"You're in my veins / And I cannot get you out / Oh you're all I taste / At night inside of my mouth / Oh you run away / Because I am not what you found" -In My Veins, Andrew Belle
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Nico's Voicemail:
DECEMBER 20, 2016 ~ 11:00 PM
"That was a dick move of you, and I didn't do anything wrong. So you apologize. There."
DECEMBER 21, 2016 - 9:34 PM
"I love you. Or I could have loved you. But I think about you a lot. And I like thinking about you. It makes me happy. But you haven't apologized yet- and that makes me sad- I need to go throw up now."
DECEMBER 22, 2015 ~ 10:37 AM
"I'm still not sorry. And you're still not apologizing. One of these things has to go, Nico. And I'm always right."
DECEMBER 24, 2016 ~ 7:10 PM
"I miss your laugh. You have a really nice laugh, you know that? I could listen to it all day, get drunk on it. It's like- it's like a really nice red wine. Chardonnay, or something. Your laugh, I mean. But this isn't an apology. So delete this message unless you're apologizing."
DECEMBER 24, 2016 ~ 8:34 PM
"It's... hey, Annie, what time is it? What? Oh, never mind. I was going to recreate a Taylor Swift song, but you can pretend like I didn't. Call, because I didn't. Because, I have a resolve of steel, so you should apologize."
DECEMBER 24, 2016 ~ 9:52 PM
"Apologize. Or the force will be with you.
DECEMBER 25, 2016 ~ 11:30 AM
"Oops, wrong Star Wars reference. Sorry- not sorry. APOLOGIZE."
:::
It starts with him calling her back.
Her voicemail is nowhere near as full as his probably is, but there are a few messages.
The first is from Nico. "Hey, I got your messages." A pause, then his next words sound like he's grinning, or suppressing a laugh. "I, uh, don't know how much you had to drink when you left them, but, um, probably less than me. So... we should talk. I'll be back on the 25th; do you want to meet me... at our- I mean, at the canal?"
Another message from an unknown number. "Um, this is Piper. I'm not sure if you remember me? I'm Jason's girlfriend. He- well, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up for coffee sometime. You name the place; we'll be staying a while."
One from Annabeth. "Please don't tell me you're drunk. I think you got liver disease, you did so much drinking last week. Anyways, I just wanted you to know that Percy and I have set a date for the wedding. It's on the 25th of May. Please call me back when you get the chance. Thanks."
Another one from Nico. "I'm sorry. Please pick up your phone. I'll meet you there at eight. Unless... Unless you're busy then."
Thalia deletes all of the messages except Piper's. Then she goes in search of a gym.
:::
The burn in her muscles is familiar, uncomplicated. It's not heartache or loneliness or lust; it's from running and lifting and stretching, plain and simple. Thalia is on her third set of sit-ups when her phone rings. The other patrons give her dirty looks that she ignores.
Thalia goes into the locker room, and sits on a bench to answer the call. "Hello?"
"Thalia Grace?" Asks a cool, male voice. "I have an invitation I believe you can't pass up."
"Could I know who is extending this invitation?" Thalia is careful, but a reckless streak burns inside of her, threatening to get her into an even more terrible situation. (You were made to die)
"Oh, you'll know when the time comes. For now, though... Meet me at the Shangri-La Hotel at the lobby. Eight o'clock sharp, on January the fifth. I believe the Shangri-La is quite near you? " Whoever he is she can tell he means business.
But so does she. "And will I know who you are before then?"
"All in due time, Miss Grace." He's calculating.
"And are the odds in my favour if I decide not to honour your request?" Her life is a fine line, and really- does it matter if she dies?
"If you choose not to attend, I believe you or people close to you may find it difficult to attend anything at all afterwards." That was more straightforward than she thought it would be.
"Then I fear you leave me with little choice." Thalia is up for an easy game of chess with lives instead of pawns- this and not love is what she excels at.
"I have left you with no choice at all, you mean. Not to worry; I keep my word. " As he hangs up, she knows he keeps his word because he makes no promises at all.
:::
He shows up like he said he would, and she is still surprised and wishes she wasn't. (Wishes she was anyone but herself) but it is too late for that now.
"Hey," He says, and there are a thousand possible next words she could say but she picks all the wrong ones.
"Listen," She grasps his arms, clutching at his biceps, yearning to feel the bones of him, to grip hard enough to bruise. (after all you are selfish and you hurt people and you are lethal so never forget it) "I... There's something you should know."
"Okay-" (he is open and trusting and broken and one of these things does not sit right with the others and despite that (because of it) you don't deserve him) "What is it?"
"It's-" Thalia swallows hard, lets herself stall a tiny bit more (this much don't I deserve this much?) "It's the truth. But maybe you should sit down or have a drink before I tell you."
"No. No anesthesia. Just say it-" (promise me you won't break -please fall to pieces so I can put you back together- which pain is worse his or yours"? ) "-whatever it is, I'll- I can take it."
(But will you take me can you take me?) "It's about my job. " (he might not need anesthesia but she does- haven't you drunk enough?)"I ... Work for my father."
"And is he in the... Waste management business?" He raises an eyebrow; his smirk is flirtatious and deadly. (He could be just like you if you wanted him to be.)
"You mean does he have criminal activity going on in the sidelines that I'm involved in?" She's torn her heart out and wants him to (want to) take it, keep it (nothing that hasn't already happened.)
"Yes." He nods and she can't read her gaze from his- not in a deer-in-headlights, or bug-under-microscope sort of way, but because she needs (air-food-water need) to know if he'll stay with her, if he (can) love(s) her, because if he doesn't - if he runs over her heart with an electric lawnmower- the she doesn't know how - doesn't think that- then this would be worse than Luke.
Worse than him (maybe-almost-twisted-ly) loving her and leaving for no reason and coming back and uprooting her life and digging up her past like dandelions and acting suspicious and oh God if he doesn't say something she'll self-destruct. Thalia hates herself for letting herself to this point, to get this attached that it hurts behind a sharp pain (to the point of a dull, ubiquitous ache) to rip him out, rip her out. (Of her life, her heart.)
"I still want you. Not like I haven't done worse. " He holds her, and all her thoughts were empty before this and he fills them all with him.
"I'm not a good person." She tells him, just so he knows for sure. Thalia starts playing with the hair at the back of his neck.
"Neither am I. I guess we'll have to be not good people together, because you're stuck with me." His eyes are galaxies to explore, oceans to fall into, worlds to escape into (or from.)
Maybe she's just physically attracted to him, a warm body, and that's why it hurts so much, why she needs him to stick around. They haven't had sex- yet, she never did it with Luke but they came close- but she'd like to. She'd like for him to be (shocking, she knows) her first.
It's just that even with all the killing people and learning how to kill people crap, she never had time. And when she did have the time... She wanted, in some perverse way, to have at least the thought of being innocent, (one way or another pick your poison) to comfort her.
"Merry Christmas, Thalia." He murmurs, tilting her chin up with the slightest of touches, like a butterfly kiss it's a testament to how much he affects her, that the barest memory of a touch can make her burn.
All around them snow is falling now, and she leans in, rests her head on his chest, and wishes him, "Merry Christmas."
(he tastes like snowflakes and whiskey and regret, but that might just be her.)
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