A year until the procedure. (I can't wait.)

Annabeth walked around Manhattan, openly admiring the architecture. Even after seventeen years, the buildings were still amazing to look at. Deep within her heart, she would admit that the buildings were all relatively the same and that she would've been delighted to observe architecture from the past and around the world. But these were dangerous thoughts—a deadly disease that would snake its way into her heart and mind, just like amor deliria nervosa.

Truthfully, Annabeth would have liked to get the procedure done with already. Not having the three-pronged scar on her neck made her feel inferior to everyone else. Because her biological mother had been a sympathizer and a deserter, almost everyone at school thought she would turn out the same way. The hushed whispers behind her back and the "sneaky" glances infuriated her, but she couldn't do anything about it. Once she underwent the procedure, though, everything would be better. Being cured meant it was highly unlikely that she would turn out like her mother. Her classmates would treat her nicer, not that she'd care after the doctors administered the cure.

Annabeth, once shaken from her thoughts, soon realized she was standing on the side of a street and facing the East River. She remembered her mother bringing her to see the river many times, saying that the river was free. Her mother had said that it reached all the way into the Wilds, where it was more beautiful (she had implied that the river looked "cleaner" when it was away from human pollution).

Annabeth berated herself for not realizing the sympathies within her mother sooner. She would've been brought to justice, and Annabeth would've been seen as a hero, not a disgrace. (Inside, part of her was extremely glad that her mother had managed to escape. Someday, she might even try escaping to meet her mother out there in the Wilds, in that place she called "Long Island Sound." Maybe they would, but it was only maybe because those were bad thoughts—the reason why everyone looked down on her.)

"Nice view, isn't it? But I think it'd look nicer...out there."

The male voice whispered the last part quietly. Annabeth looked around her frantically. If anyone heard that, she could be thrown into the Crypts along with that stranger. The black-haired stranger with sea-green eyes, a crooked, mischievous smile, and no tell-tale three-pronged scar.

"What are you saying?" she demanded because his words were achingly familiar and he could be a sympathizer.

"Nothing," he replied too quickly, the casual smile becoming more polite and controlled. "Hey, my name's Percy Jackson. Nice to meet you."

He held out his hand in greeting.

Annabeth's eyes remained on his unscarred neck. "Annabeth Chase," she responded after a while, but she still made no move to shake his hand.

Sighing, the uncured boy reached for her hand. His touch was warm and soothing. Butterflies flitted around in her stomach, and Annabeth prayed she wasn't blushing. She had never touched a boy before, not even her relatives (and the adults didn't count). He bobbed her hand up and down before letting it go.

"Again, nice meeting you, Annabeth. See you around."

A month until the procedure. (Time is running out.)

She was sitting in a park, reading one of her favorite books, when that boy—Percy Jackson—sat down on the same bench. A large gap separated the two of them, which made sense, seeing as they were both uncured. He had obviously been actively searching for her over the past eleven months (not that she was counting). She had seen him at least a hundred times, if not more, in the time they had known each other.

Why, exactly, Percy had chosen to follow her and annoy her, Annabeth didn't know. What she did know was that Percy had heard the rumors of her mother. Even that repulsing fact had not deterred Percy. Annabeth wondered if that was one of the effects of amor deliria nervosa. If it was, why was she letting him do this? She should've reported him as soon as she had met him.

Annabeth looked up from her book and saw Percy staring off into space. She frowned, knowing that Percy had definitely been staring at her earlier. Annabeth looked back down at her book and read the same sentence fifteen times before she couldn't take it anymore. The atmosphere was too tense and awkward.

As she marched out of the park and toward home, Annabeth's thoughts drifted toward the upcoming procedure. Soon, all those rumors would disappear. Soon, she'd receive a pair and maybe Percy would finally leave her alone. Soon, everything she'd ever wanted would come true (but not the dreams she truly wanted to realize).

