Hey guys! I'm back with a new chapter for you amazing people!

Before you read, I would just like to take a moment to thank all of you amazing people. I have 67 followers! Already! And 41 favorites! That's just...wow. Thank you SO much! And keep reviewing! If every person who folloed this story reviewed, I'd already have 100 reviews!

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO. I'm just toying around with it for a bit.

Chapter Five

Annabeth's POV

Now I'll go sit on the floor, wearing your clothes. All that I know is I don't know how to be something you miss. I never thought we'd have a last kiss.

-Last Kiss, Taylor Swift

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Blinding white snow consumes the landscape. I twirl around, my eyes searching for him through the furiously falling snowflakes. The ball of snow bites into my hand.

I wish I brought gloves, I think bitterly. I should've known he would want to have a snowball fight on the way home.

I look around at all of the falling white specks and remember the wondrous feeling that grew inside of me and every other student when we first saw the falling crystals outside during school. We live in San Francisco and rarely ever get snow. When it does snow, everyone seems to turn into a little kid, running around, screaming and laughing. Just like my boyfriend.

I feel something wet, cold, and icy hit my back. I gasp and whirl around, throwing my snowball at the person who hit me. It whizzes right past him.

"Missed me!" he calls out in a taunting voice.

I roll my eyes, muttering, "What a loser."

He comes running towards me. I bend down and scoop up some snow, packing it together to form a ball. I stand up and hurl it at my boyfriend. It hits him right in the torso. He mimicks being shot and falls down dramatically.

I decide to play along. "Oh no!" I call out. "What have I done?" I run to his side and grasp his hand. "Stay with me. Stay with me."

He gazes at me. "Are you there, Annabeth? Everything is all fuzzy."

"I'm here," I reassure him, fighting to suppress a smile.

"Good." He perks up and looks at me, his face serious. "Because I want to tell you something."

I brush back his golden hair as I say, "Yes?"

He grins at me. "I love you."

I laugh. He acts like this is the first time he told me he loves me. It's not. It must be at least the fiftieth. But I answer back anyways, "I love you too."

"I would love you even more if you helped me up."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, Old Man."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

The smallest things bring back the biggest memories. Like that dodgeball game in the gym. Even though it seemed like a small thing, it sent a torrent of memories down on me, pushing against me like rushing water in rapidly moving river. It made me want to break down and cry for everything that I've lost.

But I held in my emotions. I still do, even now, walking home. I distract myself with admiring the scenery around me. The warm sun melts away the cold snow from the memory. The running, laughing children steal away the snowballs. The chirping birds carry away the memory fully.

I sigh. Will I ever get over him? Right now, it doesn't seem like it. Everything reminds me of him.

I wonder if every girl goes through this. You hear about heartbreak all the time. At my old school, it seemed like there was a new break-up story everyday. I can't be the only one hurting like this.

But it sure does feel like it. Everywhere I turn, there's a smiling person. I know that most of them are just covering up pain, but seeing so many smiles makes me hurt even more.

Why do we try to cover up what we feel? Why is it that we act like everything's fine, when, in reality, our whole life is falling down around us? Soon, we'll get hit with a falling remainder of our life and we won't be able to hide anymore.

I have a feeling that it might happen to me soon.

My phone vibrates in my coat pocket, pulling me out of my thoughts. I pull it out to see who it is. On the screen, is a picture of my old best friend, winking and giving a thumbs-up at the camera. Up abover the photo is a name: Calypso.

Calypso hasn't called me in seven months. I haven't spoken to her in eight. After the Incident, I never spoke to any of my old friends. They all seemed to be in on the situation and not one of them had bothered to tell me.

I press decline. I will not speak to her. I don't know if I'd be able to. I might burst into tears at the sound of her voice. I might start screaming at her. I snort at the image. That'd be a great first impression on New York.

I put my phone back on my pocket and take a deep breath. I'm thinking about the whole situation too much. I need to forget about it and move on. That's what I came here to do anyway. Move on.

I'm so lost in my thoughts, that I almost pass by my mom's apartment building. I walk inside and enter the elevator, ready to relax with my mom.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

I haven't seen my mom since I was seven, when she surprised my dad and I in California. We spent the weekend shopping, hanging out at the beach, and basically just spending quality time together. Ever since then, we've called, skyped, and texted. I tell her everything and she tells me everything. My mom was the first person I told about him and what he did to me. We sat and sobbed over my laptop.

When I moved here, it was like coming home. I felt like I belonged. Growing up with my dad and his family, I always felt like the outsider. I'm too much like my mother to really belong there. So coming to New York, and living with the one person who has understood me all these years makes me feel so relieved and happy.

"Hey, Mom," I call as I walk into our little apartment. "I'm home."

