Nico di Angelo's Musings
Nico di Angelo stares at the murky sky below him...clouds drift alongside silently. Like a shadow, like a ghost, like himself actually. Quiet, dark and always slipping through people's fingers. He felt more like a ghost than a person really. He lives only to complete the task; he doesn't live to fulfill himself. He's just a broken piece that he doesn't know what to do with.
Whilst standing beside the mast he lifts up his wrist to his face. The dim light from the fading sun gives him enough vision to see the ghastly marks. The lines which are the only visible sign of his distress, his hurt, his pain. Cupid may have stolen one of his secrets but this one was still safe within him. He doesn't really remember when he first starting going to the knife. Others used drugs, alcohol or adventure (Percy perhaps was an adrenaline junky, not that he would tell his seaward cousin). No, Nico didn't need drugs, all he needed was pain.
The physical pain wasn't really what Nico craved, though he did enjoy it. It made him feel real, not just a drifting ghost. No, he craved the blood that poured from his veins. Little by little after a line was made, the cut would remain empty for a few seconds before the crimson liquid would bubble to the surface. And it wasn't like what people usually think of when one would cut. No, it would come up but it would focus on one area and bubble. Nico would spend many minutes (though often it felt more like hours, when he was cutting, he lost track of time) just staring at the wound. The red was what he wanted; it made him feel real, tangible. But then the blood would congeal and he would be left only with a scar. Not that he didn't like the scars, they made him feel safe, loved, protected. The scars were what made him whole. He wasn't alone. The scars kept him company...they were the replacement for the hole Bianca left.
His lovely Bianca, his beautiful sister, his confidante, the only one who could truly understand him. What a hopeless fate, Nico had. Shortly after he had lost her, did he start with the knife. He couldn't remember exactly when but he knew it was on one of the nights that he couldn't sleep. The anger, the hurt of her loss suffocating on his heart. He had found a knife. It had been a perfect solution.
He had made the first cut and since then he hadn't been able to recover...perhaps he never would be able.
He stared out into the sky willing that he would someday be ok...but who knew maybe ok wasn't all it was cracked up to be...
a/n: Hey everyone...yeah I know I've been away. And yes I know I have updated in forever! I am going to try and update again soon! This was just something I had to get out, an idea got stuck in my head and you know us authors...once there is an idea we just have to write it down. Anyways, please review! I love reviews and if you review I might just return the favour *wink*! Anyways tell me what you think!
Freedom98