Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
The tennis ball hit the wall in even, echoing beats. Ringo's drum beat in his ear drowned out the neighbor's discontent. The burning sensation of the vodka drowned out everything else.
As Percy chucked the ball again, watching it bounce back to him with vigor, he sighed, tilting his head back and cracking his neck.
His best friend had cancer. His best friend was pregnant. He had gotten his best friend pregnant. He was in love with her.
Percy clutched the ball, taking another swig from the bottle. He gagged, a little, recoiling at the oily burning sensation. He always was more of a tequila person.
Maybe, just maybe, they weren't supposed to be together. Maybe there was no happy medium. Hell, romance was clearly a bust, even when they were older. Friendship didn't work, either.
He sighed. Since when was the world so complicated?
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and, dropping the tennis ball, he pulled it out, thumbing to unlock the screen. He quickly removed his headphones.
"Hey, man, just calling to check up on you." Grover's voice rang through the device. Percy had never been so glad to hear the satyr before. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"I'm okay, buddy." Percy responded, sighing. "At least, I think I am."
"Uh oh. What's up?"
"Uhh…you know…Annabeth stuff."
"You didn't" Grover said flatly.
"Yeah. Yeah I did."
"Shit, man. Why?"
"It was supposed to be casual, you know? I…I was an idiot."
There was a long pause at the other end, and Percy began to worry that Grover had hung up on him. Finally, he could hear the satyr clear his throat and take a deep breath.
"What did you do?"
"I…well, she's…she's pregnant."
"Damn it, Percy!" Grover exclaimed. "How could you be so irresponsible?"
"Well, you know, that's easy for you to say! You've had a steady girlfriend for, like, nine years! Your relationship is a third grader! If Juniper got pregnant, then it would be no big deal. You'd just get married, and buy a house, and—"
"This isn't about me and Juniper! It's about you."
"I…I know."
"At least," Grover sighed, "At the very least, tell me you said you'd support her decision."
"I don't, though! That's the problem!"
"Look, I don't care what it is, Percy! If she wants to keep it, then I'm sure she's giving you an out! She's Annabeth, for gods' sake! And if she's getting rid of it, then you know what? You'll find someone else that wants to have your babies! So what the hades is the problem?"
"She has cancer, Grover. And she can't have health and the baby. She either dies, or she wishes she had."
"Shit." Came the simple reply.
"Yeah."
"I'm…I'm coming over. Tequila, right?"
"Drinking my way out of this doesn't seem to be a possibility, buddy."
"I'll bring the whiskey." He answered as he hung up.
Percy tilted his head back against the wall, emitting a deep sigh. He stuck his headphones back into his ears, turning the volume up as high as it would go. Lennon's voice never sounded so clear.
Soon, he was back to throwing the tennis ball. Harder, this time, and with more vigor. His eyes stung, and his brain, as riddled with alcohol as it was, thrummed madly. He bit his lip until he could taste the first coppery hints of blood.
The walls of his apartment seemed to vibrate with a pounding on the walls, as if someone were knocking ferociously. Stupid neighbors complaining about the noise.
He chucked the ball as hard as he could, knocking a picture clean off the wall. Glass shattered everywhere.
Only then did the tears come. His crying jag was brief and unpleasant. A few painful tears escaped his eyelids, and he pawed them away as quickly as they came. The rest were contained, though his heart felt empty and partial.
A sudden, throbbing knock at the door jolted him out of his head, and he sprinted towards the door. The sounds of shattering glass came soon after. Percy had never been so glad that Grover lived only a block away.
As soon as he opened the door, Percy regretted it. Grover's eyes were wide enough to scare even the most unshakeable. What's worse, he wasn't alone.
Reeking of whiskey, the hallway was occupied by both the satyr and Annabeth. She however, lay on the floor, pale as a ghost, in a puddle of her own blood. It was everywhere. Upon closer inspection, bloody claw marks littered the wooden door.
"Holy shit! What the hell?" Percy screamed, dropping to his knees. "Is she…is she—?"
"I…I don't know! I don't know! I…she was just laying here, and… I freaked! I dropped the booze!"
"We…we gotta get her inside!" Percy said, sliding his arms under Annabeth and lifting. Her skin was clammy and cold.
Nodding, silently, Grover stooped and lifted her legs, groaning as his arms became covered in blood. The two quickly set her on the couch, stepping back as if she were a bomb waiting to go off.