The apartment is so much different that my house back in California. At my dad's, stuff is everywhere: Legos, books, action figures, clothes. My little stepbrothers, Bobby and Matthew, are so sweet and cute, but so messy. They were the main cause of the mess.

Here, in New York, the apartment still is messy, just in a different way. Instead of toys, papers and books litter the floor. My mother is a college professor and she always has papers with notes spread out around the apartment. And my things are out too. My books are mixed in with hers. Blueprints are laid out on the coffee table. It's amazing how messy two brainiacs can make an apartment over one weekend.

"Hello, Annabeth," my mom says. She's sitting on the couch with a notebook and a laptop. Her long, dark hair is up in a messy bun, and she's wearing her usual attire for when she's home: sweats, Uggs, and a two-sizes-too-big sweatshirt. "How was school?"

I shrug. "Okay."

"Did you make any new friends?" she asks. her eyebrows furrowed together in worry.

I sit down on the couch next to her. "A few. They all seem really nice."

"Who are they?"

I glance at her. There's something about her tone of voice. It's cautious, like she's making sure that it's not someone in particular. "Um," I say, "Silena Beauregard, Rachel Dare, Reyna, Leo Valdez..." I rattle off the names of the people sitting at the lunch table today. I don't mention Percy. I don't know why.

My mom relaxes a bit. "That's nice." She goes back to her work. I watch her for a few seconds, waiting to see if there's anything else she wants to talk about. It doesn't seem like there is, so I get up and head to the kitchen. I scan the fridge, searching for something to eat. I pull out a carton of chocolate ice cream and a spoon and sit down at the island, eating the ice cream straight out of the carton.

I look around the apartment as I eat. It's small-probably meant for one or two people. The front door opens up into a small family room with a couch, coffee table, and TV. To the left of the family room is a hallway leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom. To the right of the family room, is a bar that faces the kitchen. And to the left of the kitchen, by the window, is a small table for when we have guests over. It's small, but cozy, and I like it. I consider it more of a home than my house back in California.

I remember back to when my parents split up. I was only two, but I have an exceptional memory. I remember hearing them fighting and not knowing why. I remember waking up one day and my mom being gone.

Suddenly, I realize something.

"Mom," I venture carefully, "was it hard on you when you and Dad split up? Was it hard getting over him?"

My mom stops writing. She pauses, then looks up at me, her grey eyes looking curiously into mine. "What's wrong, Annabeth?" she asks.

I don't answer. "I asked you a question," I say instead.

My mom chuckles, then comes into the kitchen and sits down on the other side of the island. She clasps her hands together and stares down at them as she answers, "Yes."

"How did you deal with it?" I ask.

She laughs, but it's a sad, painful laugh. "I didn't," she says. "I cried night after night. Your father was my one and only love. And to even imagine not having him ever again-well, it hurt." She glances at me. "Is this about-"

"Don't say his name," I interrupt, glaring bitterly down at my ice cream. "But, yes. This is about him."

My mom looks sadly at me. "Annabeth, I know exactly how you're feeling. It hurts to be betrayed by the one person why you trusted most. But I have news for you: it goes away. It may seem like an eternity before it does, but I promise you that it will. Soon, someone else will come along and fall irrevocably in love with you. And you know what?" She smiles at me, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"What?" I ask.

She lowers her voice. "You'll break his heart this time."

"Great," I say sarcastically. "Can't wait."

My mom laughs. "Just wait and see, Annabeth. You'll get over him."

I seems childish, but I say, "Promise?"

"I promise. I love you, Annabeth."

"I love you too, Mom."

"I'd love you even more if you did your homework."

I grin. "Of course."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Bzzz.

I groan and roll over, ignoring the vibrating noise.

Bzzz.

I blink my eyes open. I look around at my surroundings: a queen-sized bed, an open calculus book, a stack of other books. I rub my eyes. I must've fallen asleep while doing homework.

My phone buzzes again. I pick it up and look at the caller ID. My stomach flips as I see a picture of a beautiful, winking girl. Again, my old best friend is trying to call me.

Why is she suddenly calling me? I thought I had made it pretty clear that I didn't want to talk to her a while ago. Why, all of a sudden, does she want to be best friends again?

I press decline angrily. Why is it that when I try to move on, the world decides to remind me that I need to be reminded every second of every day what happpened?

"Annabeth?" my mom asks as she pokes her head through the doorway. "I'm getting take-out for din-" She sees me glaring at my phone and asks, "Is everything alright?"

I nod quickly. "Yeah. I'm fine."

I'm fine. Probably one of the biggest lies in the world.

My mom looks at me for a few moments, worry written all over her face. She knows that there's something wrong. She knows that I'm lying. She's an expert at reading people. But I'm also and expert, and I know that all she wants is for me to trust her and tell her what's wrong.

