Hey! This is a longer rewrite of my one-shot, Hey There, Annabeth. I don't know how to put in a chapter on my computer, and my phone is messed up, so ignore every spacing/paragraphing error. If you want an error-free version, check out my Wattpad account, TotallyNotADemigod. I will also be posting this you for following the development of Hey There, Annabeth. (Can anyone guess where I got that from?)
The paper was fresh and crisp, a pure white save the smudges of eraser marks spread unevenly throughout the top half. It sat on a wooden brown desk, untouched except by long, slender fingers and a pencil with shaven led.
Behind the desk in a rotted brown chair sat a man in his early to mid twenties. His face was angular and well shaven, tan skin smooth and soft. Thin pink lips stretched over a crooked white smile, almost so fake it looked real.
Faded smile lineshid in thecorners of his eyes, of which were the color of sea foam in the Caribbean. They were formerly bright and happy, but that happiness was now broken to glass shards. Despite theshardsseeming to begluedtogether,
looking hard enough would result in visible fracture lines. Dark, unruly hair hung just above black eyebrows, cut choppily.
The sea green eyes were an ocean of millions of emotions, swimming toward shore but always being pulled back by the riptide. Hope, fear, happiness, hate, all danced tantalizingly through the water, music silencing the deadly waves.
A ringing sound filled the open air, a constant buzzing reminding the man of birds made of bronze, golden dust sprinkling the earth below in a storm cloud of yellow. The noise was like a symphony of trumpets and violins, and it was addicting to
the ears like a siren's call.
The man let it ring for seconds, savoring the nostalgic sound, before picking up the device. A voice on the other end immediately began talking.
"Yo, Jackson, my man! Me and the boys are going to hit the pub in a little. Wanna join?"
The person talking spoke as if it were a statement instead of a question, as if he knew what the answer was and was just waiting for the sea-eyed man, now known as 'Jackson', to reassure him.
"No, thank you." Jackson's voice was curt and weary, tired but masked with a happiness soobviously fake it was awonder how the other person didn't catch on. Perhaps the fake happiness was the norm for the man and his companion, so it
didn't ring any alarms in the Phone Man's brain.
Phone Man seemed hesitant. "You sure, man? You've seen a little bit down lately." There was silence on both ends for a few seconds, save for the heavy breathing flitting sadly across the humid room. Jackson shook his head, his eyes glazed and dull.
"I'm sure. Go have fun, Sammy."
The phone pressed against the striped blue covers of the twin-sized bed with a thomp.
Memories swirled in his head, of past friendships and of broken hearts. A girl with eyes of melted gold elaborately describing a boy with curly dark hair and an impish grin from a colorless photo. A scowling blonde with a scar covering his thin lips,
holding a long weapon inhis hand and riding on a horse made of storm clouds. A Canadian boy with Chinese features, trying to pull his fingers out of pink and blue Chinese handcuffs as an impish Latino mocked him.
He remembered a Native American girl with a blue feather braided in her hair. A stiff girl with dark eyes and hair, two metallic dogs by her side. A man with a grim smile in a wheelchair, an umbrella hanging over his head. A tall blonde man with a scowland
a scar marring his face. A girl in a leather studded jacket with electrifying blue eyes. An energetic boy inan oversized aviator jacket.
But in all the memories was a girl with flowing hair the color of honey, curled beyond perfection. Her face was clear and smooth, her eyes stormy and inquisitive. A smile, albeit small, was true and bright, decorating her face like lights on a Christmastree.
She was perfect in every way possible. She was the light in the darkest night, a star in the morning. She was always there, always staying with him.
Until she wasn't.
It was a simple argument. It was the same one that had been avoided since it begun, the same one they had ignored like a dance on hot coals. One day, it was just so silent, he guessed it just burst out.
"Percy, this is stupid. If you can't pay the bills, then, well…" Her stormy eyes drifted to the back door, the wood oldand creaky. Percy's heart thudded in his chest, and he wondered if Annabeth could hearit. Her blonde hair, cut to shoulder length just recently, swished in the nearly broken air vents. The lights flickered briefly, and Percy had a horrible thought that she would be gone when they turned back on, but it was quickly dismissed.
Percy felt a choked sob in the back of his throat. His mind was whirling with explanations, with pleads. "Annabeth," he began desperately, "I… I'm almost finished with this song. Just a little while longer, and I can… we can…" His pleas went unheard as Annabeth crossed her arms with a stern look. She stepped back, eyes narrowed, a scowl painted on her sharp features.
Then, she left, grabbing a duffel back from next to the door.
He sobbed all night, cried all day, regretted everything he had ever said or done that could've brought this on. The engagement ring felt cold in his pocket, his lips parted slightly in a half-spoken I love you. His life felt empty without her,
/without his Wise Girl. He had no one to turn to.
Frank and Hazel moved to Canada. They were living together, happy and eager, and although Percy was sure they would let him be with them for a bit, he couldn't ruin it. Nico had moved to France with Will, but the former had died of a measly empousae
was in mourning. He couldn't burden Will with his problems. Piper and Jason were engaged and on their honeymoon in the Bahamas. He couldn't bother them.
'Cause that's what he did. He ruined things. He burdened people. He was a bother.
He was a waste of time.
Smearing a creamy chapstick across his dry lips, he settled into the old chair behind his old desk. The wood creaked and shifted as he sat, long since rotted with mold. Percy softly swatted at the desk (or the air just above it), and a rainstorm of dustflurries
upwards, glistening like snowflakes in the sun. A dark shadow cast onto the furniture piece, but the darkness gave way to the pure white of a crisp paper.