Amor deliria nervosa was slowly inching its way into her heart, consuming her being. Annabeth knew that because she had checked the symptoms almost obsessively. Gradually, over the past few months, Annabeth had begun to show some of the symptoms around Percy. She desperately hoped that the cure would cut off the disease in its early stages (but only outwardly; inside, she relished the feeling growing within her heart).

A week until the procedure. (I hope it never comes.)

She saw Percy in one of Manhattan's many alleys. Just a few days ago, she had told him to meet her. Now, seeing him waiting for her, thoughts of backing out surfaced. Meeting Percy was illegal anyway, so leaving him was perfectly reasonable. But looking at the concerned expression on his face with each passing second (she was late), Annabeth knew she wouldn't be able to turn away.

Annabeth took a deep breath and stepped out of her hiding place. The moment Percy saw her, his eyes lit up. The despondent look in his green eyes vanished, and she admired how handsome he looked while internally blushing.

"I have some things to tell you," she said, the words rushing out before she could turn back. "First, you know about my mother, right? She tarnished my reputation. I can't afford to do that with you. My procedure is also coming up. This"—she gestured wildly with her hands, trying hard to will the tears away—"thing we have between us. It's over, okay?"

The heartbroken expression on Percy's face was almost enough for her to start crying, but she was stronger than that.

"What do you mean?" he asked softly.

"I can't love you," she whispered, wincing at the word "love." Percy's flinch made her want to take her words back, but this had to be done. "I don't want to be seen as a sympathizer, a resister, or anything else. I don't want to be infected."

Percy silently pleaded her to take back what she said. Annabeth closed her eyes and turned away. Seconds of silence stretched into minutes. Finally, Percy walked up to her. As he pressed a kiss to her lips, she opened her eyes. He swiftly stepped away, a blank expression smoothing over his gentle (and hurt) one. Then, he disappeared.

Annabeth had a feeling that would be their first and only kiss.

A day until the procedure. (I wish you were here.)

At the dinner table, Annabeth remained as quiet as she usually was. She was the same obedient daughter she had always been. Prideful, smart, and logical—those were the traits that described her. She was not weak enough to be infected. It was simply a phase where her thoughts were distorted: a phase that would end tomorrow.

As she methodically washed the dishes, Annabeth thought back to a week ago. That was the last time she had seen Percy. Her chest hurt when she pictured the hurt expression on his face. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed. Annabeth disliked the feeling and hoped it would end soon (whether it be through seeing Percy's smile again or enduring the procedure).

Though the logical part of her preferred the cure, the more emotional part wanted to see Percy again. She was torn between the two halves, but the logical side smothered the emotional one. Her pride interfered with her other, stronger feelings. Annabeth had endured years of bullying because of her mother; she would not let one crush topple the reputation she had built for herself.

Honestly, Annabeth wished she wasn't so prideful.

An hour until the procedure. (Why didn't I tell you...)

Annabeth's thoughts filled with Percy. Even though he wasn't there, he still managed to worm his way into her mind. She wanted to apologize for being so harsh; she wanted to run away with him; she wanted to see him one last time; she wanted so much, but she had so little time.

Besides, these wishes were selfish and they would never come true.

Annabeth had gotten the results of her evaluation and her pair already. She was sitting around waiting for her procedure.

No matter how much she wanted to, there was no turning back.

A minute until the procedure. (that I loved you?)

Glaring lights flashed above Annabeth. Laying down on the bed with the doctors standing over her made her feel vulnerable, but she was finally getting what she had wished for. No matter how much she regretted it, there was no more turning back.

The cure would be administered, and Annabeth would become blank, just like everyone else, just like she had always dreamed of.

A second until the procedure. (I'll miss you.)

Concentrated expressions adorned the surgeons' faces. One held a knife in his hand. Her head was being held, and she felt woozy.

The knife was raised and lowered, meant to cut efficiently.

Annabeth's mind remained blank except for one thought: I love you, Percy.

She whispered the words that conveyed her feelings only when those feelings were being taken away.

A/N: The result of finishing Delirium and being restless. It is more than a bit rushed and inaccurate since I'm only on the 100-somethingth page of Pandemonium.