to hit. Where to hit. When to hit. Now he was a shell of my father's teachings. He didn't dare to hit me at school. Not with all his friends watching. No, him and Valentine preferred to hit when I least expected it. So now I expect it at all times.

I was about to start drawing and escape the real world when my teacher called my name. I slowly made my way up to the front and the teacher told me I was needed in the office.

As I approached the room, my breath caught when I saw Jonathon standing there too.

"Hello little sister, fancy seeing you here. Do you know what this is about?" I shook my head no, which probably wasn't even noticeable from my shaking body.

"Oh stop shaking you pathetic idiot."

The door opened and Jonathon smiled at the receptionist, resuming his angelic good boy façade. But I knew better.

"The principle will see you now."

They walked in and Jonathon smiled but my shaking got so bad that I had to use the wall for support.

Sitting there with a hard expression on his face was Valentine.

"Hello children. Why don't you sit down, we need to talk about something."

We sat down, and I moved my chair as far away as I could from my father and brother.

"Well children, it seems as if your mother," Valentine spit out, "wants you back."

Our mother, Jocelyn, left after two years of beatings. That was when I was four and Jonathon was six. That's when Valentine turned his rage on me. It started gradually, a slap here, a push there, so as not to break me. When I started to get to the age as to where I could take bigger things, Valentine had no mercy. I was 8 when my first thorough beating took place. Jonathon was ten.

Flashback~

The door slammed shut and a pound on the wall was heard throughout the house.

"Clarissa Morgenstern! Get your butt down here now!" I swallowed hard when I heard the drunken rage in his voice. I put down my Barbie notebook I was scribbling in and slowly crept down the stairs.

"Y-yes father?"

"Don't stutter you pathetic worm of a girl! What took you so long!" He screamed.

I hung my head and whispered, "I don't know father."

He slapped me across the face, hard enough to knock me down.

"Jonathon! Come here now!" He bellowed into the shadows of the house.

"No, father please. He didn't do anything wrong." I pleaded, my little kid voice squeaking with fear. I didn't want Jon to get hurt. My father didn't even answer, he just kicked me in the stomach.

Jon appeared in the hallway looking scared. His wide coffee bean eyes were filled with sadness, fear, and horror when he saw me on the ground, a red hand mark on my face and clutching at my stomach, gasping for breath.

"Son, I want you to watch and know why you should never be a stupid, ignorant, slow, lazy, worthless child. Learn from this experience." No one but a sick mad man would ever make his son watch his little sister get abused.

That was the last though in my head before I was struck with an enormous amount of pain.

I lay on the living room floor, unable to move without hurting. Jon crawled over to me.

"Clary? Tell me where it hurts the most." I tilted my head and saw he had a warm wet towel in his hand.

"Everywhere." It was true. I couldn't pinpoint a single pain. It all mixed into one.

Jon had a few bruises from where my father had struck him after Jon had tried to help me up.

He rubbed the towel and I flinched when he hit the big gash on my arm.

When we got done, we went to bed. I slept in his room that night.

The next day I wore long pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a scarf to cover up any bruises or cuts. I had to make up excuses for the ones on my face.

Flashback ends~

"Clarissa? Did you hear what I said?" Valentine's sharp tone brought me back to reality with a scared squeak and a flinch away from the boys.

The principal looked at me with concern but quickly brushed it off as my father started to speak.

"I said that we are going to the court house right now. The principal has notified all your teachers of your absence throughout the rest of the week. Get your stuff and let's go."

As we got to the car, I got into the backseat and Jon got into the front. There was nothing said as we drove to the courthouse.