Author's Note: I just got finished with this huge history project, and I'm completely exhausted, but for some reason I just came up with this and had to write it down (in about five minutes) and post it. I know; it's short and depressing. It's not fluff. It's not at all cute and happy. And it's probably crap, as a result of my fried-to-a-mush brain and not being able to think straight from massive infusions of coffee and sleep deprivation. But I seriously don't care. So whatever. –Emmy


8. Almost

Percy hated the word almost.

He had heard that word too many times. It plagued him in his waking thoughts and in his nightmares; it tortured him every minute of the day.

It had taunted him every day of his life since that one fateful moment, the moment when everything had almost turned out alright.

It was the reason that he couldn't stand to hear the soft coo of owls in the night. It was the reason that he avoided walking past the Williamsburg Bridge in Manhattan at all costs. And it was the reason why a certain redheaded mortal now slept beside him.

Percy hated the word almost.

It reminded him that he had almost gotten her to safety in time, that he had almost told her how he felt. It was the whisper in the dead of night telling him how he had almost saved the girl he loved.

It was a constant reminder of his failure.

It forced him to remember that he had saved the world, at an unbelievably high cost. It let him know that everything could have been perfect right now, if not for one miniscule detail, one tiny thing that had caused his world to come crumbling down.

His best friend in the entire world was dead. She was gone forever, and it was his fault— because he had almost saved her.

But he didn't. And that was the catch.

Percy hated the word almost.