"What do we do?" Grover asked, swiping a metal picture frame from a nearby table and gnawing on it nervously.
"We…we ah, check for a pulse!" Percy yelled, his eyes lighting up. He quickly raced forward, jamming his two fingers underneath Annabeth's jaw. Besides his own heartbeat, which was thrumming madly, he felt a faint, unsteady pulse.
"Come on! Is…is she dead?" Grover asked quietly.
"No, man. She's alive." Percy responded, breathing a small sigh of relief. "But we gotta get her to a hospital. She's really not doing well."
Nodding, Grover sprinted, as fast as his hooves would carry him, to the phone. Percy heard him speak to the operator, but couldn't make out the words. All he could hear, really, was the sound of his blood whooshing through his ears. All else was lost.
He saw the front door burst open with the EMTs. He saw them load her up onto the stretcher and attach all sorts of tubes and wires to her. He saw her fingers briefly twitch in response to the cold metal. He saw Grover answer the paramedic's questions. He saw himself race after the men and hop into the ambulance at the last moment. He saw, but did not really see.
Soon, though, they had pulled up to the Hospital, and unloaded the stretcher. Annabeth had briefly regained consciousness, long enough to emit a loud moan, but had quickly lapsed back into sleep. Inside, the doctors whisked her away and swept Percy into the waiting room.
He sat there, in the waiting room, for a number of hours. He stopped the various nurses and hospital personnel that passed him, pressing them for what they knew. But they only saw the man that reeked of alcohol, and had dried blood caked on his knees. And they passed him by.
Tears threatened him, again, and he bit his lip, once more, hoping to flush the anger and hurt from his eyes.
"Are you Percy Jackson?" Came a voice, looming over him.
"Yes?" He answered, rising to his feet.
"Your friend is asking for you." She said, walking a few steps away before pausing and looking over her shoulder to beckon him. "Follow me."
"Is…is she…"
"She's fine. A little dazed, a little weak, but she'll be fine. We're keeping her for a night or two."
"And…and the…the baby?"
The doctor stopped walking for a moment, wheeling around to face Percy.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Jackson. Ms. Chase suffered a miscarriage. The fetus did not survive."
"Oh." Percy's voice, for some reason, came out quieter than expected. His eyes stung unexpectedly, and he instinctively fixed his stare on the ground.
"Please, you'll want to talk to Ms. Chase. Follow me." The doctor's expression softened, and she gave him a small, pitying smile. Percy simply nodded, and followed her to the small room she led him to.
Inside, Annabeth lay in the nearest of the two cots. Her back faced the door, and the machines next to her thrummed and chimed periodically.
"Ms. Chase?" The doctor called quietly, knocking on the door lightly.
Annabeth lifted her head a little looking the two over. She sighed, leaning her head back against the pillow.
"Come in." She said, in little more than a whisper.
"Hey, Annabeth." Percy murmured with false enthusiasm. "How are you?"
"You smell drunk." She whispered hoarsely.
"You smell like a hospital." He joked, hoping to make her smile. She didn't.
"If you haven't heard already, there's no more baby to worry about." She whispered, her voice breaking. "I had a miscarriage."
"I know." He replied, his heart breaking as he did. He reached out, hesitantly, and brushed her arm. She recoiled from his touch.
"I got the tumor out, too. I just…I told them to take it out."
Percy nodded, brushing her hair back from her face. This time, she didn't pull away.
"So I don't need you worrying about me."
"Who, me? Worry?" He scoffed.
"Percy."
"Annabeth, you're okay, now. I know it's hard, but it will get better, I promise."
"No, it won't."
"What…what do you mean?"
"We can't be together." She said, her voice cracking. "You…I can't see you, anymore."
"Why?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowing. "I…I lov—"
"Stop." She interrupted. "Stop, stop stop! Don't…don't say that!"
"But…"
"No. No. You…you break my heart, just seeing you. The thought of you…it hurts. It physically hurts me. I can't be with you. We have to stop."
"Annabeth, please, we…we can get through this."
"Please." She whispered, tears falling freely down her face. "Please, please, please."
Nodding, silently, he stood, making for the door as tears of his own worked their way past his eyelids. He paused, looking over his shoulder at her frail, shaking body.
It was then, in that hospital room that he knew. He knew that it was an addiction. Being with her was as destructive as being without her. It was a harmful, destructive cycle that he was effortless in stopping. It was like a knife to the heart when it all falls apart.
