Warning: mild violence, occasional vulgar language, and alcohol/drug abuse. Strong T. Angst/Tragedy/Romance for a reason.
Here is it. The 3rd and last chapter! It's quite a bit longer and a lot more mature than the first two parts of 'If Only'. Writing it took quite some effort, and I felt emotionally drained, to be honest. All I can say is I wish it touches you all too! Hope it doesn't disappoint!
Once again, thank you to all who reviewed!
Hunter of Artemis - Your consistent encouragement really helped me continue writing! Cheers! :)
L6DaN97 - A long and thoughtful review; thanks a lot!
This is dedicated to everyone who has had a regret and to all the broken families. Sometimes, there's only one chance. Get it right.
Percy's flashback (denoted with italics) begins... now. Enjoy.
"Hey – Percy." A pair of gentle hands try to shake him out of his alcohol-induced slumber.
He mumbles incoherently, twisting so his back is towards whoever is foolish enough to annoy him.
"Percy. We need to talk." He had to admit though, that voice was beautiful – so soothing.
Half-awake by now, he manages a gruff reply. "Later…"
"No. Now. Percy!"
The hands are back now, and it's not helping with his hangover. Finally, he gives in, and sits up, his head pounding, eyes blurred.
"What?" he demands roughly.
"Look, I know it's hard for you, but can you just…" For once, Wise Girl's lost for words, and she runs her fingers through her smooth blond hair. "Can you just… pull yourself together for a few days?"
"I'm fine." he replies curtly, angry that she dared suggest he was in any way a wreck.
"No, you're not, Percy. I need you to be sober for once. You've had months to get over that… that incident. You need to move on. I'll be gone for a few days to an exhibition, so I need you to look after Julia."
He suddenly turns bitter and frustrated. "What do you know!? You weren't Grover's best friend, were you?" Some part of him knows he's being unreasonable, but he can't help it; this helps him relieve the ache in his heart.
"Percy…" Annabeth steps forward, almost like she wants to wrap him in a comforting hug.
But he doesn't want her pity.
"It's so easy to let go, huh, when you don't really care?" he snarls.
Annabeth instantly recoils at the absurd accusation. Her eyes widen in shock, as if Hades himself materialized out of nowhere.
"Yeah, that's right. Act all surprised and innocent." He's quietly menacing, almost reflective for a moment, then bursts into mad raving. "Grover didn't deserve to die! He didn't! HE DIDN'T!"
He hardly notices when the door clicks softly shut behind Annabeth, who's struggling to hold back a flood a tears.
After what must have been hours of alternating between screaming and silence, his throat hurts from the effort; his mind, from the pain of remembering the death of his friend. He needs a drink, he concludes. Now.
"I'll be back in a bit." he announces loudly - so everyone in the house can hear him - before walking unsteadily outside. He's so focused on a night of partying and drinking, he doesn't see Annabeth smile sadly and mouth 'I still love you' behind him…
The next few hours passes in a montage of neon lights, thundering music, gyrating bodies, and hazy hallucinations, underscored by the addictively intoxicating sensation of alcohol and drugs…
He doesn't know how he ends up leaning against the front door to the apartment. Damn, I'm good, he tells himself. He vaguely recalls that it's 1 am, a couple hours earlier than usual. He knows it's unnatural, but his heart nonetheless swells with misplaced pride. Not bad, Percy, not bloody bad at all. You're a responsible man. Grinning happily like he's won the lottery, he proceeds to ring the bell with exaggerated care, an empty bottle still in his right hand. No response. And just like that, his mood swings straightaway – he slams the door, shouts to be let in.
"The hell!" The door opens a crack, and Annabeth peers through it, frowning.
"Percy…" she sighs. "Julia's sleeping…"
"Why didn't you open the door." It's more of a command than a question.
Annabeth snorts. "You can't expect everything to be instantaneous, Seaweed Brain." Placing a light kiss on his cheek, she adds, "I'm glad you're back early for once though."
