chapter twenty-four: a stranger you know best
Three days after Annabeth's sixteenth birthday, her universe spins off its axis. After waking to the sound of shouting, she stumbles downstairs. Her head pounds; she's still in the grips of a comedown. Helen's kneeling in the hallway, letting out hoarse, incomprehensible screams. Her hands are clamped like a vice in her scalp. Bobby's kneeling in front of her, trying to stop Helen from pulling out her hair by easing her hands down. "Mom, stop," he's begging. "Please."
"Helen?" Annabeth says, eyes flying open. She runs to help Bobby. "What's happening? Why's she doing this?"
Bobby shakes his head desperately. "I don't know." They manage to wrench Helen's hands away from her hair, and she screeches in response. "She's gonna hurt herself," mutters Bobby. He looks up at Annabeth, jaw clenched. He's not crying, like Annabeth figured he'd be. "Call an ambulance," he tells her, with more severity than an eleven-year-old wearing Spiderman pyjamas should have. Annabeth fumbles to grab the landline, dialling 911 as fast as she can.
At the hospital, Helen is sedated and examined. The doctors conclude that there's nothing physically wrong with her—the outburst was purely a result of her mental state. Annabeth wishes the doctors would tell them something they don't already know. Helen's psychologist assesses her once she's awake, but she's still completely non-verbal. He decides that it would be best for Helen to temporarily stay in an institution. "She clearly isn't capable of looking after herself, let alone her children," he says to Annabeth. "We're going to call in a social worker. I'm sure they'll arrange a satisfactory living situation for the three of you."
As soon as Annabeth hears that, she has to hold herself together at the seams. Though she wants to break down, she forces herself not to. She's staying in Virginia, no matter what. This is her home. This is all she's ever known. Her thoughts start moving at a thousand miles per hour. At age sixteen, you can live alone. Right?
Their social worker, Sahara Evans, is sympathetic but discouraging. "It really is unfortunate that you don't have any immediate family that could take you in. I know you're of age, Annabeth, but it would be better to—"
"Please," Annabeth interrupts her, straightening up. "I'm comfortable living here. My dad left me a trust fund, which is more than enough to live off. I'm smart, so I'll have no trouble organising my finances. Staying at Mileview would be better for my grades, too." She feels like she's structuring an essay. Point. Evidence. Explain.
Sahara hums, leafing through Annabeth's files. "You'd be okay with being separated from your brothers?"
"I'll still see them," Annabeth says, trying not to allow desperation to seep into her voice. "I know they'll go into the foster system or a group home, but I don't have to. I can look after myself. I'm sixteen. I'm old enough to live alone."
"If I help you apply for a partial emancipation," Sahara says slowly, "it will be a long process. Lots of check-ins, stuff like that." She sighs, setting aside Annabeth's files and meeting her in the eye. "You seem like a capable young lady, and your school reports are exemplary. Your medical reports, however…" She trails off. "I don't like the sound of a young woman with PTSD living alone."
"I'm medicated for it," Annabeth points out. "I'll do all the check-ups, I'll go through the whole process. Please. I know this is right for me."
Sahara nods slowly. "I'm here to help you, Annabeth."
The next few weeks are a whirlwind. To cope with her burgeoning anxiety in the face of Helen's absence, Annabeth convinces Dr Hale to increase her Xanax dosage. "Just for a few weeks," he warns her. "Normally I'd be reluctant to, but I'm aware you're going through a big life change." It takes several meetings with social workers, the putting together of a petition, and a lot of sorting through forms—but Annabeth eventually manages to obtain a partial emancipation. She'll only live on her own as long as Helen is in the institution and therefore incapable of looking after her, and of course she'll have regular check-ins with Sahara.
It's all incredibly nerve-racking. Still, Annabeth is nothing if not good at keeping her emotions below the surface. One slip-up, and she'll go into the group home with Bobby and Matthew. She can't let that happen; she'd go crazy in there.
Bobby is understanding about the fact that Annabeth won't be coming with then, but Matthew throws a fit. "You can't," he sobs, clinging onto her shirt. The three of them are standing outside the group home with Bobby and Matthew's luggage, waiting to be admitted.
"Matty, you're gonna be fine," Annabeth reassures him, resting her chin on his mop of mousy brown curls. It's all she can do to stop her voice from cracking. "It won't be for long, and you're staying right outside of Virginia. I'll come to see you all the time—I promise."
"She will," says Bobby, looking tired. Even though he and Matthew are the same age, in that moment he seems far older than his brother. "Bye, Annabeth."
She pulls them both into a hug. "I'm not far, okay? Call if you need me."
