Okay, guys, so I don't how many of you saw the note, but I am rewriting this story. I'll repost the first few chapters when I've written them, okay? Yea? Nay?
So, here we go. I'll follow the original plot, kind of, but I'll lengthen it and sort of add more to it. It's just that I started this story so long ago, and I have big plans for it now. So, ready? Let's go.
Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except for the five hundred dollars I have, and this cupcake that I'm eating right now, oh, and the plot of this story. The idea, sadly, came from littlepurpleninja, not me. But it's still my story!
Percy POV, by the way
I curled into a ball in the corner, putting my hands over my head in an attempt to shield myself from the fierce anger radiating off of my mom and Smelly Gabe, who were both yelling at each other furiously. My mom's face was screwed up in fury, and her brown hair was flying everywhere as she screamed words that I could not hear at Gabe.
Gabe looked equally furious, even going as far as to throw a beer bottle at my mom. Luckily, he was drunk and much too angry to aim properly, so he missed by about three feet. Still, the gesture didn't go unnoticed, and it just served to anger my mom more.
Her mouth moved fast, much too fast for my limited lip-reading skills to interpret. Apparently, what she had said had infuriated Gabe beyond belief, because he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and held a glass shards to my throat.
I gulped and struggled desperately, sinking my teeth into his hand. Gabe leaped backwards and I assumed that he yelped in pain. There was a thump as I landed on my back, and my mom immediately knelt down beside me.
Her mouth moved slowly, but my vision was blurring and white stars were dancing through my vision. I couldn't make out what she was saying, and apparently she knew that too.
'Are you okay?' She signed, her expression full of concern. I blinked and pushed myself up onto my elbows, wincing as the sudden movement sent a twang of pain through my back.
'I'm fine,' I signed, sitting up fully. My mom helped me up and we left the room, but not before she shot a glare at Gabe and said something hotly. Gabe flushed with anger, but my mom and I ran up the stairs and she slammed the door and locked it behind us.
We sat down on my bed and she pulled my shirt up, checking my ribs and back for injuries. 'That's going to bruise,' she signed, letting my shirt fall around my body again. 'Why don't you just lie down for a bit? It's almost eight; you can go to bed.'
I nodded sleepily and lay down, pulling my worn blanket up around me. My mom tucked the blanket in around me and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. The bed moved slightly and I could tell that she had sat down somewhere.
There was gentle pressure on my back and I recognized the sign language lenters being pressed into my aching back. 'Good night, Percy.'
I reached my hands out from under the blankets and drowsily signed something along the lines of, 'Good night, love you mom.'
My bed shifted again and I could tell that my mom had left. (My god, it's so hard to write from the POV of a character who can't hear! Like, right here for example. I really, really wanted to write that Percy's mom whispered good night to him, but then I remembered he's deaf. And then there's the fact that I wanted to write that he heard his mom leaving, but argh he's deaf! Rrraaaahhhhh!)
My mind drifted off and I found myself falling asleep, even though I knew that somewhere in our ratty LA apartment, my mom was probably in a huge fight with Gabe, and could possibly be hurt.
On second thought, that woke me up completely.
I yawned and wriggled out from my cocoon of blankets, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and padding over to the door, pressing my ear up against it before I realized that I was being stupid. I was deaf. How could I hear anything? Especially through a door.
Shaking my head at my stupidity, I cracked the door open and peeked out, making sure to look at the floor and confirm that there were no glass shards from the beer bottles lying on the floor before cautiously stepping into the hallway.
It was at times like these that I sincerely wished I could hear. Maybe then things like this wouldn't be so terrifying, because I could know that I would be able to hear anybody sneaking up on me. Sadly, I couldn't say that or think that.
Tiptoing quietly through the ratty, beer-stained hallway, I checked every room for a sign of my mom or Gabe, which is when I saw my mom, unconscious, on the floor, next to several beer bottles that were all glass. There were glass shards in her hair.
