Remember the Lies
By Acacia Thorn
He smiles at her, and perhaps that's what starts their friendship.
They're young at this point, naïve, and so they become friends by chance—her because she is sunny and bright and loves new people, and him because he is lonely and off and in need of a friend.
But he's the dark, unhappy boy in the corner that only stops to shoot people glares, and when he stops for her, and grins at her, she can't help but smile, sit down next to him, and then offer to trade sandwiches. Sure, this is a sudden improvement that dumbfounds their classmates, but they are both happy, so what does it matter?
"We'll be best friends forever," he says happily, eyes shining as he beams at her.
xXx
They cross the top of the hill easily, with their guide—a short, pimple-faced man that calls himself a satyr—up ahead of them, a grin prominent on his features.
"We're lucky," he says breathlessly, gazing out at the forest. "Not too many monsters—that's good, right?" And though both of them have only the slightest idea of what he's talking about, they smile and nod nonetheless.
As the so-called satyr marches off with more people that look nearly identical to him, they boy and girl are whisked away to a large, out-of-proportion house, and she feels as if she's in a dream, and that she'll wake up, and soon it will be the two of them again, joking through school and playing stupid imaginary games though they know that they are much too old for it.
And after a while, she realizes that this is no elaborate hoax, but her own reality.
xXx
She is separated from him quickly, symbolized only by a lyre of gold, and then she is put away with people that might as well be her clones. Arched eyebrows, blue eyes, fair hair—it feels as if she's stuck in a house of mirrors.
But he is not so lucky. All the campers give him attention, a little bit of praise for coming in unscathed, but soon, he fades into the background. She is not forgotten, for she is surrounded by people just like her, similar in looks and interest, and therefore she has a constant place in their hearts. But he, he is not put into some special place, where he is surrounded by a loving, attentive family. He is shoved into some random place, labeled as unclaimed and then forgotten about—by everyone but her.
"I like it here," he tells her, nonetheless, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smile. But she can see through that, and though she notices it, she says nothing, instead just grinning back and nodding.
xXx
He is grower darker every day, and she can tell. He is becoming skinner, he's talking less, he's avoiding her—and she will not stand for that.
She wants to confront him, but she's known him long enough to know that that approach won't work, so she's quiet, and so is he, and they're both growing apart, and—
"What's the matter with you?" she bursts one day. There are few people outside at this time, and for that she is thankful, but that doesn't stop rage from pulsing through her veins.
His brow wrinkles in confusion, but he's never been a good actor and she can see right through the façade. "What do you mean?"
She is growling out words now, unable to stop herself. "You know what I mean. Avoiding me. Talking to yourself. Disappearing at the oddest times—you know exactly what I mean."
He seems to be arguing with himself—she can tell from the way his eyes get darker and his fists clench. "Look, I—"
"Enough with your stupid excuses!" she yells, feeling smaller than usual, like she is stuck in some soap opera.
They are silent, she trying not to lash out at him again and he still fighting the battle against himself.
"I hate them," he blurts out, refusing to meet her gaze.
"Who?" she urges gently, eyes wide with curiosity. "If you mean the Stolls again—lighten up, it was only a joke—"
"Not them," he says tersely, cutting her off. "I mean…the gods." He says this as if it is a simple fact, but it takes minutes for the words to process in her mind.
"The…gods?" she repeats slowly, her mouth dry. Then, a sort of fierceness creeps into her eyes. "You're crazy. You can't just blame them for whatever problems that you are going through."
His eyes glint dangerously. "Oh, but I can. You see, I've been rotting away for some time now, forgotten. And whose fault is that?"
"Th-that's no good reason!" she whisper-shouts harshly. "You really have lost it."
He scowls at her, but then that expression dissipates and he grins. "Yeah. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking."
She knows that he's lying, but she can't help but roll her eyes and smirk knowingly.
xXx
Then, they are on border patrol; there are so many precautions nowadays that it makes her head spin. They are walking side-by-side, not a single word passing their lips—they haven't talked for some time, perhaps because he is avoiding her, for some unknown reason.
"Hey," he says quietly, glancing over at her subtly.
"Yeah?" Her voice is equally hushed.
"I like you."
She doesn't respond right away. He had always been one to jump into things without thinking, and besides, he probably just means that he considers her a good friend—nothing more. Besides, they are too young for that, and with more reassurances like these, she manages to convince herself that he doesn't really mean anything with those words.
"I like you too," she says back casually, keeping her eyes locked straight ahead.
"Mm," he mumbles, and they are silent for some time, just walking along the border.
They reach the edge of the forest, and she plans on turning soon, but his arm shoots out and he says, "Wait."
"What?" Her eyebrows shoot up at the look of…determination in his eyes.
"Did you really mean that?"
She is perplexed. "Mean what?"
He frowns, obviously irritated. "You know, what you said."
"Of course I did." She supposes she should be hurt that he doubts her, but somehow she isn't—it's like she's unable to feel anything, like she's expecting something to happen.
"Then come with me," he says, taking an uneasy step backwards, towards the forest.
All alerts go off in her mind, and she finally knows what he's getting at. Her eyes are wide, and the world seems to get darker around her. He bends down to pick up a stone, his eyes thick with conflicting emotions.
"Come with me," he repeats quietly, barely looking at her.
"I can't," she says, brashly, boldly, staring directly at him. "You know I can't—won't."
His tone hardens, along with his expression. "Well, then, that's too bad."
