Whenever someone asked why he didn't drink, he lied. said that it made him nauseous - which, in all honesty, wasn't a lie. But then he would lie and say some bullshit about how wine and scotch and the oh so disgusting beer was bad for you (which, again, wasn't a lie. But everything else was, in his life).
But he never, ever told the truth because then it's the pity and the anger and the why didn't you do something, you coward that sent him spiraling into a pit of darkness.
Thalia, she knew. After hours of them each screaming at each other while Annabeth and Piper and Jason and Leo all partied in the club that stuck of bear and stale vomit.
Annabeth, yeah, she knew too. Kind of hard to hide something like that when your sobbing on the floor of your bathroom, wishing for it all to end.
Why? He wants to ask. Why do people do that to children? Rape them, rape them when they don't even know what it means and abuse them while they think that it's normal to be hit every time you get an F - even though you tried so, so hard because as long as you do the right thing, say the right thing, you won't wake up in a pool of your own blood.
Every time, every single fucking time Percy remembers the gods awful things Gabe Uglino did to him and how, at that moment, other children are in the same situation, he wants to scream at the gods for not helping, just sitting there on their fragile egos.
Because how dare they? They ignore, neglect their children, leave them in toxic households, then ask for them to do their bidding. To be at their beck and call. To fight fucking wars for them.
They just sit there, staring down on the stupid mortals who are their sole reason for still existing in this world. Watching their children die, their world crumble, and they do nothing.
It's not fair, It's not fair, It's not fair, It's not fair, IT'S NOT FAIR!
And it never will be, A voice prods Percy from the back of his mind. Nothing will ever change.
When the days are the worst - those times when he can hardly get out of bed - and he has to fake a smile, and he has to say I'm fine, or Yeah, I'm good because what is he gonna say if he says what's wrong with this world, what happened in his childhood, what bothering him. He could, of course, tell the truth.
But then he'd have to deal with the pity, and the doubt (Is he strong enough? Is he okay?).
The two people who he could talk to, who he trusts, who would understand because their parents were like that (Percy wants to beat their parents up on the spot, for what they did to them) he can't talk to because then he'd worry them, weigh Annabeth and Thalia down as they figure out what to do with a useless clump of meat that's him.
It makes him laugh, bitterly, whenever he remembers that the gods are out there. You can blame them for hurting you, for stringing up your fate, and they wouldn't even notice, too self absorbed in whatever mortal their trying to seduce.
Annabeth's Irish Messaging him now - making Percy pause in the jumbled mess that is his writing - she's on her way home from the store. He looks up, faking a smile and blinking quickly when she isn't looking to stop the tears from dropping down his cheeks.
He fails, though, and a single lone, hot tear leaks down his face.
When she notices, asking if he's okay without a shred of disinterest in her voice - she does care, she does. Percy doesn't notice, too depressed and self-hating to even check if she is concerned, guessing that she doesn't as he responds with an overly cheerful response.
It's okay. I'm fine.
I'm not dying on the inside.