Looking back, I don't know what terrified me more, the sight of my mother so helpless, or the shadow behind that I knew belonged to Gabe.
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'Go away,' I signed shakily, one hand circled around my mom's wrist to feel her pulse. 'Can you just leave us alone?'
Gabe slurred something drunkenly which I couldn't quite make out, but still somehow made me shiver.
A second later, Gabe grabbed me by the arm and yanked me up. I flailed and somehow managed to kick him in the knee, but that just made Gabe even madder. Gabe stumbled over the carpet that smelled too much like cigarette smoke and entered the kitchen, his iron grip never faltering for one second.
Closing my eyes tightly, waiting for the blow to come, I curled into a ball, putting my arms protectively over my head and crawling over to the corner. Gabe was rummaging around in the drawers for something.
Finally, I felt vibrations through the floor, coming towards me. Gabe was coming. Squeezing my eyes shut tighter and bracing myself for a blow, I was completely surprised when a thin line of pure pain traced itself across my forearm.
My eyes flew open and I saw Gabe standing over me with a bloody knife. My right arm throbbed with pain and I slowly brought it down to examine it.
Sure enough, there was a thin line of red. Blood.
And Gabe was standing over me holding the knife.
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The years continued in like that, Gabe waiting until my mom was either unconscious or at work to cut me, bruise me, hurt me. He was smart, too, and realized that I didn't care what pain came my way. So he threatened my mom instead. He told me that if I ever told her the truth about the various cuts, bruises and scrapes that I acquired daily, he'd beat her until she was within an inch of life.
So I stayed quiet. I kept my fingers still and my eyes devoid of all emotions. I withdrew myself from the world, because there was no use in trying to tell someone when I knew they'd get hurt. I couldn't let the people I loved get hurt.
Not because of me.
When I was seven, it all started. All of the abuse, the kicking and punching and beating and whipping and cutting. The scene that you just read? It was the first time Gabe had ever truly abused me.
When I was eight, it got more intense. More cuts, more bruises. More drunken words, more beer bottles, more pain and more blood. I don't remember much from that time, mostly because I spent about half of every day unconscious from pain or blood loss.
When I turned nine, Gabe told me I was a 'big boy'. He made me wash his dishes, do his laundry, basically be a slave to him until my mom came home. Then she was the slave, and I was the broken toy tossed into the corner.
On my tenth birthday, my mom was working double shifts. So Gabe took the liberty of giving me a birthday present, which was torture. He didn't just beat me and cut me that day. He used water, my favorite thing, to hurt me. He would shove my head under the water and leave it there, until my face turned blue and I started inhaling the water. Then he'd force my head out and, after I could breathe again, he'd push my head back under.
When I was eleven, I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to die. I wanted to simply vanish from the world. Maybe if I ran away it would work, I would be free, but I already knew it was stupid. How would a deaf and mute kid survive on his own?
And so I thought about suicide.
Gabe had a collection of kitchen knives, ranging from sharpest thing ever to dull, if he ever wanted to hear me try to cry out in pain. I often snuck glances at the sharpest one when I was washing the dishes, cooking Gabe breakfast and lunch, or just walking through the kitchen.
But Gabe wasn't stupid, and he liked me as his playtoy. So he took the knives and put them somewhere where I never found them. So suicide - at least by knife - was out of the question.
The fact still remained that our apartment was on the seventh floor - high enough for me to jump out of the window and die.
So Gabe barred the windows and locked them so I could not get out.
I turned twelve on the day where I simply could not take it anymore and I just tried to drown myself.
I nearly succeeded, too. The breath was leaving my lungs, the life was leaving my eyes, and I was happy, happier than I had ever been. Away from Gabe. Away from the torture, the abuse, the neglect. Away from all of it.
And then my mom found me, forcing my head under the water in the bathtub, kneeling on the hard tile floor.
Well, this chapter is pretty dark. But he's only twelve, remember, and I'm doing a prologue #2 next to show the rest of his life before the main storyline.