So, my writer's block gave me a short rest and I came up with... this.
To be honest, I don't even know where this came from.
Um, several warnings, even though I'm probably sure you don't read these:
1. This story features an abusive Percy. I know that's like, the complete opposite of who he is, but this just happened and I couldn't say no to it. So yeah, I kind of expect the flames (although I'll let you know they aren't welcome.)
2. It's probably confusing? I don't know. I'm literally two days away from my finals and I don't know anything right now.
3. If you read my other stories about the PJO fandom, I'm going to take down and rewrite (as soon as I have some spare time) 'Again' and 'Life isn't always as we planned it'.
DISCLAIMER: I still own nothing.
Annabeth Chase is born and her second name is Miracle, because she is the living, breathing proof that miracles do exist (albeit a small one). Bright white lights drown the hospital room into a fake reassurance of calm and timeless moments. Her mother's lifeless body has been carried away minutes ago, and the little blond girl is completely and blissfully unaware of the fact that she is going to spend the rest of her life motherless.
A difficult pregnancy, the doctors had said.
(But nobody had warned them of what was to come.)
Annabeth Chase is one and her squeaks of delight are heard in the whole house whenever her father blows a raspberry to her tummy. The clock counts the seconds of genuine happiness that tickle by, only to be there one moment, and disappear forever next.
Annabeth Chase is two and her father says that her smile lights up his world. A bitter look passes through his eyes whenever she says 'Momma'. But he gets used to it.
Just like he got used to having a dead wife.
Annabeth Chase is three and her books are already her best friends. Her father compliments her intelligence, says that not many people are usually able to read that young, and she smiles brightly and hugs his legs.
Her easy to read books make her think about colourful days, when the sun is high up in the blue sky, and her father buys her chocolate ice cream.
Her books make her happy.
Annabeth Chase is four and her biggest dream is to be a superhero. And, if she can't get superpowers, then she wants to be like one of those heroes in the Greek tragedies her father tells her every night before she falls asleep. Heroes who save people, defy the gods and do the right thing.
(Heroes that end up dying in horrible ways.)
Annabeth Chase is five and her blonde hair shines brightly when she runs across the park. Everyone whispers about how similar she is to her mother. Shushed murmurs that stop when Frederick trails behind his daughter, the cold air made of memories that only hurt leaving him breathless.
He tries to ignore the resemblance between his daughter and her mother.
He doesn't always succeed.
Annabeth Chase is six and her teacher is a little bit too friendly with her father (or so she thinks). Sometimes, her father takes her teacher out for dinner and doesn't come back until the sky is dark and she is supposed to be in bed.
She doesn't like it.
Annabeth Chase is seven and her short legs are dangling from the chair at one of the way too numerous corridors of the hospital. Her father is biting his nails and he looks about to cry (just like she feels, though she's sure their tears are spilled for completely different reasons). Marian is about to be a mother, and she is about to be a sister. She doesn't want to.
She wants to scream at her father, to throw things against a wall, to yell that nobody asked for her opinion about a tiny human coming into her life without her permission. She wants to let the world know about the unfairness of her situation.
Instead, she lowers her head and bits her lips when the doctor announces 'it's two healthy boys', instead of just one.
Annabeth Chase is eight and her classmate won't leave her alone. So far, he has hidden her pencil case, coloured all over her Vocab homework and thrown dirt at her. She tells him to fuck off (an adult expression she is very proud of knowing.) Her teacher (not Marian, Cathy) grounds her, but she doesn't ground her annoying classmate.
He stuck his tongue out at her when he goes to the playground.
Annabeth Chase is nine and her stepmother has just hit her. 'You never take care of your brothers!' she has yelled. Annabeth tells Marian that, since nobody asked her if she wanted a little sibling, she isn't responsible of them.
And then she is hit.
It's a sharp slap, and it leaves her left cheek red and burning. A look of pure incredulity and rage crosses her face, but her stepmother doesn't seem to notice.
She tells her father. Of course she does, he loves her and he will protect her from the evil witch that is his wife. Right?
Wrong.
He tells her to stop making things up.
Annabeth swears to herself she will get revenge.
