Beep, beep, beep

Annabeth groaned as her hand hovered over the alarm clock. She desperately wanted to press snooze. But she knew more sleep would only lead to more nightmares. The nightmares that pulled her screaming from her slumber every night. The nightmares that plagued her in the way of a disease- they rotted her brain, contaminated her thoughts, ever-present, ever the phantoms in the corner.

With enough force to shatter diamond, she slammed her hand down on the clock, silencing the incessant drone of the alarm, and heaved herself out of bed. One glance at her phone brought her to earth with a jolt. How had she forgotten? Here was the day she had been dreading the last month, and all she could do was debate whether a few extra minutes of sleep would cost her the world. She thought of Percy at his own school, and a pang of longing and homesickness washed over her. Funny- homesick at home? But she wasn't home: not really. Home was scaling lava walls, home was singing around campfires, home was battling monsters. Most of all home was where Percy was. Home was certainly not this small, cramped house in downtown Manhattan.

Annabeth reached up to her face. Her jaw hurt. Her eyes felt puffy. There was a definite wetness on her cheeks. Nights of poor sleep and nightmares was taking its toll. Stumbling drunkenly to the bathroom, she took a good lookout herself for the first time in two weeks. She was a mess. Scars and bruises formed a cruel, gruesome patchwork of raised, raw skin all over her arms, her neck, her face. Harsh reminders of a birthday spent in hell. Her blonde hair hung in limp knots down her back, and...and her eyes. Still that same, piercing grey that caught the attention of so many, but there was something else- the stormy depths were empty. Hollow pits devoid of hope and joy, voids of despair and pain. In a way, they displayed the hardships the daughter of Athena had undertaken as prominently as her scars did.

It took at least an hour, but at last, after a seemingly interminable struggle with the hair brush and concealer, she was ready. Her hair curled in its usual, endearing waves. Smaller scars were- if poorly- masked under layers of make-up. Some blue had been added to her eyelids, in a last, desperate hope to conceal those lonely depths. It didn't work.

Sighing, Annabeth dropped the eye-shadow palette in resignation, and slid out of the bathroom onto the dark landing, turned a corner, and padded down the carpeted stairs. Emerging into the kitchen, she surveyed the scene before her. Her dad, Frederick Chase, sat with feet propped up on the table, apparently unaware of the many discarded cereals that crunched and crumpled under his red, furry slippers. He sipped his coffee contentedly, and uttered a sound of disbelief as he skimmed through a summary on the use of aviation on the war front. He glanced up absently and spotted his eldest as she slunk into the room.

"Nervous?" He asked.

Annabeth just shrugged and pulled her hoodie tighter around her body. She was nervous. She was very, very nervous.

It's just school. She chided herself. You've been through Tartarus. You can't be afraid of school. It was so stupid, so, so stupid. How could she be more scared, more worried of the insults, the throwaway comments, of other people, than she was of the monsters? She had tried, tried to reason with, tried to rationalize her fear, but never to any avail. The fear was very real, like weeds in her heart. She had ignored her nerves for so long that they had grown, expanded, until, much like a garden that was not cared for, the fear of other people had grown wild, unruly and untamable.

Annabeth shuffled to her seat in the corner of the table, desperately trying to choke back to nerves that threatened to consume her. The walk to her chair seemed longer than usual. It was like everything around was happening in slow motion. Surely her dad couldn't take that long to lift a mug? Surely that spoon couldn't fall so slowly to the floor? She rubbed her eyes. Gods, she was tired.

Slumping desolately at the table, she stared at her empty bowl. There was no way- no way at all, that she could be expected to eat. The butterflies in her stomach were the size of bats. They wore combat boots and boxing gloves as they fluttered inside, striking again. And again. And again. There was no room for food. She just wanted to go to bed. Maybe- just maybe, she could fall asleep and wake up elsewhere. Perhaps this was a cruel trick. A strange dream. The ticking of the clock. The drip of tap water. Sounds that were so perfectly in sync. She could just sleep for a while. Just a minute. The rain outside. It was all so- it was all so soothing. Her eyes were drooping. Her mind was fogging. Where was she again? Her head was nodding so her neck cut into the hard wood of the chair. But it wasn't uncomfortable. She just. Wanted to. Sleep...

The slamming of a door shook Annabeth from her stupor. Her hand went straight to the knife by the bread. Her legs tensed, ready to spring. Who would make such a noise? What if it was a monster? What if there was someone after her? She looked to her dad. He wasn't bothered by the noise. She took a deep breath and counted. One. Two. Three. Two young boys burst into room, followed by their mother. Gods, why was she so jumpy. So paranoid? She'd mistaken her brothers as monsters- a threat. What was wrong with her?

Bobby and Matthew laughed as their mother tackled them onto the sofa. She tickled them, she hugged them, she loved her sons. And the boys laughed. And laughed. And laughed. When was the last time Annabeth had laughed? She couldn't remember. When was the last time she had been truly happy? She couldn't remember that either. She supposed this was a happy family, for all their flaws. But it was a family that she could never, ever be truly part of.