Annabeth's pov

I sat on my bed, bedroom door closed and locked. I could hear my dad yelling down the hall. Tears of anger and sadness rolled down my cheeks. I rolled up my sleeve and held the silver paint brush to my previously cut arm. I swiped the silver paint brush over and over again, watching the red paint flow down my arm. Ten swift swipes. They left a stinging sensation. I walked into my bathroom and grab a baby wipe. I wiped off the red paint and the baby wipe made the marks of the silver paint brush sting more.

I heard a door slam. Now was my time to get out of here. I grabbed my jacket and went to the front door. I pulled my hood up as I started walking in a random direction. Soon I found myself standing in front of a familiar apartment building. My boyfriend, Percy lived here. I walked up to his apartment and knocked gently. The door opened and Percy stood there. He smiled.

"Hey Annabeth," he frowned as he saw the tears rolling down my face. "What's wrong?" He took my hand and brought me inside. He sat with me on the couch. "What's wrong, Wise Girl?" I rolled up my sleeve and showed him.

"How many?" He asked.

I looked down and answered quietly, "10." He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a steak knife. He slashed his arm 10 times the way I had. My eyes widened as I saw the red paint flow from his arm, like it had mine. I quickly jumped up and took his hand.

"Wha...what...why would you do that?" I asked.

"Cause your pain is my pain. " He smiled at me. "I love you Annabeth. I'd do anything for you and i hate seeing you hurt. Especially if you hurt yourself."

I hugged him tight and he hugged me back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," he kept holding me.

After a moment I asked, "What if I can't stop? What if I take it too far?"

" Then I will accidentally go too far," he replied simply. I sobbed into his shoulder and he held me tight and close. "Here read this," he whispered and handed me a piece of paper. It was titled The Painters. I read on. It read:

They paint their sorrows
They paint their pains
Their beautiful paintings
Scarring and jarring
Their paint, blood red
Their brush, a silver edge
Their canvas is skin
Hurting and falling
This is to the painters
The carvers
The loners
This is to the outcasts
The exiles
The forgotten
Don't let your paint be in vain
Smile through the pain
A man i knew once said
If you can smile through the worst
You deserve the best
Do you see their paintings?
Hidden and forbidden
Such rarely seen paintings
Such commonplace settings
Why does no one see?
Can they not see them?
Can they not hear them?
Why?
Why are the painters ignored?
They get no recognition
They get no compensation
Their pain
Their misery
Their love
Their loss
Their hate
Their joy
Ignored

I looked at Percy quizzically. "What is this?"

"A poem I wrote," he answered.

"Did you use to..."

He simply nodded. "I've stopped though. And I'll do anything in my power to help you stop too." He smiled, "Because it's like I said, I hate seeing you hurt and I'll do anything for you." I kissed him and smiled.

"Thank you, Seaweed Brain."

"Always, Wise Girl."


Now, I can't take all the credit for this story. I had help... a lot of help. To Im Dead-Gone-and-Over-With for letting me use his poem and being so supportive of me and my many problems. Thank you so much.

Hope you enjoyed, or at least didn't hate, this. Please review. Please and thank you.

Au revoir!

~Shay.