"What if we don't like anyone there?" Bobby asks miserably.
Looking them both in the eye, she rests her hands on each of their shoulders. "You have each other. And you still have me, even though I won't be with you all the time."
Until that moment, Bobby had been stoic and unmoving. But at her words, his exterior fractures slightly. "I'm gonna miss you," he says weakly, and suddenly he's a kid again.
Being at the estate by herself is the strangest thing Annabeth's ever known. It feels huge and unbearably empty: a vacant lot, a ghost mansion. Sometimes, Annabeth will wander through the hallways and wonder if she's becoming a ghost, too.
In an effort to fend off the crippling loneliness, Annabeth invites Luke and the others around for the evening. A few of his other friends turn up, then a few more. Soon enough there's thirty people hanging out in the kitchen and gathered in groups on the couches. It's the week before school starts again, so of course everyone's aiming to get as fucked as they possibly can. It's nice to lose herself to the music, the talking, and the ketamine in her system. At some point, the party moves outside to the garden and she ends up sitting on the grass with Luke and Silena. "It's crazy that you're living alone," Silena comments. "This place is huge. You could have so many people round."
"It won't be for long," Annabeth says, almost on instinct. Still, she doubts she's fooling anyone except herself.
Luke catches her eye, taking her wrist. He's drunk as hell, but somehow he still manages to pick up on the subtext of her thoughts. "Your stepmom will get better," he tells her with a reassuring smile. "But in the meantime…" He stands, offering Annabeth a hand up. "Wanna go inside and do another bump?"
Annabeth knows it's a bad idea; she's had five already, and she's been drinking. But the easy way out is right in front of her, in the form of Luke's outstretched palm. With a slight nod of her head, she grins and lets him pull her to her feet.
Most people head off at about three in the morning, too drunk or high to see straight. Luke helps her usher everyone out, even those that would've stayed for longer. One they're alone, she leans against the doorframe and inclines her head. "Sure you don't wanna stay for the night?" she asks Luke. He's about to head home.
"Nah, I'm alright. Charlie's driving by to pick me and Silena up."
"He got his license?" That makes Annabeth pause. Watching your friends grow up is strange. "Anyway, thanks for being here."
He watches her for a moment. In the darkness, his scar is a raggedly torn-open ravine. "Are you gonna be okay on your own?"
"I'll be fine. I just need some sleep." He nods, then heads off down the path with a wave of goodbye. Annabeth closes the door behind him, consigning herself to an empty house for the fourth night that week. She's sobering up again, but she doesn't feel tired. The idea of The Image finding her now is appalling, so she heads into the kitchen and takes an ancient bottle of Chardonnay from Helen's liquor cabinet.
She doesn't want to drink it downstairs, where the shadows are long and endless. Even her room doesn't seem enticing. On instinct, she takes her old radio into the bathroom and sets it down. She's far enough from sober that the empty bathtub looks like an appealing place to lay down—so she does. Moonlight pools over her, rippling like water from the bathroom window.
Uncorking the wine, she reaches over and switches on the radio. She doesn't care which station it lands on; she just wants to fill up the silence. As she drinks, she realises the band is familiar. It's one her dad used to listen to: The Cranberries. A tidal wave of longing crashes over her, suffocating. She misses him. She misses Helen. She even misses her brothers, for fuck's sake.
Annabeth draws her knees up into her chest. Her feet are bare, cold against the smooth acrylic of the bath. The cold is startling, almost humanising. Even though she's been happy tonight, she can't shake the feeling that she's hit rock bottom. Can you be happy at rock bottom? Is she happy, with sore gums and a chest so hollow only alcohol can fill the space? She takes another swig straight from the bottle, but it's not enough to dampen the realisations that are swallowing her up one by one. All of a sudden, she feels the absence of her friends like a heart attack. Not Percy, though—no, his loss is a slow and painful drowning.
As she stares at the label of her bottle like it has the answer to life itself, the song switches stations. It's the same band again. The lyrics wash over her, accented and strange: something about dreams, something about everything changing.
Irritated, she clumsily turns off the radio. The silence that follows is sharper than a knife.
School starts. Annabeth tries to keep her attendance up, but it's not easy. She gets good at putting on a mask for her teachers, for her social worker. For Luke, even. He's never shied away from her before, but the space between them has turned cold. One evening in the last week of summer, they were stoned and watching a movie on Luke's bed. He kissed her. Annabeth had expected kissing to feel like the collision of two live wires—instead, it was nothing but empty. Luke pulled away, looking disappointed. "That's what I thought it would be like," he whispered. "You're not here. Not really." They never kissed again, after that.
