It was hours later when Annabeth finally heard the sound she had been dreading. Somewhere below, the roaring of an engine and the crunch of gravel indicated the arrival of her dad and his family. The slamming of doors, the shouts of her brothers, the sharp voice of her stepmother, they all made Annabeth want to crawl under her covers and shut her eyes, praying it would all be alright when she got out- that made her sound a lot like a child, fearing the monsters that dwelt in the darkness underneath the bed. But wasn't that really what she was, a child fearing the monsters in the dark?
The sound of feet running up the stairs shook her out her reverie and she snatched up her laptop, hoping to at least provide the facade that she was studying. Her dad might go easier on her that way, if his demigod daughter was for once taking a real interest in her schooling, rather than winging it on her child of Athena intelligence. Not that that had ever failed her.
On the other side of her door, Annabeth could hear heavy footfalls, getting louder the nearer that they got. A voice swore under their breath, too quietly for her to properly hear what they were saying, but enough for her to get the general gist. Phrases she caught among heavy breaths included If she's not in... and a mildly threatening Can get out of my house. That didn't worry her though. There was no way in Hades that her father would kick her out- she was well aware of the guilt and worry that it would cause him. Still, it was a good thing she hadn't gone back to Percy's this evening.
All of a sudden, the door burst open, flung open with such force that a nail popped out of the hinges. It rolled across the carpeted floor and disappeared beneath her bed. She made a mental note to retrieve it later and fix her door. Now, however, there were there were more pressing problems at hand. Framed in the doorway were her dad, his wife and her two brothers. Whilst the two boys just stood behind their parents with shining eyes, both of the adults stared at her, their faces contorted with anger. In the second before they began their admonition, Annabeth marvelled at something. The anger displayed on her father was very different from the one on her stepmother. Whilst Frederick Chase's eyes shone with very real fury, what with his knitted brows and pursed lips, another emotion poked through. Somewhere on his face, relief could be seen. It glinted besides the anger, weaker and less prominent than the aggravation, but there all the same. He really had been worried about her.
The woman besides him, however, wore a very different expression. Sure, there was irritation there, as real as it was on her dad, but it was toned down. Most of it seemed fake, a mask to cover true emotions. In her eyes, rather than anger, contempt was far more obvious. In the little twist of a sneer on her lips, in the slight cocking of her head, in the folding of her arms, the emotion that radiated as strongly as the anger was a vengeful sort of malice.
All that registered in a second. Before Annabeth could get a word out to defend herself, her stepmother had begun her verbal assault. "Annabeth Chase, do youhave any idea how much worry you caused us yesterday?" She gestured to Frederick then took a step forwards. "Do you have any idea how much worry you caused your dad?" Annabeth was tempted to say that she honestly had no clue, and had a bit of trouble believing, that her dad would be that worried as to her whereabouts. She was also tempted to say that she wasn't sure she had caused what her stepmother had referred to as 'us' any worry. Certainly this woman had not troubled herself, with the exception of a few too many texts. 'This woman' kept advancing. "Did you not think that one little message would cost you that much? Would it trouble you so much just to put our minds at rest" Her stepmother was now so close, her nose just inches from Annabeth's. "So where were you last night? What were you doing so important that one text message was such an implausible concept?" She was definitely too close now. Annabeth resisted the urge to scoot back against her wall. She kept her eyes lowered as she answered.
"Does it matter where I was? I told you, I was out," Annabeth whispered. Her stepmother waved her arms, almost slapping her stepdaughter.
"Oh right!" She exclaimed. "You were out! How that does clear it up for me." Still at the doorway, Frederick uttered a sound of warning, almost reprimanding his wife. His face said that he, too, wanted to say something to Annabeth, but maybe away from her stepmom. Behind him, one of her brothers sniggered.
"Bet she was with Percy."
Her dad's wife poked her in the chest. Annabeth flinched, leaning away involuntarily from the looming face before her. Then, voice quiet and deadly, dark eyes piercing, her stepmother loosed a little oh. A harmless sound normally, but uttered with such a pierce, with such serpentine venom that it seemed to cut right through Annabeth skin and resonate through her bones, a never ending oh, filling her up, sinking right into her heart. "Is that where you were? Who, young lady, gave you permission to be at Percy's?"
