chapter twenty-two: violence remembers
It's January. Percy's on a late shift at The Winehouse, wiping down the counter with a damp cloth. He's got his cast off, but he doesn't think his wrist has healed quite right. It twinges at the joint when he uses it, an echo of how hard he pushed it in the weeks when he should've rested. There was no way around it, though; Percy had to make up the money he lost in the first week he couldn't work, and the pain of his wrist wasn't going to stop him doing that.
When it happened, he lay on the floor of the kitchen for what felt like hours after Gabe left for his shift. The pain was worse than any Gabe had dealt him before, and it took a monumental effort to struggle to his feet, wrist held limply against his chest, and cycle to Annabeth's house.
He thinks that was the most terrifying day of his life. Having to lie to the doctors and nurses about how he sustained the injury, even to Annabeth for the thousandth time. He remembers avoiding all eye contact when she took him aside and offered him that bright yellow leaflet with Are you experiencing domestic violence? printed in horrifyingly bold font on the front. Having to lie again, tell the nurse that she had nothing to worry about. He threw the leaflet away as soon as he got the chance, of course—the thought of Gabe finding it was stupefying. Percy couldn't risk it.
As he finished wiping down the counter, there's a chime as the door of the diner is pushed open. He glances up to see Piper and Annabeth walk through it. They're laughing, and Annabeth breaks into a smile when she spots Percy behind the counter. "Hi," she greets him. A textbook's tucked under her arm, and Percy assumes they came here to study.
"Hey, guys. What's up?" he asks.
Piper leans on the counter. "How's your shift going?"
"Alright." He checks the clock on the wall. "I've got about an hour left."
"Can you make us two of those special strawberry and chocolate milkshakes you do?" Piper asks, grinning.
"Pipes, you know that's not actually on the menu. I made it for you once—"
Giving him puppy-dog eyes, she clasps her hands together. "Please?"
He sighs. "Fine. But you better tip me."
She pouts. "When don't I tip you?"
Crossing his arms, he fires back, "Like all the damn time."
"Don't worry, I'll remind her," Annabeth cuts in, stifling a laugh. "We'll be studying at that table over there. You should come join us after your shift. We've got that Latin test tomorrow, remember?"
"God, I forgot about that," he groans. "I left my notes in school."
"It's okay, you can use mine," she assures him.
Across the diner, Tallulah yells, "Jackson, you better not be wasting time by chatting to your friends again."
"I'm not, don't worry!" he calls back.
"We'll stop distracting you," Annabeth apologises with a smile. Piper's already dragging her over to their usual table. He gives her a wave, smiling as he turns around to the sink and washes out his cloth. While he cleans the dirty glasses stacked on the counter, he watches Annabeth and Piper over his shoulder. Annabeth's talking animatedly, pen in her hand. Though she's clearly trying not to show it, it's obvious how tired she's been recently—to Percy, anyway. The half-moons under her eyes are darker and more prominent than usual, and there's a taut sort of tension in the set of her shoulders that he often notices in Annabeth when she hasn't gotten enough sleep.
Percy knows he's the only person who knows how bad Annabeth's anxiety got at the tail-end of last year. It seems to have improved recently, which Percy suspects is due to her meds. He's glad that something's working for her, but he also hates the way her hands shake and her demeanour changes when she's not on them. And, God, he can always tell when she isn't. Maybe it isn't normal to notice so much about your best friend, but Percy's known her for so long that it's difficult not to.
She seems distant, recently. More closed-off. Not in the physical sense; she hangs out with him as much as she always has. Even more, probably. But Percy suspects she might be retreating into herself again, shutting herself off. It's terrifyingly reminiscent of the way Helen looks sometimes. But hell if Percy's going to let that happen to Annabeth. She has him, and that has to be enough.
He fills the sink with soapy water and settles into washing the glasses with a steady, mechanical efficiency. It's how he always works, the only way he knows how to work. His motivation behind it is the same overriding force behind all his decisions: earn money for his savings, which adds fuel to the fire of his constant, burning desire to get the hell out of the trailer. Out of Virginia. To Neverland, he remembers Annabeth saying a long time ago, when they were just kids. That was a formative memory. Now, the hope of living on his own seems just as unattainable in comparison with that far away, blazing fairy-tale world.
Not entirely unattainable, though. Not entirely. He finishes with the glasses and switches places at the till with Maria, who's taking her break. As he takes orders and prints receipts, it's an effort to stop his gaze from wandering over to Annabeth again.
On the weekends, Percy usually hangs out with Leo and Jason at the skate park. They've been trying to teach Jason to skate, but the combination of Percy and Leo's subpar teaching skills and Jason's natural incoordination makes him even more of a hopeless case than Annabeth. Still, relentlessly forcing Jason to practice seems to be working. "Whoa," Jason shouts, trying to keep balance as he edges his board over the ramp.
When he makes it to the bottom without injury and with both his feet on the board, Percy whoops. "Yeah, you did it!" Skating up the side of the ramp, Percy gains momentum and flips his board, landing with ease halfway down the incline.
