Nico
She drives me crazy, and I mean absolute bat-shit crazy. Why do I put up with her? Why do I put myself through this? She's a drunk, she's a bitch, and goddammit, she's got me wrapped around her finger.
When we lost the war and lost most of our friends, nothing was ever the same again; I was never the same again. Coping with this changed world, with the deaths of almost everyone I knew has been the biggest struggle I've ever faced. Camp Half-Blood has become a refuge for the dozen or so demigods that survived. And when I say refuge, I actually mean insane asylum. It seems everyone here has lost their goddamn mind in one way or another, myself included. Annabeth's fucking her brother, Thalia's never not half in the bottle, Katie gets off on having the shit beat out of her, and me, well, I'm in love with the alcoholic daughter of Zeus. Yes, my mind is gone, too.
Well, I say I love her, but I don't know if that's true. I mean, I'm only 16 years old. Is that old enough to know what love is? Either way, I do know I care about her...a lot. She's the only woman I've ever been with. Maybe that's where the connection comes from. It's a unique relationship, to say the least. We're each others release, each others escape from the shitty world around us, and whether it be her beating the hell out of me or me pounding the hell out of her, she never ceases to take my pain away, and I can only hope I do the same for her.
It all started about two years ago, around the time Thalia started drinking. I didn't judge her for using alcohol to dull her pain...not at first. To each their own, right? But when it came to the point when I was having to go to her cabin every night around the time I expected her to pass out to make sure she was sleeping on her stomach and not on her back, because gods forbid she choke on her own vomit in the middle of the night, I knew it was getting out of control. Try telling a drunk they have a problem. She shut me down before all the words even came out of my mouth. She's in denial, or maybe she knows it, but doesn't want to quit for fear of the constant hurt and guilt returning. I'm not really sure. Like it matters. She's never going to stop; she's in too deep.
I guess I could say I'm in too deep, as well. I moved out of cabin 11 and into cabin 10, which was empty, to be closer to her. She was staying in cabin 8. Some nights when I'd go check on her she'd still be awake. She'd proceed to scream at me, telling me she can take care of herself...yeah, right. The screaming match would turn into a fist fight, and eventually, we'd be tangled up in a naked, sweaty mess on her cabin floor. I liked those nights.
The first time we had sex, I'll admit, I was scared to death. I'd just turned 15, and I had no clue what I was doing, but neither did she. It was awkward, very, very, very awkward. We avoided each other for two months after that. But one night, in a drunken stupor, she came over to my cabin. All she had on was a t-shirt, and I knew what she wanted. I could've told her no, that she was drunk and I didn't want to take advantage of her, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna babysit her drunk ass all the time and not get something in return. So, that night, I took it slow, let her sober up a little. She didn't like that idea at first, but the more I trailed my fingers across her smooth skin and kissed her softly all over her body (and oh, my gods what a body), she began to realize we could make this a million times better than the first time, and we could make it last all night, which we did...and half the next day. That demigod stamina comes in handy sometimes.
By the third year, Thalia and I were pretty much all each other had. Annabeth was off in her own little fantasy world with Malcolm. Pollux, well, he was a drunk, too. Katie, Conner, and Clarisse had their own twisted love triangle to work out, and the few other campers that were here just surviving, they pretty much kept to themselves. I wanted to move in with Thalia by then, but she wouldn't have it. I wanted to be able to keep an eye on her, but she knew that's why I suggested it, and that's why she shot down the idea. She didn't want me in her business all the time. I guess I can understand that. There are times I don't even want to look at her, usually after she's called me every derogatory word she can think of then bloodies my nose. I try not to hit her back, but it never works out that way, especially when her powers get involved. Electrocution is not fun…at all. That bitch has nearly put me in a coma, twice. Though, I will say, when I'm on top of her, giving her all I've got, and she runs her fingers down my spine letting the slightest electrical current flow from her body to mine, the sensation is unbelievable, and I know that means I'm doing exactly what she wants.
And now, three years after the war, that's how things are with us: she drinks, we scream and fight, then we fuck. I don't know if I'm anything more to her than a easy lay or an overbearing kid that she finds convenient to beat on, but there are times, times when she's sober and we actually get along, I think she might just care about me a little, too.