I'm Dancing on the Ceiling

A week passed and nothing bad happened. No one popped out of the closet. No one sent me creepy messages attached to my favorite things. No one disturbed us. We continued on with our business, recording and such. I finished that song with him, which he’d named Walls. He sat in and helped me out on more than a few of my songs. And what made me happiest, is that my studio boys and Alex got along perfectly.

I decided to stay late at the end of the week, to finish up a new song I had an idea for. It had been a good day. We had completed bass for Firefly, all dressed down. I myself was in a oversized plaid button-down with half-sleeves and a pair of high-waisted jean shorts. I had left my hair down, so it was messy and wavy. But all the lack of caring what I looked like, it all felt perfect. Especially late at night, when it was just me. I liked staying late, alone in the warm studio. It had become a second home to me, and it made me feel safe. No one could get me here. No one could find me and hurt me. I would never be dragged back to the life I had before, not while I was within these walls.

But oh, how I was wrong. I was so very wrong. I could be hurt here. In fact, I was. It was late, almost midnight. There was only me, the security guard and the boys of All Time Low who were finishing up their last night in the studio. I was wrong, even though my Alex was just a hallway away. I was wrong because no one thinks to stop a man who belongs in the studio.

I don’t remember much from that night. I had my back to the door when he came in, with the headphones on. I was listening to some demos from All Time Low’s new album that Alex had given me while I wrote down some tabs for David to learn. He grabbed my hair and yanked me backwards. I screamed, but it did nothing. The studio was four walls made out of solid soundproof material.

“Can’t get away now, Clary. Gaskarth isn’t coming to save you,” he hissed in my ear, having ripped off the headphones I was wearing.

“Please,” I begged as he shoved me onto the floor. He kicked me hard in the ribs, making me cry out. He delivered another strong, hard blow to my cheek. I whimpered and grabbed at his ankle, feebly pulling it towards me to no avail. He chuckled and dropped down. He used my hair like a handle, yanking me upwards. I stared at him, tears blurring my vision.

“I’m used to getting what I want, Clary Bowen. And what I want right now, can you guess?” he snarled. I swung at him, but he caught my wrist in his free hand. He chuckled, the sound sinister and evil. “You’re not playing the game right, Clary.”

I tried to knock him off with the other hand but I only hit his shoulder.

“You, baby. I want you.”

I tried to kick him but he pushed a knee into my waist.

“Don’t do this,” I pleaded, staring up at him. He brushed hair out of my face, using my own hand.

“You’re so soft. I’ve never met a girl that’s quite as soft as you are,” he said, his voice quiet. I bit my lip to stop from crying too loud. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He stared at my throat and dropped my hand to pick up my necklace. “What is this?”

I couldn’t find my voice to respond. I was a little busy fearing for my life, and here he was chatting about my jewelry!

“Be polite. Answer my question,” he snarled, pushing his knee into my stomach.

“It’s a caffeine molecule,” I whimpered.

“That’s clever,” he chuckled and dropped the metal back against my skin. He leaned in close and growled, “I could have my way with you right here, you know. I’m sure you’re aware. No one’s coming to save you. No one will hear you scream.”

I couldn’t hold back the tears and they just started flowing, like the dam had broken. The floodgate had opened and the water was rushing through, untamed as water tends to be.

“But I won’t. No, I won’t. Remember that, Clarissa Bowen. You remember that I didn’t.”

He landed a punch against my nose, cracking it and the blood poured from my nostrils and down my throat. I choked and rolled onto my side as best I could to spit the blood out. He stood up, hand still clutched around my hair. He dragged me around and then finally, he pulled me up to stand next to him. He smirked and shoved me into the wall, head slamming against it. My vision swam, the headache bursting inside my skull. I swayed on my feet and collapsed against him.

“Where’s your savior now, huh, Clary? Where’s Alex?”

I closed my eyes as he shoved me off him, against the wall one last time. He kicked me in the side and left me there, shutting the lights off behind him. I hissed in pain as I moved slightly. I could try to get my cell phone and call Alex, or the police. But my phone was on the stand. I couldn’t possibly reach that high. I decided to crawl into the hallway and maybe then someone would find me, before I blacked out. I got the door to the sound room open easily and pulled myself painfully across the floor. I cried as I finally got to the outside door, my head pounding and my entire body telling me to give up. I wouldn’t though. I couldn’t. I reached up and grabbed the door handle. I groaned and pulled the door open, having to try a few times before I actually got it open. From there, it was a straight shot across the wide hallway to the other studio’s door. I just prayed that they were still working.

Dragging myself slowly, painfully to the door inch by inch seemed to be the longest and hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I did it, collapsing against the door. I put my hand against the wood and closed my eyes. I hit my hand against it a couple of times, my body starting to refuse. I just had to get their attention. I could hear them on the other side. I just had to let them know I was here. They just had to open the door and I’d be okay.

I hit the door harder and whimpered.

“W-wait. Hold on,” I heard Jack say.

“Come on, Jack. Just this last part,” one of the producers said.

“No, shut up. I heard something.”

I hit the door as hard as my failing limbs would allow. Steps resounded near me as Jack hushed his band.

“Shut up, guys!” he finally snapped.

“Jack,” I called out, my voice thick with the blood still dripping down from my nose.

“I know that voice,” he mumbled and the door opened. I fell to the floor and looked up at the tall, lanky guitarist who gasped but didn’t waste a second. He scooped me up from the floor and brought me into the studio. I closed my eyes and let my body rest as I was transferred from Jack’s arms into another pair. I knew who it was immediately.

“Who did this?” I heard Alex ask, his hands gently pushing my hair away from my face. Those soft hands, so gentle.

“Gary,” I whispered.

“Oh, god. I’m sorry, Clary. I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he replied, stroking the side of my face. I heard someone on the phone, saying they needed an ambulance.

“It’s okay, Lex. I know you would’ve been in a second if you knew. Just.. I’m so tired.”

“You can’t sleep yet,” he cooed. I opened an eye and stared up at that perfect face.

“I should’ve known you’d be the one to save my life,” I confided. He looked confused. “You used to save my life all the time.”

“What was Garrett going to say before you cut him off? You never told me,” he asked. I knew he was taking advantage of me being open and I was going to let him.

“All Time Low had been my favorite band since, oh, 2005, I believe. He was going to say, something along the lines of idol,” I coughed.

“That’s cute.”

I hummed and coughed again, blood coming up and out of my mouth. My head screamed in pain as I tried to stay conscious for Alex. But I was fighting a losing battle.

“Oh, god. That’s not good. That’s really really not good, is it?” Alex asked, looking at the blood on his shirt.

“No. I need a hospit-”

I didn’t get to complete my sentence. I blacked out in his arms.