Clary is a girl from the small town with big dreams. Jace is a bad boy from Detroit running from his abusive dad. What happens when they meet on the midnight eastbound train to New York? How will their lives intertwine in New York?

Clary POV:

"Jordan?" Clary didn't want to believe what she was seeing. But she could recognize his figure anywhere, even in the dimness of that room. Numbly, she flicked on the switch and the lights flickered into existence.

There was a sound of muffled cursing. A rumpled black head raised itself from the bed and Jordan's eyes widened with horror as he realized the full impact of Clary's presence, there. She stared at him as he sat up, trying to speak…

"Clary! I-"

"What's going on?" A familiar voice slurred sleepily. A girl sat up beside Jordan. Her eyes focused on Clary, who felt an icy pit in the bottom of her stomach. Maia. The nauseous feeling in her stomach became a thousand times worse. Maia's warm brown eyes were suddenly twice as wide, echoing Jordan's horror and guilt.

"Clary, I-I don't-"

"Sure you do." It was like a dream. Clary heard her own voice, as if reaching her ears from a great distance.

"No-please, look, I'm sorry! This isn't what you think it is!"

"Yeah. It's not. Instead, it's a person who really looks like my boyfriend in bed with a person who really looks like my best friend."

Maia's head drooped.

"It was a one-night stand, Clary, we just wanted to try-" Jordan's arms waved helplessly, sweat shining on his naked chest.

"Is that supposed to make me forgive you?" Clary asked. Tears were beginning to sting the back of her eyes as reality seeped in. "Because, really, can I?"

Jordan looked down, shame written all over his face.

"I hope it was fun, breaking my heart."

Clary turned and walked out of the room, forcing her body to move. She paused at the door.

"For both of you."

Jace POV:

Jace tipped the drink in his hand thoughtfully, leaning on his other arm, which was pressed against the surface of the bar. Multi-coloured lights played wildly across his skin, turning it into a myriad of colours: blue, yellow, green, red. A drop of sweat slid lazily down his temple; Pandemonium was always stiflingly hot.

Loud music blasted from speakers, near the mass of human figures gyrating on the dance floor. Jace grinned; he could see Sebastian swaying in the crowd. The DJ must really be rocking the house tonight, if Sebastian was tempted to dance.

Sebastian looks for his prey, Jace thought. Personally, he tried a different method. He let them come to him.

A self-satisfied smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. He eyed the girls on the floor with an experienced eye, mentally rating the female figures he could make out in the dimness.

That one: passable, maybe, but she was already making out with another girl. That one. No, she was too drunk and already puking her guts out at the side. Jace felt mildly disgusted and turned away. That one. Jace raked an eye over her.

She was moving to the music with the rest of the dancers, but obviously far superior to them.

Thick blond hair was plastered to her shoulders with sweat. Her body was irreproachable, all curves and legs. A tiny dress clung to it like a second skin. It was unfathomable to Jace how she could dance in those towering heels, but he didn't care. All he cared about now was getting her.

He fixed her in his gaze intently and waited for her to turn around. When she did, he winked and gave her a brilliant smile. She checked him out before smirking back and picking her way out of the crowd towards him. Up close, she looked even better; he could see more clearly the amount of skin showing. And he liked what he saw.

She noticed, and smirked again.

"Like what you see?"

"As much as I'm sure you like what you see."

She grinned, not bothering to deny it. "You wanna go somewhere a little more private?"

She took his hand, and he let her lead him through the crowd towards the maintenance room.

Clary POV

Clary's backpack cut deep into her shoulder blades, swinging rhythmically. It was heavy, considering practically all she owned was in there. She'd stuffed everything in messily before leaving Jordan's apartment.

Jordan. A weary ache filled her chest, and her eyes felt wet again. She pushed it away resolutely. No. Not him.