Annabeth Chase is ten and her annoying desk mate has suddenly decided to be nice to her. His name is Percy, and yesterday he gave her a flower from his backyard. And he told her she was pretty. He even apologized for being mean and asked if she wanted to come to his house for a play date.
It's the nicest thing anyone has said to her in a long time.
So she accepts and forgets about all the nasty things he did to her.
(A terrible mistake.)
Annabeth Chase is eleven and her new plan is to become an architect. She expects Percy to laugh when she tells him (after all, her Maths teacher and her step mother have already laughed at her for it, so why shouldn't he?) But he doesn't. And Annabeth has never been more grateful. She thinks Percy is the best thing that has ever happened to her.
If only it could be always like this.
Annabeth Chase is twelve and her mind is filled with rage and darkness and running away and God I hate this place so fucking much that she can't even think straight. It's affecting her grades. Her teacher wants to have an interview with her parents, and Annabeth stands up and fiercely barks that she only has a father. No mother. Her mother is dead. Marian will never be her mother.
End of the story.
Annabeth Chase is thirteen and her time outside her house gets increasingly longer with each passing day. Some days she just walks around. Some days she goes to Percy's house and lets him hold her close.
Some times she just locks herself in her school's bathrooms and cries until no one else is left.
Annabeth Chase is fourteen and her eyes are empty and her gaze shatters entire galaxies. Percy asks her what's wrong every time they she each other.
She never answers.
He stands up quickly and, before he storms out, yells at her hurtful words that remind her of the days back when he was just a nameless boy who made fun of the grounded girl.
Annabeth Chase is fourteen and her computer is filled with images of skinny girls that look as weightless as a feather. Her step mother tells her dinner's ready. She replies that she isn't hungry.
Perhaps, if she controls her physical needs and gains some self-control, she will be one of those princesses with bodies made of smoke and smiles made of crystal fragments.
Annabeth Chase is fifteen and her wrists bleed every night. She closes her eyes, and the world behind her eyelids explodes with galaxies painted with red, black, white, and grey. Her eyes open, and the darkness of the night burns her pupils until she almost cries out in agony. Red droplets roll down her arms, and she often wonders if those come from her wrists or from her eyes.
Annabeth Chase is sixteen and her favourite pastime is drinking beer after beer until she can't even remember her own name. Percy usually drags her home, and she hits his chest —all her efforts useless— until she's passed out in his arms.
They repeat it every night.
Annabeth Chase is seventeen and her virginity is lost to Percy Jackson during a lame party that had her head spinning and the alcohol in her veins roaring like a fucking tornado.
When she wakes up the morning after, her eyes are unfocused and a sharp pain in her lower abdomen reminds her of an act she is unable to remember.
She leaves before Percy opens his eyes.
Annabeth Chase is eighteen and her blueprints (the ones she had been drawing since she was eleven) are lying all around the floor, mixing with rejections letters from the most prestigious colleges of the country.
She had the potential to become great things, she always had, but she made all the wrong choices.
She fucked up.
Annabeth Chase is nineteen and her arms hurt in all the places where Percy has violently grabbed her. He was a mistake, she knew it from the day he made his personal mission to give her living hell.
He yelled at her, said that she wasn't supposed to run away the morning after, that she was just another slut.
Figures. Only the guy could scream all those things to her the first time they see each other in two years.
(Maybe because can't show love in any other way.)
Annabeth Chase is twenty and her boyfriend beats her up every night. He's angry, his fist impact against every inch of her body and she swears there are stars hanging from the ceiling. A bloody nose isn't something uncommon for her these days.
Annabeth is twenty one and her pills wait for her every night, patiently hidden in the darkness of her nightstand, away from Percy's reach.
A bitter smile graces her lips before swallowing them.
Annabeth Chase is twenty two and her
second name
squeals of delight
father
books
biggest dream
blonde hair
teacher
short legs
classmate
step mother
annoying desk mate
new plan
mind
time outside her house
eyes
computer
wrists
favourite pastime
virginity
blueprints
arms
boyfriend
pills
have written her tragedy (a tale that rivals Ancient Greek stories) on the stars.
Annabeth Chase is dead and her story wasn't a happy one.