Annabeth wasn't. She still isn't. She's a marble statue, with a static body and unmoving lips. Her presence of mind has deserted her, and she's no longer certain if she wants it back.
She falls into the rhythm of schoolwork, of going out with Luke on the weekends and taking enough Xanax to wrangle her thoughts into submission. September melts into October. She sees Piper, Leo and Jason in school. They'll offer her glances, but never say a word to her face. She wonders if Percy told them what she said to him. In Latin, he never even spares a glance in her direction. Annabeth knows how to grieve, but how can she apply that to her friendships? If she had any courage, she'd talk to them—say sorry, maybe, for shutting them out. But her arsenal of coping mechanisms doesn't include apologies.
Halloween rolls around. Everyone in her year at Mileview are going to Bianca's party, a junior with an October 31st birthday. Initially, Annabeth doesn't even plan to go, but Luke manages to coax her into it. "Come on, Bethany. Please?"
She gets ready at Silena's house, changing into an inky, lacy dress with an oversized black leather jacket on top. She allows Silena to do her eye makeup, even though she could probably do a perfectly fine job herself. "C'mon, aren't you done yet?" she grumbles.
Silena puts down the brush in favour of grabbing her mascara. "Nearly," she smiles. She's wearing a pair of devil horns to match her red outfit, which seems like a half-hearted attempt at dressing up. At least Annabeth isn't kidding anyone by wearing fucking cat ears or something. "Are you drinking tonight? Or anything else?" Silena asks, methodically swiping mascara onto Annabeth's lashes.
Annabeth shakes her head. "Nah. I'm still on yesterday's comedown—taking anything else would probably make me throw up."
"Fair enough," she laughs. "Alright, you're done."
Annabeth checks the mirror. Silena's given her winged eyeliner, which she's always struggled to do on herself. It's blended out slightly at the tips, creating the effect of smoke curling off her eyes. "Thanks," she grins. "It really matches my outfit."
Charlie picks them up in his van with Luke beside him in the shotgun seat. Bianca's party is on the outskirts of town. It's being held in a converted warehouse, and they can hear the music from a block away. It's already eleven when they pull up outside. Dozens of Mileview students in costumes are hanging around outside the entrance, plastic cups in hand. Many of their pupils are blown-out, and their jaws shudder with the chemicals they're charged up on. It's somewhat disconcerting—there's been countless nights over the past year where Annabeth's looked like that herself, but it's a whole different story seeing the effects from a sober standpoint.
Inside, the warehouse is comprised of sweating, dancing bodies and jarring ultraviolet lights. It's fun, for a while—Annabeth dances with a drunk Silena, laughing and chatting amidst the chaos. She almost wishes she bothered to dress up, if only so she'd match the cool costumes and grotesquely painted faces surrounding her. As she dances, it's easy to believe that surviving the night sober will be child's play.
At some point, Silena heads off to go dance with Charlie. Luke's disappeared, so Annabeth busies herself with talking to new people. Still, it's hard to start conversations when everyone around you is either pissed or pinged. Suddenly, her attention catches on a familiar face. It's Leo—except he doesn't look okay. He stumbles against the wall of the warehouse, bracing a hand against it as he doubles over. No one seems to be helping him, or even have noticed. She doesn't know who he arrived with.
After a moment of hesitation, Annabeth elbows through the crowd to reach him. She takes his shoulder, helping him stay standing as he throws up more of the alcohol in his system. "Yeah, that's it. Let it out," she murmurs encouragingly. Being friends with Silena, looking after drunk people has become something of a talent of hers.
He gags again, then straightens up and wipes his mouth. "God, I fucking hate vodka," he mutters. "Thanks, whoever you are." He's about to say something else as he turns to meet her, but then his eyes lock on her face. His jaw drops as he says, "Annabeth?"
Instantly, she's a cornered animal. "Oh. Hi," she stutters out. "Sorry, I just wanted to…help, or something—"
Leo's gaze is scrutinising, completely unreadable. "I can't believe you. After months of ignoring all of us, you're standing in front of me like nothing ever happened."
"You were throwing up! I had to help." She pauses, stepping back. "I'm sorry. I'll go."
He closes the distance again, jabbing his finger into her chest. "Explain. Actually, I don't even wanna talk to you," he amends, then shakes his head. "No, wait, I do. What the ever-loving fuck, Chase?"
There's something about hearing Leo's voice that makes Annabeth's throat choke up. She tries to speak, but a half-sob comes out instead. She clamps her hand over her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the emerging tears. Suddenly, it's like a dam's been broken; all the words that have been pent up inside her for months spill out like a flood. "I'm sorry. I was so scared to talk to you. I fucked things up, didn't I? I—"
Leo seizes her shoulders. His eyes are quiet in their appraisal, in their inevitable judgement. "Annabeth, slower."