"Show-off," Jason grumbles.
A few paces away, Leo's fiddling with his speaker. It croaks out static for a moment before connecting to his phone. Victorious, Leo leaves it propped up against the ramp and grabs his skateboard. Singing along to the lyrics, he pushes off and skates in a circle around Percy and Jason. "Wanna try again?" he calls to Jason.
Jason sighs, pushing his damp, slightly sweat-soaked bangs away from his face with the back of his wrist. "Yeah. In a while, though. I need a break."
They sit up on the top of one of the ramps, legs dangling off the side. "Wanna go to the movies later?" Leo asks, swinging his legs in time with the music. "Now Piper's got a job at the cinema, she might give us our tickets for free. Or at least with a fucking—staff discount, or something."
"Yeah, sure," Jason answers. "But I'm not sharing popcorn with you again, man. Remember last time? You flipped out at a jump scare and threw popcorn all over the row in front of us."
Leo grins, unembarrassed. "That was a horror movie, okay? I don't do well with those."
Percy cocks a brow. "You wouldn't stop screaming when we watched Point Break."
Glaring at him, Leo protests, "Because it was scary! Keanu Reeves literally jumped out of a plane."
Jason snorts. "Bet you would've cried if he died."
"Well, at least I own my feelings," Leo decides. "Masculinity's toxic, you know." While the two of them continue to argue, Percy's attention is diverted across the park. He can see three figures walking along the grass. To his surprise, he realises it's Ethan, Luke, and Annabeth. Annabeth's talking to Luke, hands in the pockets of her hoodie. He wishes he could tell what they're saying.
Luke's in Annabeth's homeroom, and it's been weird to watch them become friends. Percy doesn't know much about Luke other than what other people have told him from his preceding reputation for using substances. But if he's honest, that isn't much of an irregularity at Mileview anyway. Most of the kids in his year are pretty rich; both being able to afford shit and being friends with dealers can be tempting.
But Annabeth isn't like that. And it's not like Percy gets to dictate who she's friends with, anyway—not that he'd even want to. And he's glad that she's got people to take her mind off her anxiety, to help keep her sane. If being friends with Luke is helping her cope, then Percy's happy she found him.
Jason and Leo's conversation draws to a halt; it seems they've noticed Annabeth, too. "It's so strange to see her hanging out with him," Leo muses. "They're, like, such different people."
"Are they, though?" Jason wonders. "Besides, people do stupid shit when they're grieving."
Percy's turns towards Jason, jolting. "What? You think she's—"
"Doing drugs with them?" Jason snorts. "Please. Thalia became friends with his group after Mom died, and within a month she'd tried all sorts of shit. If she knew Annabeth was hanging out with him, I doubt she'd be pleased." He pauses. "'Course, maybe Luke's different now. That was a while ago, after all."
"Oh," Percy murmurs. His eyes snag on Annabeth again. Hands in the pockets of her cornflower blue hoodie, she laughs at something Ethan says. She doesn't seem any different. Or at least, he doesn't see her in any kind of new light. He's aware that most people in his year who use drugs know how to be careful and take them seriously.
Still. It scares him. He sighs heavily, letting his chin thump onto the railing in front of him. Beside him, Jason and Leo share a look. "Of course you'd be the one to overthink this," Leo snickers. Jason kicks him, holding his finger to his lips.
Percy narrows his eyes at them. "What do you mean by that?"
Jason leans back against the railing, fiddling with his undone shoelace. "It's not important."
Irritated, Percy decides to push. "I wanna know. Spit it out."
Leo glances at Jason, then sighs. "I just meant…" He trails off. "Well, you and Annabeth."
"What about me and her?"
"You're different around her. All—happy, or some shit."
It clicks. Percy rears back, incredulous. "You're saying I like her?" He scoffs in dismissal. "You're crazy. We've been friends for so long. Anything like that would be fucking weird."
Leo raises his palms in surrender. "Whatever you say. But we wouldn't have noticed it if there was nothing there."
Anger lances through Percy. He bites it back, folding his arms. "Well, there is nothing there." For a few long, dragging seconds, the three of them are silent as they ruminate on Percy's words. Percy glances back over at where Annabeth's sitting, legs crossed as she talks. Her hair's been swept up into a high ponytail, and it's longer than it's been in a while. Tearing his gaze away, he closes his eyes for a second. Annabeth's his best friend, and there the line is drawn. That's how it's always been.
Softly, Jason speaks up. "Percy?"
"What?" he asks, a vicious tone in his voice. He swallows it back, hating that the urge to protect himself surges up through his throat like bile.
Jason doesn't start, only inclines his head in an it's okay kind of gesture. "You know you could tell us, right? If you did like her?"
Percy picks at his fraying cuticle, unable to look at either of them. "Quit being stupid," he mutters, grabbing his board as he stands. "Let's just skate."