"Why didn't you open the door." Some drug-controlled part of his mind wants to prove a point.
Her eyes narrow when she realizes he's drunk and she finally can't contain it. This is the last straw. Months of tough work, and even more exhausting nights spent arguing with Percy take its toll.
"It's too hard for me. You're off Zeus-knows-where clubbing every single day. You come back drunk and stupid. I can't take it anymore, y'know? And if you don't want to think about me, think about our child. Julia. You have a responsibility and you know it, so stop giving up and wasting your life. Stop being a selfish bastard."
He doesn't respond. He can't respond. For a few minutes, both of them just stand there, eye to eye, as still as Medusa's stone statues.
Thwack! After the initial wave of shock, he strikes back; much the way an aggressive animal would do when cornered and helpless.
"Do. Not. Patronize. Me."
Annabeth climbs back up from the ground, just as a second slap sends her reeling once more.
"Mommy? D-D-Daddy?" A little girl, hardly 6 years old, totters into the living room, clutching a worn teddy bear tightly to her chest. "I… had… a bad dream…"
Annabeth forces the corners of her mouth upwards and murmurs reassuringly. "Julia, just go back to your room. I'll be there in a second."
"B-But… I'm scared…" The girl's lower lip quivers dangerously.
"You heard the woman. Into your room!" he barks. He sounds guttural and harsh even to himself.
The girl shakes her head stubbornly, eyes brimming with unshed tears.
All of a sudden, before he can control his actions and stop himself, the bottle's flying across the room in a deadly arc.
A thousand fragments of shattered glass. A sharp, high-pitched cry. A trickle of crimson red. A flurry of movement. A mother cradling her daughter's injured hand.
"Out." She is barely audible, but her stormy, furious eyes say it all. He's taken it too far. He harmed their child, their one and only child…
The next day, he reaches their, no, her flat in the morning, clear-headed for a change. Taking a deep breath, he presses the bell, apologies ready on his lips. He hears footsteps, a pause, then a rush as the she retreats back to the bedroom. A loud slam.
The day after, he's holding a box of dark chocolate and a bouquet of fresh roses – both are her favourites. For the first time in weeks, he has been sober for 2 days straight, and there's no screaming nor ranting as he patiently waits on the doorstep. Finally, the footsteps, then the pause, but this time she doesn't make it to the room in time. He can make out the sound of desperate, uncontrollable sobbing, before the bedroom door shuts and blocks it off.
72 hours. That's a record. But to be fair, he hasn't thought of anything other than her since… that day. Once again, he's outside, but this time with nothing to offer, nothing except his pride. He is on his knees.
To his surprise, the door opens.
"Anna-" he begins, only to be cut off by a woman with spiky, gelled hair and a disgusted expression.
"The fuck are you doing here?" Thalia looks like she wants to strangle him there and then.
"Thalia. Can I talk to –" His second attempt is just as feeble as his first.
"No. Whatever you want, it's a no." Thalia interrupts harshly. "No monster, human or animal, is getting anywhere near Annabeth when I'm alive. Get the fuck out of here before something bad happens to your balls. Oh wait, that's just the beginning."
Thalia shoves the door into his nose. Crack!
He's bleeding profusely now, but what hurts more is the final threat which follows.
"And don't even think about coming back!"
Salty tears spring unbidden to his emerald eyes, trailing downwards, over his heaving chest, slipping through his trembling fingers, onto the ground. Oh, he's definitely a wreck now. And at that moment, it hits him: without her, nothing else matters…
He would take a blunt dagger through the heart, walk through the blazing infernos of hell… and back again… if only he could take back what he did. But it's too late. Much too late.
If only he could turn back time and scream he's sorry a thousand million times.
He'll do anything!
If only he could get down on his knees again and beg for her forgiveness.
Just one last chance!
If only they could sit on the beach and watch the sunset like they used to – side by side, pressed up close, fingers firmly intertwined. Together. Forever and always, that's what they would say.
If only…
If only…
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