"I don't love you anymore, is all, I remember you telling me" –Blood to Bleed, by Rise Against

"We're done!" We're the last words Percy heard before he sunk into white rage. He remembered storming from the house they were staying in, and driving off to parts unknown. The fight they had just had was one of their biggest yet. It had started off small, like all fights, but quickly escalated when Annabeth had slapped him, an angry red hand across his face proved it. He had to punch a hole in the wall in order to keep from hitting her back. Then she had yelled about that, and how he could never control his temper, and by then, he was fed up by her voice. He stormed out of the house, not thinking of a destination, just wanting to be gone. He ripped open his car door, and then slammed it shut just as fast.

What do I do…what do I do… was all he could manage to think. He wanted to get his revenge on her, in a way that she could never top. Then in came to him.

"I'll burn the image in her mind… she'll never forget it, until the day she dies…!" Percy said in a savage whisper. Suicide was on his mind. But he didn't plan to just hang himself from a fan, oh on, he wanted it to be quite a show. With a destination now in mind, he drove off to the shopping district, to find the items he needed for the show. He ran into a Walmart, and bought some kitchen knives, and a small paintbrush. He grinned manically as he left the store. Quite a few mothers pulled their children closer as he walked back to his car. He drove off to a nearby hotel, booking a room as he drove their. He reached the hotel, got his key, and went to his room to set up the show.

First, he took a look at the knives. There were eight in total. Four small ones, two medium sized, and two large, cleaver-like blades. He liked what he saw. He would use the smaller knives for his 'artwork' on the room. The larger knives would be saved to do the deed itself. He took one of the small knives and opened a large, red hole in the top of his left hand. The pain was… ecstasy to him. He watched, fascinated, by the blood as it welled, and slid down his arm. Then he jolted himself out of his reverie, and grabbed the paintbrush. He gathered some of his blood, and began painting obscenities on the walls, accompanied by his suicide note. It read,

Are you happy now you fucking whore? Look what you've done now, you miserable wench. You could've stopped all this, but even if you could, you wouldn't. I don't know what I ever saw in you.

-Your 'loving' boyfriend, Percy

Percy was pale, and shaking, but satisfied with his handiwork. He took his shirt off, and cut the word, 'Bye!" with a smiley face into it. He then stuck the small knife into his chest, puncturing one of the smiley's eyes. He stuck the other three knives in his legs, and the two medium ones in his left arm. He looked around the room. The walls were covered in blood, and blades sticking out from his body in various places. There was just one thing left to do. He picked up his phone, and sent a message to Annabeth.

I'm sorry about earlier. Meet me at the Inn on Wave St., room number 204. I'll make it up to you.

He received a quick response.

Alright… I'm sorry.

"Not as sorry as you're going to be!" He laughed, a sound full of hate and suffering.

He then took his two large knives in both hands, and inserted them into his neck. He choked on some of his blood, but it didn't matter.

He died.

Annabeth approached the door and knocked. She got no response, but smelled something…metallic. Dreading what she may find, she opened the door. What she saw elicited a scream that nobody in that floor of the hotel would ever forget. The blood was covering the room with its beautiful red hues as she read the writing on the wall out loud, but under her breath. Her hair fell into her eyes as she moved into the denial process. Annabeth really did love Percy, and fully intended to apologize. But it doesn't matter… She thought. Or… it won't matter now. That was her last thought before she took one of the large knives from Percy's neck, and rove it into herself, following the path of her deceased.

Annabeth woke with a start. she had had dreams like this every night. They scared her, terrified her. She didn't want this to happen. The dreams were wearing on her, and she was at her breaking point. She knew where her father hid the guns. She crept down to the gun cabinet, and found a pistol. She hesitantly figured out how to load it, and cocked the hammer. If I die this time, will I wake up? She thought. Well, let's find out.

BANG.

So thanks to a genius, this is now the official prequel to Stages. This is the reason Annabeth killed herself, she continually had dreams like these for weeks. So thanks for reading, and I hope you check out Stages!