That night, Percy's late home from his shift. He doesn't mean to be, but the tyre on his bike goes flat on the way back so he ends up having to wheel it the rest of the way. The dark skies are drizzling with rain, and mud sprays up onto his trouser cuffs as he runs through the trailer park's gate. As he goes through the motions of locking up his bike and fitting his key into the lock, he braces himself. The lights are on inside the trailer; Gabe's still awake, despite Percy's hope that he might've already passed out.
Percy opens the door slowly and tentatively, wondering if he can make it into his room quietly. His stepdad's standing in the kitchen, back turned as he shouts into his phone. "I don't give a shit if you're not available to supervise in my place tomorrow night! I've got a poker tournament. You want me to lose money so I can look after a bunch of teenagers stacking shelves?" He pauses to listen, his anger stark as day in the rippling clench of his fist. "Get someone else to cover, then. Don't you dare hang up on me. Don't you dare—" Letting out a guttural sound of frustration, he slams his phone down onto the counter. He spins around, and his eyes lock onto Percy. "You! What the hell are you doing back so late?"
Percy freezes, a deer in the headlights. He opens his mouth and closes it again, struggling to form a response. "My bike wheel went flat," he stutters.
Gabe scoffs, striding forward and jabbing a finger into Percy's chest. He's clearly pissed off, in a rotten mood from his work call and on the hunt for somewhere to direct his anger. "And that's why you're…" He glances up at the battered clock hanging above their fridge, scowling. "Two hours late, huh? You told me your shift ended at nine. Have you been picking up more behind my back?"
Percy feels the blood drain from his face. "No, of course not. I just worked a little overtime."
"Don't lie to me!"
"I'm not—" Without warning, he shoves Percy into the door. The wind's blown out of his lungs. "I'm not," he repeats, voice rasping.
"You think you can talk to me like that, huh?" Gabe snarls, taking hold of Percy's collar. "You thought you could waltz in here hours late, that I wouldn't notice you're hiding shifts from me again? Where the hell's that money going? Huh?"
Percy's already shaking his head, but Gabe's too fired up. There's nothing Percy can say, now; he's walked into a perfect storm. "Nowhere. It's not…I don't even—" He cuts himself off, knowing he sounds senseless.
"What the fuck are you up to? Tell me!" Percy doesn't even have time to brace himself before Gabe's pulling back his fist, landing a harsh punch to Percy's gut. He doubles over, groaning. "Tell me, you selfish little shit," Gabe spits, slapping him hard across the face.
It's all Percy can do not to clutch at his stinging cheek. "I'm not up to anything, I swear!"
He barks a laugh. "You couldn't sound more guilty if you tried." Percy can taste blood in his mouth and his vision's gone blurry, which is more a facet of his fear that the far-away pain. "Tell me," Gabe hisses, "or I'll make you regret staying silent." He grabs Percy's left wrist—the one that was broken only a month ago—and squeezes hard.
Percy cries out, "God!" He tries to free his arm from Gabe's grasp, but that just hurts even more. When Gabe yanks him forward, Percy can't hold back the ragged sound of pain that claws its way up his throat. "Let go," he gasps out. "Please, it's still healing."
Even as he says it, Percy knows how childish he sounds. Gabe knows how much it hurts. That's why he won't let go, why he grips Percy's wrist even harder and twists it with conscious brutality. A grim smile of satisfaction contorts Gabe's features, and he prolongs the torture for another one, two, three seconds as Percy screams. At last, he relents. "Fucking pathetic." Percy collapses to his knees, cradling his burning wrist.
He blinks hot tears out of his eyes, struggling for breath. Dimly, he registers Gabe walking away and sitting down heavily on the sofa, switching on the TV. Percy stifles a sob, wishing he could turn invisible or melt into the fucking floor. With the last dredges of his strength, he struggles to his feet. His arm's throbbing with a new, wretched kind of pain. Vision tilting, he somehow makes it to his room and closes the door behind him as quietly as he can.
Collapsing on his bed, he touches an unsteady fingertip to his bruised lip. It comes away a stark, violent red. His wrist is limp and swollen, all but immovable. He hopes to God it's not broken again; he doesn't want to go back to the hospital.
Exhausted, he stares at the ceiling. It's distorted, a reflection of his haywire mental state. Next year. Next year, he'll have the money to move out. He'll be over sixteen, and Gabe won't be able to stop him. This isn't living; Percy knows it's not, but he's only got to hold on for a little longer. He'll make it out of his own accord, and then no one ever has to know about any of it. He'll survive, and eventually violence will forget his name.
With his good arm, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He's not certain what possesses him to do it, but he's so out of his head that his hand moves of its own accord. With shaking fingers, he clicks on Annabeth's contact and swallows, holding the phone to his ear. It rings and rings for what feels like forever, then drones into her familiar voicemail. "Hey, it's Annabeth. Leave a message, I'll get back to you soon!"
He flips his phone shut, closing his eyes tight until faint, swirling shapes achingly form on his retinas. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you," Percy mumbles, but he doesn't know who he's talking to anymore.
y'all, I am so sorry. thanks for reading? xD
let me know what you thought! the next chapter will be up on sunday, as usual. you can keep up with me on tumblr at stolen-arts where I post pjo content and ramble about writing :)