Before she can tell exactly what's happening, the stone has collided with her skull and she is falling into blackness. When she wakes up, he's gone, and he's left no traces behind.
xXx
She hears the rumors, of course she does, but that doesn't make it real. She's absolutely convinced that this time, it actually is a dream, not some sort of twisted reality, like Camp Half-Blood. But, as usual, it's completely true, completely correct, and no matter how much she tries to deny it and assure the others that he was just bluffing, that he'll come back, she can't hide it for much longer—he chose the Titans over them.
And soon, he is forgotten by them again, just a bump in a smooth past.
xXx
She sighs tiredly, leaning her head against the bark of the tree. It's rough against her scalp, but the thin layer of cushion that her hair provides blocks any pain, so she doesn't shift from her position. It's raining, as well, but it's only a light drizzle and the treetops stop most of the water from dripping onto her, save for the fatter drops that slide off of the leaves and hit her by chance.
This is where it started, she thinks grimly, her light eyes seeming to double in intensity. She stares at a patch of grass that is placed between her feet, which are only inches apart, and draws her knees up to her chest. And it hurts like hell, she tacks on as an afterthought.
Yes, it does hurt, it hurts a lot more than she ever lets on, but there is a war going on, and she is not about to back down. No matter who she is facing or what she has to do to them, she is not going to be just another coward. She will fight, she will fight hard, and she will win. There is no other alternative.
She closes her eyes, masking the crevasses of pain that are hidden within, and breathes slowly, finally ebbing away into sleep.
xXx
She doesn't like them anymore, she realizes one day while sitting sullenly in the middle of her cabin, where the other children of Apollo are chatting merrily. Well, that's an odd way of putting it—of course she likes them, it just…isn't the same. She can't strike up random conversation anymore; can't be out at the archery range for hours with only her half-siblings as company. It's not that she won't do it—it's that she can't, and if she has the choice, she won't change a thing. She doesn't want their company. And now that she thinks about it, she never did.
"Are you okay?" one of her siblings asks, his eyebrows drawing together and his eyes darkening. She doesn't expect them to notice her lack of enthusiasm, but then again, they are her siblings.
But then—siblings or not, they have no right to know, no need to know, and in a flustered surge of rage and sorrow, she glares at them, perhaps barks out a few harsh words, and then storms out of the cabin. She doesn't care that they're still sitting in that room, scratching their heads in confusion—she is away from them, and that's all that matters.
Because if she doesn't get away from everyone soon, they'll notice, they'll want to know, and she can't let that happen.
xXx
She stares at the new Lieutenant of Artemis with a mixture of loathing and disgust—loathing because she is so…so melodramatic, and disgust because she is so self-centered.
Don't you realize that you're not the only one? she wants to scream at Thalia on many occasions. It's true, though; who is Thalia Grace to mope over the loss of a friend, who is she to say—not in words, but actions—that she loves Luke, but he's gone now? Thalia shouldn't be mulling over those things.
But neither should I, she thinks suddenly, looking down at the wood of the Big House porch, where she is seated. And that's true, too, but she doesn't want to admit it. Something in the back of her mind wonders if she and the Daughter of Zeus have more in common than she thinks.
She sighs, glaring out at the strawberry fields as the sun sets over head, and for once in her life, she wonders if the gods really are as great as they claim to be.
xXx
It is the day of the battle, and she is fully equipped, bow and all. She is blocking off any emotions that she may have to feel, and perhaps it is better that way.
She barely hears the commands that are shouted at her, but she finds herself positioned on a bridge, some bridge—she was never good with remembering the names of all the bridges in New York.
She is launching arrow after arrow, killing countless monsters and demigods alike, but anyone can place the look in her eyes: desperation. Desperation to see him again, alive and well, desperation to defeat the Titans and make him see light, desperation to end this madness—that's all that's present inside of her; everything else is hollow.
"We'll be best friends forever," his childish voice echoes in her head as she releases another blind arrow, blinking back tears. She doesn't check to see where it lands. She knows that it hit someone—something—and that's enough for her.
"We're lucky," another, older version of his voice pangs back and forth the frame of her mind. Oh, no we're not, she thinks back bitterly, releasing another arrow—it hits a snake-woman squarely in the chest. She can't care less.
"I like it here." This time, when his voice strikes again, a spasm of ache blossoms in her chest. Another arrow shoots out into nowhere, and fresh tears hit the bloodied pavement.
Liar…
She does not scream the thought. She does not put all of her blind fury into the word. She is helpless and alone and vulnerable, and it's only in her mind, so it won't hurt her—that is her logic.
Liar…her conscious mumbles again, but this time the word is sharper, crisper.
She fumbles for an arrow, trying to wipe away her tears at the same time, and the gold-painted projectile goes flying.
"I like you."
The words enter her fragile mentality with a cutting edge, slicing all other coherent thoughts to bits, flustering her and provoking a sort of rage she doesn't know she's capable of.
Liar! her mind screams, now forcing the white-hot rage and hurt to show.
When she shoots the next arrow, she looks up, only to see her victim fall to the ground, barely twitching, and she watches as agony flits across the features she knows so well, the features that have been haunting her mind for weeks now, followed closely by emptiness.
xXx
Because betrayal is a sign of weakness in the heart of even the bravest, and those who must face it are not the strong ones—they are the weak ones, they are weak for acknowledging the betrayal, for calling it betrayal, and for letting it affect them so. This so-called betrayal is nothing but a matter of choices, and those who prejudice against choices are the villains themselves.
And to betray is not a sign of weakness, not a sign of evil, but a sign of bravery, because in the end, the betrayers are the ones who suffer most.
A/N: I honestly do not have any idea where the heck this came from. At first it was just my response to Luna's challenge, and then it kind of became condensed into…this. Yeah. Anyway—R&R, por favor. :)