Finally, she smiles. "Okay. I'm getting take-out for dinner. What would you like?"

"A pepperoni pizza from that parlor downtown," I answer immediately.

My mom playfully groans. "Does it have to be that one?" Then she grins. "Be back soon." Then she walks out.

I wait until I hear her close the door. I made her go to that place on purpose. I need time to myself right now.

I shut my math book, putting it off to the side. Then I crawl off my bed and start digging around underneath it, coming out with a suitcase that I have yet to unpack.

It opens with a zip and I start going through its contents. It holds all of the things that remind me of him, Calypso, and all of my other friends back in San Francisco. On top is a blouse that matches Calypso's. We both got it while at the mall on her birthday. Next to that is a pair of jeans that we both wore. I smile, remembering how we got it. There was only one pair left in our size, and we both wanted it. So we decided to split the cost and share the jeans. Every week, we would switch off. Even after we grew out of them, we still kept switching.

Under that is a charm bracelet that he got me for my sixteenth birthday. I take a deep breath and toss the bracelet aside. I don't want to think about that memory right now.

Next, is a pack of pictures. I flip through them. There's a picture of me and Calypso, making silly faces at the camera. Next, there's a photo of my friend Gwen and I standing together in our soccer uniforms, drenched in sweat. There's another one of my group of friends, all dressed up for homecoming. Lastly, there's one of him and I, our noses and foreheads touching, our eyes locked. I quickly put that one away and look at the last item in the suitcase.

It's an orange hoodie.

I stifle a sob. My lips pressed together, I take it out of the suitcase and slowly put it on.

This is his hoodie. I stole it from him the first night he told me he loved me. I don't know why I kept it. It's just another one of those things I keep, in hope that he'll come back and everything will go back to the way it was, even though I know it won't. Some things just can't be fixed.

Finally, I lose it. I curl up in a ball in the middle of my bedroom and begin to sob loud, gut-wrenching sobs that the people downstairs can probably hear. Wrapped up in something that was his makes me lose all self-control that I had left.

I feel empty, yet I feel full. Everything that I loved was taken from me. I don't know how someone who seemed so sweet, so caring, can do something as horrible as he did to me, and walk away, knowing the effect it had on me and not caring one bit. It tears my heart apart. I'm left with nothing.

I let out another heart-twisting sob.

But I'm still so full. I'm full of hurt, anger, and remorse. How could he do this to me? How could my closest friends do this to me? I pretend that every tear that falls is a close friend from back home, a friend who knew what was happening and did nothing. I swipe at the tears angrily, imagining that I'm swiping them out of my life. But just as the tears keep coming back, my friends keep coming back to my mind.

Another sob escapes my mouth.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to love again. I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust again. I've seen countless movies and read countless books about a girl who's been hurt and she doesn't think that she'll be able to love again, but in the end, she does. I always stereotyped those movies and books as stories for the dreamers of the world. But now, being hurt and betrayed, I finally understand those stories. I finally understand why they sit and feel sorry for themselves, why they don't trust. It does hurt. But this is reality, and I don't believe that someone else is going to come along and steal my heart. When you put your trust in someone and you love them as much as I did, you can't fully recover.

Again, I let out another sob.

It's all his fault. If he hadn't done what he did, I wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't be hurt beyond repair. I wouldn't be trying to start all over in an unfamiliar place. I wouldn't be left with nothing but painful memories circling my brain everyday.

So until my mom gets back, I let myself cry. I let myself sob over everything that I've lost, everything that was taken from me. My lifestyle, my way of living was stolen from me. Now I have to start all over in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. And it's all his fault.

So what'd you think? I'm sorry it's not very long. I just felt like it should end right there.

So how'd you like Annabeth playing the blame game at the end right there? I've never had a boyfriend, so I have no idea what it feels like after a break-up, so this is just how I imagine it. So sorry if it's not accurate. I just know that if it were me who'd endured what Annabeth has, I'd be blaming it on the guy too. *grins evilly*

I'm thinking of posting a new Percy Jackson story. I got the idea while listening to "Storm Warning" by Hunter Hayes. It'd be AU again. I was going to use the idea for an original story, but I felt like it would be better if it was Percabeth, not a random couple that I made up. So if I do end up posting it, please review it!

Speaking of reviewing, REVIEW! Pretty please, with Percy and Leo on top? Keep in mind, that if you're following this story and you don't review, you'd be missing out on the chance to encourage one of the greatest future writer in the universe.

Haha. I'm so dramatic.

"The Lord is my light and salvation-whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life-of whom shall I be afraid? For in the day of trouble He will keep me safe in His dwelling; He will hide me in the shelter of His tabernacle and set me high upon a rock." Psalm 27:1,5

P.S. I love those verses! So comforting! You guys should write them down or something!