Now she was alone, walking on the street. She knew she needed to find somewhere to go, somewhere to crash for the night. But where? The skies were already dark. It was a small town; there wasn't a lot further she could walk. She was already at the train station…

How many times had she and Jordan walked past here? They had both wanted to get out of the town where they'd been born and raised. Clary remembered what Jordan had promised her: One day, we're gonna get outta here. His voice echoed familiarly in her head. We're gonna get on the midnight train and go to New York. Do whatever we want. Have a good time. Make our dreams come true. They never would now.

Suddenly Clary stopped walking. Why? Why not? Jordan was gone, but she could live without him. For the first time in hours, a small smile tugged insistently on the edges of her lips. Her lifelong dreams of going to New York, making it big as an artist flashed before her. Why couldn't she do it without Jordan?

She didn't think any further but turned in the direction of the station.

Jace POV:

It was actually evening of the next day when Jace got back. He'd spent the day at that blonde's apartment, sleeping off a hangover. He couldn't remember most of what had happened the previous night; it was all blurry and indistinct. All he remembered was that she'd been good. Really good.

He'd felt like staying there for the rest of the weekend, but decided against it. She'd been good in bed, but she got on his nerves. Sebastian hadn't called, but that was probably because he'd gotten laid as well.

Sebastian was probably the only person Jace might possibly miss if he left Detroit. Being in Detroit sucked, especially if you lived in the suburbs like Jace did. He hated it. He'd always wanted to get out of there, go to New York or somewhere strange and exciting, where no one would give a damn about him. Where no one would know him or have any power over him.

Actually, anyplace was better than here, where he got bruised and beaten and was expected to cough up money for the rest of his life.

His feet reached the front door unwillingly. The house was bigger than some but smaller than most in the suburbs. He stared at it in disgust. How his father had ever managed to stay sober for so long and earn enough money to buy something like it was beyond him.

He twisted the front door knob and stepped in reluctantly. Almost immediately, he was assailed by a flying beer bottle. He barely managed to jump to the side, but the glass shattered against the wall, leaving a brown stain of dripping liquid.

"What the hell is your problem?" Jace yelled.

A man emerged from an armchair; he reeked of alcohol. His dad. Stephen Herondale, as he preferred to call him. He hated the thought that this man was biologically related to him.

"I'll hit you if I want to." His father's voice was as rough as sandpaper. "Been fucking up another girl?"

"It's none of your business."

His father made to throw another bottle, and Jace ducked again.

Stephen Herondale was not what most people would expect an inebriate to be. He was tall and his figure bore evidence of once having been healthy. He was strong, too.

"You don't work hard, you think you're going places?" Stephen asked. "You're a lazy, useless pain in the ass."

You're one to talk.

"If I was feeling better, I'd beat up your sorry ass," his father continued. "But I'm not. So get out of my face. And don't you dare leave the house."

Bastard.

Jace went up to his room and collapsed on his bed. There was a pounding in his head; his hangover hadn't completely vanished yet. He was furious at himself. Why? Why couldn't he stand up to his father? He was hardly defenseless. But every time he tried, he saw his father as he had been, years ago, a brilliant smile on his face, greeting him with a hug when he came home from work. But that was long ago, before Celine died.

Stephen had divorced his mom before marrying Celine, but Jace didn't mind. He couldn't remember his mom anyway, and Celine had completely filled her place. His dad had loved Celine. Hell, he'd adored her too. When she'd died, Stephen had never been the same afterwards. He'd taken to the bottle. And to venting his anger on Jace.

Jace inspected his arms with clinical interest. Old scars curved his biceps, from the times when glass had cut his skin or his father had attacked him with a kitchen knife. On top were newer bruises, mottled patches of blue and black in various stages of recovery.

Jace leaned back on the pillow. Stephen had not only left him alone to cope with the loss of Celine, he also took his own loss out on him. Because he'd loved his father once, it only made Jace hate him more for the betrayal.

He couldn't do anything to his father. Which only left him one option. He'd been chewing on the idea for some time. Just now had been the last straw. If he left, he was pretty sure the social service would find him eventually. He wished them good luck. The window in his bedroom was open, and it was on the first floor. Without glancing back, he climbed through it and walked onto the road, heading in the direction of the bus station.

So what do you guys think? Review, please? This means a lot to me.