.:Still Breathing:.

Written by: High Fiving Jesus

Typed: October 1, 2010-October 3, 2010

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My back slammed into the locker. The cheers roared in my ears as my sunglasses were knocked off of my face. Some people caught on, giving out some soothing gasps. I had to have someone on my side by now. The young man in front of me, whether he was muscular I didn't know, presented a cracking sound, like crunching plastic. I had heard that before. Cracking knuckles. It was used as a sign of dominance, but I took it as a hazing tactic.

It's hard to be a man.

"I'm gonna grind your face into mince meat," he growled, his voice a low rumbling. I pressed my hands against the lockers. Shocks went through my fingers as he walked towards me.

I sucked in air and waited, just drawing myself in closer to the barrier of my escape. He laughed, noticing my nervous tick. The vibrations in my finger tips grew stronger and I braced myself. The contact of skin to skin never came though. A high frequency vibe shot through the cool metal behind me and a feminine voice broke through the crowd.

"Stop!" she cried. For a scary moment, I feared for her.

Luckily, all noise did stop and someone grabbed my wrist. I tried to pull away but they insisted and dragged me away from the battle zone. I couldn't fight them off, not knowing where I was going or who was tugging me behind. I tried to imagine a face, or what I thought one would look like. What were imperfections on a face? Every face should never be taken for granted—what if you never saw it again?

I yanked my hand back and reached out, finding them. I felt across their smooth nose, possibly narrow, and crossed over their eyelids. And in what others called a movie moment, I expected a beautiful girl. But I could never judge anyone—what was beautiful to me?—and maybe that's why I was referred to as innocent. Because personalities and a person's aura told me whether they were slender, rarely caring for themselves, or if they were obese kids obsessing over themselves so much. That was what getting a big head was; it came with the figure. And if they had a kind face, where they rarely uttered a cruel word on someone else. Maybe this person had multiple imperfections because they just wanted to make the blow on me them self.

I was even more disappointed when a masculine goat voice brayed in my ear. "It's me."

I dropped my hands and felt my way towards the wall. I jammed my fingers on the metal and cursed in Greek. "Where are my glasses?" I asked him, leaning against the wall. I could still work with the façade I had put up as long as I acted calm about it and confused when the questions were stuffed into my mind.

"They're still back there," he mumbled, probably ashamed he had forgotten them when he rescued me. I couldn't be mad at him, though. In all honesty, he should've been mad at me for ditching him in the bathroom, even accidentally. "What were you thinking, Perce?"

I shrugged and leaned casually against the locker doors, listening to the shuffle of feet and teenagers laughing at each other. "I was trying to find a stall."

The mood around him stiffened, and then he let out a weary chuckle, "Percy, as your protector and best friend, I couldn't let you do that. You'd miss." He teased and a warmth rose to my cheeks. He meant it humorously, but it was true and it bothered me. I hated depending on others for everything. The thought of having to have some follow me, constantly, making sure I didn't trip or… miss; it horrified me.

The smarter thing for me to do was just use my walking stick, or a guide dog, but my disability would become obvious. And I knew that someone would use that against me, causing harm to my mentality and physicality. I had hid the disadvantage for awhile—and I couldn't remember what people looked like— and quite well, if I may say so, but it had caused a lot of stress on my family and friends.

I was doing all I could to be one hundred percent independent. It just wasn't working perfectly.

Another hand grabbed my wrist and I froze. I hated that uncertainty. I knew one day that my own imperfection was going to get me killed.

"Percy, I need to speak with you," my principal whispered calmly. I knew the tactic, to help unsure that I wouldn't freak out or hyperventilate. I nodded stiffly and pushed off of the wall, like I'd learned was natural for a guy. The thing that made me unsure was that I had learned this all from Grover, a satyr.

I stumbled down the hall with her, disconnecting us to prevent the awkward sense that I felt when everyone watched me, and turned my head 'glancing around' at the school. The hall was loud, like a roaring in my ears, and I tuned in to every conversation. It was true that when you lost your sight or another sense, the other four become fantastic. Phenomenal, if you will.

"What was the fight about?"

"Percy was an idiot and walked straight into Joel," a girl drawled, sighing in exasperation.

"He wants to die," the other whispered, giggling.

I furrowed my brow and kept going further down the hall. I felt trapped in such a confided box, that there was no escape. I didn't know how big the world was, where I could walk. For all I knew, I was floating on air or just about to fall down a flight of steps. I was contained in a place I didn't want to be.

My head bobbed forward as I ran into the backside of the principal. She apologized and there was a brief moment of silence. I backed away from her slowly, taking small steps.

"Watch it," some guy snapped. I stopped in spot.

The principal's mood went acerbic as she touched a lump of plastic to my chest. "Your glasses," she voiced, ensuring that no one heard her. I took them from her and ran my fingers along the arm of the glasses, pushing them over my eyes. She clicked her heel on the ground and I gave a short nod, starting to follow behind her I assumed. She clicked her heel every few steps to make sure I could follow her, and gave a double tap when we had come to the stairs.