Annabeth wasn't afraid of her stepmother. She never had been, and never would be. But something about the intensity of her gaze began to quell Annabeth's confidence, diminish it. The sneer on this woman's lips, the words that issued from her mouth, they were almost enough to convince the daughter of Athena that she had been wrong all along, that her stepmother was right. Almost. Annabeth still had the self-respect, the dignity, to confront this woman.
"Does it matter where I was?" Annabeth asked. "It's not like you actually care!" Her stepmother pursed her lips, anger flashing in her eyes. Annabeth spread her arms. "Did any of you care? Did I not do you a favour by leaving? One night where I wasn't screaming in the next room, where we all, me included slept alright?" Annabeth's voice was cracking, her throat constricted, but she willed her voice to stay even, calm . "Why don't you thank me instead, for taking my nightmares elsewhere?" Her stepmother snorted.
"Nightmares? Is that what they really are? Because nothing about that stupid camp you go to ever struck me as nightmarish!" Frederick's eyes widened. He coughed pointedly, his eyes baring into his wife's back, as if he could make her shut up with one look. Perhaps he did have his priorities right sometimes. But an alarmed look from her dad couldn't stamp out the rage starting to burn in Annabeth's heart. The fire in her, previously so well contained, was growing, spreading. The heat of anger was about to consume her, and red clouded her vision. She shot up so fast, was on her feet so fast, that her stepmother couldn't move back in time, and received a nasty bump on the chin, where Annabeth's head had collided with it.
"Annabeth," Her dad's voice echoed from the back of the room, also brimming with anger. With a shock, however, she realised that the rage wasn't all directed at his daughter. "We understand about the nightmares." Was it her imagination, or did he stress the 'we?' Instead, she grabbed up a pencil and clenched it tight, as if she could tunnel all her anger into it. Or maybe she did it because it felt like holding a knife- it made her feel stronger. Either way it didn't work. Throwing down the writing utensil, she whirled on the room.
"No." She seethed. "You understand nothing." As she said it, she cringed, even despite the fury, the hatred that clouded her mind, blocked out all the Athena, all rationality. You don't understand were the words of an angsty teenager, an ignorant child child who believed that the whole world was against them. Well Annabeth had truly felt the wrath of this world, the sorrow and bitterness that it could bring down on a mortal. It had nothing to with the problems of the teenage years. It had to do with the loss of loved ones, with horror, with pain, with torment. It wasn't with a kid's voice that spoke the words she hurled at her dad and his family. It was the words of someone who had experienced far too much for a lifetime, let alone in the seventeen years that she had lived.
Through the whirlwind of emotions, she heard her dad's quiet voice, a whisper in the turmoil of her thoughts and feelings. "Help us to," It told her. "Let us in," it pleaded of her. "Let us help you." Vaguely, Annabeth realised that she wasn't sure when this argument had changed from a reprimand to an extended hand, an offer to help. Whatever this fight had become, in her heart, she still knew that there nothing the family could do with regards to her and her experiences. But she also, for some reason, wanted to tell them, wanted see the shock on their faces, the understanding that would dawn on them.
"Sure," she choked out instead. "I'll let you in." She could feel her hands shaking, her legs wobbling, her lips curled in a snarl. Hades, she could feel her eyes blazing. "I'll tell you all about my trek through hell, shall I? My trek through Tartarus. Maybe then you'll get the nightmares won't you? Maybe then you'll get the panic attacks. You'll care for once. Gods of Olympus, you might even try to help me, you might try to understand. But you will never, ever will." Her shaking legs gave out under her. She landed on the floor with a thump, but the pain didn't register. Her cheeks were soaked with salty tears. Somewhere in the back of her clouded mind, she remembered her latest dream, the blood that fell from her eyes. The regular dampness felt cleansing, a release. She tried to pull herself up, but she couldn't. She tried tell them the story of Tartarus, but she couldn't. She tried to halt the flow of tears, but she couldn't. She just sat helpless on the floor, tears cascading from the storm clouds of her eyes as the family surveyed her in shock. As she relieved her worst memories, there on the bedroom floor, no hand came and grasped hers. No one uttered kind words, or put their arms around her. All they did was stare in painful awe as a broken girl shattered and attempted to heal herself right before their eyes.
