EDITED AND REUPLOADED FOR CLARITY

CHAPTER ONE:

A Me Without You

I don't really care, you can keep the things we used to share

But what did you do with my heart?

~ Thomas Sanders, The Things We Used to Share

"Flight 745 first class passengers are now boarding."

Damp blonde eyelashes graze the apples of her cheeks as she cast a longing glance at the person she's become: a backpack clutched in her right hand, the 3 karat diamond necklace digging cuts into her left palm. His scent lingers on her sweater. A stain on her jeans from their first date, the night he told her he loved her. She questions whether she should even go. Was it a mistake? Was she being irrational? Part of her wants to run back into his arms and forgive everything he's ever done to her, but the image of him with another girl in their bed flashes behind her eyelids every time she closes her eyes.

Tears stung her eyes as she takes those heavy steps towards the gate.

Nobody takes pity on or took a second glance at the girl whose tears streamed down her face, her hair is tangles and knots, with the bloody palms and an aching heart. They're all occupied with their own lives, with their families and friends who love them and care about them and notice when things are wrong and notice when you've been gone since 3 in the morning. A mom comforting her crying child rather than exploiting her talent for money. A young and in love couple exchanging tearful "I'll miss you" hugs and kisses, their tears sad and not angry. Nowhere in sight is a girl like her, wanting anything but to be in this position right now.

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket. His name lights up the screen. 5 missed calls.

She shuts off her phone and tosses it into a nearby trash can.

She curses herself for booking a first class ticket. Even in moments of spite and anger and sadness, she's still that pre-programmed robot her mother built from the ground up. When she walks onto the completely empty plane her back is straight, chin up, eyes forward, don't make eye contact and only offer small smiles, like she still had dignity and standards.

As the magazines would have it, she, Annabeth Chase, was the IT girl. Singer, actress, model: a triple threat as the people in the business would say. She starred in all of the biggest movies, posed for all the biggest fashion catalogs, sang all of the biggest summer hits. She and her boyfriend were Hollywood's cutest couple, predicted to be the next Brangelina (even though they were divorced, which, frankly, should've been some type of warning). Every guy wanted her, every girl wanted to be her. Annabeth Chase had it all.

Had.

But that girl is gone. She's the Annabeth Chase that publically blows up at her mother for never letting her live her life. She's the Annabeth Chase that quit the supposed next blockbuster blowout. She's the Annabeth Chase that ran off stage while performing the National Anthem. She's the Annabeth Chase that had her heart broken by the love of her life less than 12 hours ago. She's the Annabeth Chase whose life is crumbling faster than she can fix it.

Her head is pounding as she sits down. No other passengers board first class other than a man in a black tuxedo carrying a brown leather briefcase. He talks animatedly on the phone to who she guesses is his wife by the string of "I love you"s and "see you when I get home"s. She almost reaches for her phone to call her boyfriend, only to remember that 1) she doesn't have a phone and 2) she doesn't have…

She wants to throw her fist in the man's face for having the one thing she didn't have. She's always had everything she could want. A big, beautiful house, talent, money, and she knew that people would sacrifice everything for even a fraction of want she had. Was it selfish and ungrateful of her to want to throw it all away for love? Yes. It was. But did she take it back? No.

Her mother was completely against the idea of Annabeth having a boyfriend, especially one who wasn't in the industry. She only let her have one because it'd increase publicity ratings; the media loved a good love story. It was unfair to Annabeth and her boyfriend, but she took what she could get. And now, she couldn't even have that.

So she gave a big middle finger to the man in a black three-piece and brown leather suitcase because screw him for being loved when she wasn't.

She was so alone.

She woke up with a start.

Greece. She's going to Greece. Why Greece? She's always loved… falafel?

A panicked sob racked her chest, the tears in her eyes doubling. She doesn't know where she's going, where she'll end up. She didn't have people in Greece. She didn't even know how to pronounce the city she was going to. She had nothing but a few wads of cash, a backpack of miscellaneous items, and a hair tie that's been snapped too many times against her wrist.

The flight landed in thirty minutes, according to the pilot overhead. She stretched the crook out of her neck, coughing up one last sob. She swiped across her cheeks and her hand returned stained with mascara. Her nose ran with snot. Tissues litter the seat around her.

She remembered the first time she ran away. She was seven years old. Her mom and dad were fighting, throwing things and screaming, and they didn't even notice she was gone until it was almost too late.

That was the day she met him. And even though he was so much older than her and she was just some snotty kid, he stayed with her and protected her like he cared about her. It was the first time anybody ever actually cared about her. He loved her like she was family. He stayed with her even after her parents found her, he stayed with her when she got her first acting role, he stayed with her through her first red carpet, first Academy Award, first love, first heartbreak. He kissed her for the first time on her 18th birthday, when he was 23, he told her he loved her only a day later, when he took her to paint the New York skyline. He held her hand through media backlash, through her outbreaks and accusations, and even as her career tumbled, he stood by her side.

So for how long has he cheated on her? How many times did he tell her he loved her before it was fake? Why did he stray when she had loved him since she was a seven-year-old girl who didn't know any better? And why didn't he run after her when she ran from him?

12 years. 12 years of her life had been wasted, ruined by him. But she couldn't let him ruin the next 12 too.

She took off the sweater that's been suffocating her since she put it on. It was her favorite one. He got it for her at the first Yankees game they went to together. They put them on the kiss cam. The photo of it went viral. Ha. Now even that memory is tainted.

She folded the sweater neatly in her lap. What was she gonna do? She could toss it a blazing fire of hatred. She could throw it into the Dead Sea to be consumed by the fish.

But there was nothing in her that could bring her to destroy it.

So she'll send it back to him. She didn't know if he'll receive it. It could be lost in the mail for all she knew. But she wanted him to know what he's done to her, what he's done to her head and heart, and she wanted this to be the last he hears from her ever again.

She dug around for a pen and a sheet of notebook paper in her backpack.

Dear Luke,

She took a deep, shaky breath and steadied her hand on the paper.

You can have your sweater back. You can keep the apartment, you can keep my lamp, you can keep all of my old CDs, you can keep the TV, hell, and you can even keep every award I've ever gotten. What's mine is yours, right? Didn't I say that when we first moved in together? They hurt too much to even think about now.

I feel so stupid. Did you ever love me? I'm trying so hard to think back to all the moments we've shared, and never did I think there was a sign of infidelity. I was too blindly in love with you to ever consider the possibility. We were so damn perfect in my mind. You and me, Hollywood's sweethearts. All of it's gone. All 12 years of it. Gone.

Remember what you said to me when I was a little girl on the streets of San Francisco? You said we were family. Well, where is that now? Family, Luke. You promised.

But this letter is not an 'I want you back' letter. In my heart of hearts, I don't want you back. I don't want the person who thinks they can break my heart and get away with it. I don't want you. I've been crying my eyes out for almost a whole day over you, and you don't even deserve it. You never did.

So I'm on a plane going somewhere I know nothing about in the hopes to begin again. Will I come back? Who knows? But now, I need to find myself. A me without you. Without the pressures of my career on my shoulders. Without the whole world watching my every move. This is my chance to finally be free.

One last tear fell from Annabeth's eye, and she wiped it away angrily.

This is the last you'll hear from me for the rest of the summer. Don't contact me. You can't. I made sure of it.

It's unfortunate that even after all this, I still love you. So many years will do that to a girl. But don't think I'll ever come crawling back to you.

Have fun with your new girl. I'm sure she's lovely,

Annabeth.

Yeah, this is what I've been doing instead of writing a new chapter of Honey, but the idea hit and I'm running. Hope you enjoy!