My heart hammered, knowing it would mar me and be humiliating if I stumbled, and my hands were clammy. I searched for the railing, and, when I found it, slowly inched forward until my toes were perched airborne. No one had caught my odd movements before and I was hoping they didn't start.

I stepped down to the next step, and the one following, all-the-while gripping the paling for dear life. People shoved into me and I almost sprawled out on the ground but the principal kept me erect.

I stepped off the bottom of the staircase and relaxed my shoulders. The knot in my gut untied itself and the clamminess washed away. I continued following her clicks and my shoulder collided into a doorframe. She apologized again and helped me find a chair.

I had always imagined her as a short and stocky woman in her mid-forties with a brilliant smile and way to handle delinquents. Half of her bones were kind to her, while the other portion mistreated her. She spoke proudly with her soft, genuine voice.

"Percy, I have to suspend you for a few days," she managed, and I got the feeling that this was business-as-usual talk with just another student. "The fight has stirred up your classmates and I just want to help with your wishes. I've called your mother and she'll be—"

"I get it," I interrupted, not really wanting to reiterate the same drill again. I didn't need or want to hear about how I couldn't drive or how I couldn't do anything without my mother. Now, my mom is the coolest, kindest person in the world and she deserves the best, but going everywhere with my mother holding my hand every step of the way made me feel hopeless. I was embarrassed by it.

Another awkward silence and I assumed she had nodded, forgetting my inability to catch that detail.

I fidgeted in that chair, feeling down the arm and brushing the durable cushion. I ran my hand along the leg and the back of the chair and put the pieces together as best as I could, but I had a terrible imagination. I became discouraged and almost threw an inner tantrum, scolding myself, but a car horn burned from the outside.

I waited, gripping the arm tightly until my knuckles were numb. Footsteps pressed down on the lush carpet and stopped beside me. "Percy," my mom's voice was beside me, hanging in the air. She didn't reach down to touch me like others did. She knew it made me feel more lost then before. I stood up and followed her out, trying even more desperately to find the door by myself.

At night I heard my mom crying to Paul, my amazing step-father, about me. She tells him how I've changed since the accident that 'traumatized me'—according to one doctor—and how she doesn't think I should go to camp. She regrets getting rid of Gabe, and when she says that, I can sense the regret. Not from leaving him but from saying it. I feel my heart trembling when she talks about how much my loss affected her.

I took a minute to angle myself around to where I figured the door was and start forward. Almost five steps later, my mom called my name a little to the left and waited for me. My lips quirked up for a moment and I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm a mess," I told her quietly. I sensed her false glee from my comment but I shrugged it off and walked with her to the car, slowly taking inch-long steps. She barely moved along with me and when I felt the cool breeze of the outside world on my cheeks, I picked up pace.

Cars swerved along the circle outside, picking up freshmen and juniors that don't have licenses, and I listened to them get louder as I stopped to stand beside the street. A bird chirped out in the distance and the sunrays soaked up the sky with warmth.

"You can go," my mom whispered discretely and I stepped off the curb, crossing the bent street. She fumbled with her keys and a car beeped in front of me. I put a hand on the hot metal and used it as a guide to the passenger door.

When we were in the car, my mom turned the radio volume as low down as possible, a faint mumbling still rumbling through the silence. "Percy, I talked to Paul today."

I nodded, keeping my head forward, catching every bump on the road and every honk of a horn as people sped by.

"You're going to camp," she said firmly, trying to accept the words from her mouth. I didn't believe her for a moment, from all the late night conversations, but she didn't object to it and her tone was so serious and tight.

I nodded, almost worried. How would they treat me when I told them?

Maybe I didn't have to.

"I want you to at least let Chiron know," she continued. I heaved a low sigh and leaned back in the seat, dropping my head on the rest.

"Why? So he can tell Mr. D—the god of loudmouths?" I muttered, not realizing that mother was probably giving me a look.

"No, Percy, so he can ensure that Clarisse won't try to maim you during Capture the Flag," she said. "In fact, I don't want you playing Capture the Flag at all, do you hear me? Not once."

Did I mention she was stricter on my limitations?

"Mom, I'm invulnerable to attack," I tried, pressing my luck.

"Just like you were invulnerable to that blade? Just like that, hmm?" She asked sharply, shaken up from thinking about it.

"That's not fair," I growled, crossing my arms forcefully across my chest. I bit my lower lip, trying to ignore her lecture about life not being fair, especially to a demigod and how she wanted me to just be safe.

I didn't want to be safe. I wanted to be normal.

I wanted to be who I was.

A/N: Hi. I don't own Percy Jackson. That's my disclaimer for the whole story.

I wrote this without proof reading or spell check because I didn't want to forget (I tend to do that) and I'm going to be busy throughout the week. So, please don't get on my case about it too harshly.