Percy reached into one of the many drawers, his hands grabbing at cold dust bunnies. Finally, he pulled his hand out, and with it was a long feathered quill and ink.
A cap sat atop the unopened ink, and it was a wonder how it hadn't dried up ages ago. He twisted it open, his muscles bulging on his lithe body. The blue-black fluid spilled out, the bottle having been overfilled.
Percy stared at the ink, examining it. It spread over the desk, wetting the very edge of the paper. It dripped like honey to the floor. His brow furrowed, and an expression that looked like determined concentration set in. He raised his left hand, palmcalloused
and scarred, slender fingers bending as if they had been broken once before.
The ink quivered, then stilled. The man clenched his gut and winced.
The ink flew up from off the ground like it had wings, a bird of blue-black feathers (like a darker shade of the quill). It settled back into the pot.
He picked up the quill tentatively, as if it would bite him if he weren't careful enough. He dipped it in the ink, letting it rest for mere seconds, before picking it up again. He debated between writing with his left or right hand, hastily settling on
/right so it wouldn't smudge.
Just before the quill tip so much as grazed the paper, Percy hesitated. Unlike all his other attempts, he couldn't erase his mistakes. Ink was permanent.
And Annabeth always said she wanted something permanent.
He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and gently allowed the paper and quill tip to touch.
Before he could prevent himself, he scrawled a messy, Hey, Annabeth. He almost put 'Wise Girl', but knew better of it. He tried to hold back his tears.
What's it like in New York City? This time, he wrote slower, steadier. His dyslexia made the letters do jumping jacks, but he forced himself to focus, forcedthe letters back into place with his throbbing mind.
How's NYU doing for you? You're taking- Hepaused. How did you spell 'Architecture' again?
He settled for 'Arkitectore' as a spelling, and hoped she would understand what he meant.
The next sentences came easier. He asked about her friends, about her teachers. Then it become more personal. He told her about his YouTube channel, about his up-and-coming music career. He asked about dates, and told her about his. Anythingand
everything that could be covered, was.
He told her about how he missed her, and how he wishes that they could be together still. About his mom's diagnoses with Lung Cancer from second-hand smoke as a result from Gabe, but how she was in
Chemotherapy and the doctors said it was working.
He told her about his new dog, Oliver (madeas aderivative of 'Owl'), and how he was doing. He begged her for forgiveness, that his mom was practically treated and that he could stop using all his money to pay for the Chemo.
He wrote for hours, for days, pouring his heart into it, his soul. His tears were flowing freely by the time he had finished the body, dripping to the paper and ruining it further. He wiped at his eyes, going in to sign the outro.
Love, Percy, forever a Seaweed Brain.
He felt his heart and mind collapse into one, before throwing the chair back and falling into his bed.
Because no matter how muchhe needed her, no matter how muchhe was a Seaweed Brain, he could never be her Seaweed Brain.
For as much as he loved her, love sometimes wasn't enough.
Hey, Annabeth
What's it like in New York City? How's NYU doing for you? You're taking arkitectore, right? Must be fun. Do you have any friends? I mean, of course you do, but, well, how are they? Who are they? I remember that before we separated, you were telling me about a 'Professor Hyde'.Did you ever find out what was up with her?
By the way, I'm doing good. You probably don't care, but I might as well tell you. Guess what? I'm internet famous! I'm making an album of songs. I'll be the next Justin Bieber! Okay, not quite, but in terms of becoming famous over YouTube. On a completely different matter, do you have a new Beau? Yeah, I've been on a couple dates, but nothing serious. It'll never be the same with anyone but you.
I miss you, Annabeth. I miss you so much. Sometimes, I wonder if you'd ever take me back. It's fine, it was stupid. Have you talked to my mom recently? Turns out she has Lung Cancer. I don't know the medical name for it, but I know it's bad. She got it from Gabe smoking all the time, the b******. I wish he got a more painful death. Luckily, though, the Chemoisworking, and they caught it before it got too serious. Paul smokes a little bit too, but he's still much better than Gabe could ever dream to be.
I got a new dog. His name is Oliver. He's a mutt, but I'm pretty sure he's part owl. Seriously! His name was originally 'Owly' like 'Ally', but then I learned that she was actually a he so I named him Oliver. He's doing good. I'd love for you to meet him sometime.
Please, Annabeth. Forgive me. I'll never fail to pay rent again. Mom's doing better, so I can stop using all my money to pay for her treatment. Please, Annabeth. We can live in a big house, with a pool and a built-in library. We'll never have to worry about money again!
It's fine, I understand if you don't want anything to do with me. Just Renner me, OK?
Love, Percy, forever a Seaweed Brain.
Woah, that was exciting. This was inspired byZurgboy2, so… shoutout to Zurgboy2. Above is the complete letter that Percy wrote. I just think that as much as we'ed like to assume that everyone who dated on the Argo II will end up together forever, it's a pretty poor assumption. How many people end up with their Highschool sweetheart? Although I do think that Percy and Annabeth would stay together and get married and stuff, they're my favorite ship, so that means I have to break them up. Otherwise it's not fun.
/
So… yeah. I don't know long this is, but I write on my phone, and it's weird with the Fanfiction app because it always messes up my writing. Ignore any slashes or spacing/paragraphing errors. As I said at the top, I will also be posting this on Wattpad, so an edited version will be there.
Ciao!
Judy Rusher
Slayer of the Chimera
Unclaimed