Death to Pain
R E Y N A
There was something about the boy with the sea-green eyes and windblown hair.
She had never—not even in her wildest dreams—thought that he, of all people, would stumble back into her life like a ghost of the past she had barely escaped from.
And now she saw him, as clearly as the first shaft of morning light breaking through dusk, and she felt like crying because he was so horrible and good to her and it hurt it hurt it hurt.
(and sometimes, she doesn't mind)
'''
She had grown to hate a faceless enemy. It was easier for her that way.
Somewhere along the flotsam and jetsam of fighting, scars, and leading an entire camp tirelessly through toil and war, his image had become disjointed and warped. Shaped and hardened, molded to fuel her rage and ignite her bloodlust.
She'd go to bed and slip under the covers, night lulling her into a wild landscape of broken palm trees and the smell of ocean and a starless sky draping the hazy shadows of a young girl with the point of her dagger buried in the chest of this awful—awful, terrible, heartless—man that had shredded her last remaining sanctuary to pieces and forced her sister to part ways with her.
He'd stare at her with black—black and cold like the deepest pits of Hell—eyes that were filled with nightmarish screams and merciless fires, and before she could spit on his face—ugly and scarred—unruly, callused pirate hands would haul her away and send her crashing back to reality.
(and the scars grow deeper.)
'''
She remembered him now.
The young man with the tattered clothes and bruised body who had washed up onto camp carrying the Queen of Olympus in his arms.
The faceless enemy did not have empty black eyes.
He had green ones.
Green like the willowy stems of grass that probably grew in the gardens of Heaven. Green like the leaves of spring. Green like…like life.
Beautiful, unpredictable, dangerous, and precious life.
Green.
Her dagger felt searing hot through the fabric of her clothes, and her heart dropped to her stomach, as heavy as lead.
Percy Jackson was his name.
(it mattered, somehow.)
'''
He couldn't - still doesn't - remember anything and it frustrated her.
She wanted him to kneel and beg for forgiveness—forgiveness that she would not grant. Wanted him wracked with guilt and plagued with remorse.
She wanted him in her hands, half-broken and hollow. Like a wind-up toy that, if spun around a few times, would walk aimlessly to the tip of her sword and offer his life in return for burning down hers.
But all she had gotten was a confused stare and innocence.
Unbridled and pure innocence that tore her heart apart because she was so suddenly drained of emotion—and it scared her because through all the pain she had been through, the raw emotion in them was the only real thing she could properly derive from her clouded memories.
And now the hate was useless because he would not waver under her subtle accusations, nor laugh at the pain in her eyes.
He was far from wanting her forgiveness. It suited her fine because she was far from giving it.
(his apology is whispered in deaf ears.)
'''
She doesn't know what led her to do it.
Maybe she went insane. Maybe she was just stupid.
But there was something about him that accounted for it. An aura that hovered about him, fierce and refreshingly cool and warm like lazy strokes of sunset, that pleaded with her heart to give him a second chance. It was a power that could only belong to a leader.
So she offered him the position of praetor on a silver platter.
Perhaps she was too subtle with it because all he had done was stare blankly for a few moments before the realization hit him. She had wanted to look away but his gaze was strangely magnetic.
As soon as her eyes locked, something cold stirred within her chest and her stomach felt hollow. The anger left her numb and not sated in the least. Her fingers twitched, begging for hold of her dagger.
He was so close to her…one slip of a hand and a ribbon of blood would do little to stain her name - especially if it was blood belonging to a graecus.
Hungry. She was hungry.
Hungry for what?
"Oh," Percy said, his eyes darkening. "You mean…oh."
"I believe the gods sent you to help me." Her voice quivered as she reined in her hatred with sudden ease. Words tumbled off her tongue like slabs of marble—cold and unfeeling.
His stare bore into hers like emeralds piercing cemented darkness and she nearly lost her mind.
"You would find me a very helpful…friend."
Percy tensed at the word, and so did she.
When he spoke, his voice was liquid honey. "Reyna…" he faltered for the briefest moment, drawing his eyes away and turning distant.
Don't say my name, her soul begged and ached. Don't say it like that…
The smell of ocean rippled through the air and tugged at her gut.
"I'm honored, and all. Seriously. But I've got a girlfriend. And I don't want power, or a praetorship."
Reyna blinked. Her blood turned chilly and her muscles turned taut.
"A man who turns down power?" she asked, raising a brow at him. "That's not very Roman of you. Just think about it. In four days, I have to make a choice. If we are to fight off an invasion, we must have two strong praetors. I'd prefer you, but if you fail on your quest, or don't come back, or refuse my offer… Well, I'll work with Octavian. I mean to save this camp, Percy Jackson. Things are worse than you realize."
His jaw locked and he pursed his lips, looking thoughtful and dark. "How bad?"
A beat of silence.
She felt like throwing something. Ripping something beautiful apart. Punching a hole against the wall.
She had told him of her last resort—working with Octavian—and he wasn't swayed. Not in the least.
She hoped Percy Jackson would die very painfully on his quest.
(because she can't kill him anymore.)
'''
She misses hating him.
Almost as much as she misses Jason and her sister Hylla, but that was besides the point.
Wait.
Wait, no, it wasn't.
Because he had brought her back. Percy Jackson: monster of the past and destroyer of her dreams had brought back her sister—the one person in the world that she had loved with all her heart.
'But is that enough?' her heart demanded stonily. 'Is it?'
I don't know…
The fighting had displaced her thoughts as her mind whirred back to instinct and her muscles coiled as another enemy foolishly charged head-on for her. Percy Jackson rode away, looking like a hardened war-hero with the eagle held high in his hands and a sparkling grin on his face.
She broke the enemy's lance and sunk her dagger through his chest, wishing for all the world that it had been Percy Jackson that had fallen to his knees before her and not this monster—his death would not suffice the empty feeling in her stomach—while praying to the gods above that he would not fall to another in battle. Not after all he had done for her and the camp.
And that was when she had realized that she no longer hated him. Or maybe it was after that.
Yes. Yes, it was after that.
After that, when she saw him in his praetor clothing—though, she had to admit, he seemed a bit embarrassed about it—looking every bit like Jason Grace while, at the same time, looking nothing like him at all.
They both had that sadness that lurked within them and the certain tightness to their words—as if they had strained their hearts each time they tried to talk. As if they had seen the future—their future—fall apart like delicate shards of glass as reality hit it with full force, demanding all they had for the greater good of the world.
But they were different. Oh-so-different.
Jason's hair was golden and it reminded her of the sunshine on Circe's Island—the same one she had fallen in love with before it was taken away by a torrent of darkness—shaded just like Percy's own ever-windblown, jet-black locks. The same darkness that had toughened her and hardened her and led her to Camp Jupiter—her new home.
And Jason's eyes were blue—like the ocean waves that washed up on the white shores of the spa and cooled her feet whenever she stood by. They were blue like…like the waters the pirate ships sailed on as she was locked underneath, away from sunshine with only darkness and misery as company—cold and unflinching darkness.
And Percy's eyes were green—like land and life. The promise of a new life stretched across the sun-drenched horizon as the ocean stayed behind, distant and calling for her return.
It was funny how she associated color with life.
It was funny how she used to think Percy Jackson and hate came hand-to-hand in her heart.
It was funny…and also a little sad to find that he made her happy now.
(now that he was about to leave.)
…
So, yes, there was something about the boy with the sea-green eyes and windblown hair.
It was just too bad he wouldn't stick around long enough for her to find out what.
(and maybe think about what happens after.)
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-HVM