She gasps, dragging in a harsh breath. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't know how to face any of you, after what I said to Percy. So many things happened, and I had no idea how to deal with them. Summer was a mess. And—and you hate me. Right?"
Without warning or reason, Leo pulls her into a hug. "Don't be stupid," he says. "I don't hate you, even though you're an idiot."
Annabeth's eyes are wet with salt. "I am," she mumbles.
He pulls away but doesn't let go of her. "Why didn't you say anything? Or even respond to our texts? Give me a real explanation, please. Not that half-assed crap."
Annabeth bunches her knuckles in the long sleeves of her leather jacket, exhaling. "Okay. I—went through a bad time at the start of the year."
"Yeah, we knew that," he says, like it's obvious.
Resisting the urge to glare at him, she continues. "I was kind of in a state. I didn't wanna drag you all down with me, so it was easier to distance myself. Except…I didn't really know how to close that distance again. And Luke was there, so I leaned on him instead. And the drugs…" She trails off. "I can't get off them. Even now, I'm anxious. It's the only thing that helps. I can't…" The words fail her, so she falls silent.
"Why haven't you talked to Helen about it?" asks Leo, brow furrowed.
"I can't."
"You can, I promise. It'll help."
"No, I physically can't. She's not here. She's in an institution, getting help."
Leo recoils. "What? Who do you live with, then?"
"I don't live with anyone." She groans, digging her nails into her palms. "God, this is such a fucking mess. I'm meant to be apologising to you, not complaining—"
"Breathe," Leo tells her, tightening his hold on her upper arms. Annabeth didn't even realise that her pulse sped up, that her lungs were working too hard. "It's okay. You've apologised," he says, a little weakly. "God, I'm just glad you're talking to me again."
"Why? I'm a terrible friend."
"Because I missed you. Why else?" he says, incredulous. "While you've been gone, everything's gone all weird. Percy…"
"What? Is he okay?" She turns left and right, as though he might materialise out of thin air.
Leo sighs. "I don't know. He's been sort of absent. Not like you've been, of course—he hangs out with us all the time. But since you two argued, he's been unhappy."
"This is all my fault," she says. "I was so wrapped up in myself, I didn't even—"
"Yeah, you fucked up," says Leo. "But he's here, so you better talk to him."
"I don't know if I can."
At that, Leo looks like he's gonna slap her. "Do what you want," he says, crossing his arms. "But I'll be pissed off if you let this stupid argument go on any longer than it already has. You hurt him, Annabeth. You need to fix this." As he says it, someone approaches from behind Annabeth. She spins around to see a boy with black hair. Leo perks up. "Oh, hey."
"Where've you been?" the guy asks. "You disappeared."
Leo looks sheepish. "Yeah, sorry. I had to get some of the drink out of my system."
"Sorry, I don't think I've met you before," says Annabeth. "Who…?"
"Oh, this is Nico. Bianca's brother," Leo informs her. He looks apprehensive for a moment, then seems to come to a decision. "Uh—he's my boyfriend."
Oh. For a moment, Annabeth feels a little displaced from reality. How much has changed since she's been gone? "I'm Annabeth," she manages.
Nico smiles. "Nice to meet you. You're a friend of Leo's?"
Annabeth stutters, unsure how to reply, but Leo butts in. "Yeah," he says, throwing Annabeth a warm glance. "She is."
"You ready to come back?" Nico asks Leo. "Or are you too drunk to see straight?"
"Nah, I'm fine," he grins, slipping an arm around Nico's waist and leaning into him. "Let's go." As they walk back into the crowd, Leo shoots a vaguely threatening look back at Annabeth. She sighs—how can she talk to Percy, after letting the animosity stew for so long? Does he still hate her, or has his perception of her faded into ambiguity?
She doesn't even know where he is. Suddenly the bright colours and harsh sounds of the warehouse are almost too much to bear, and Annabeth has to close her eyes for moment. None of this would bother her if she wasn't completely, awfully sober. Annabeth pushes through the crowd, feeling anxiety bubble up inside her. She needs to get outside—open air will help.
At last, she reaches the warehouse door. Wrapping her leather jacket tighter around herself, she hurries down the steps. Goosebumps prickle her bare legs as the brisk midnight air rushes to greet her. The streets are empty; everyone's inside, where the party rages on. Annabeth lifts her chin, blowing out a visible breath. The moon looms above the run-down buildings surrounding her, waxing but not yet full.
Knuckles already stiff with cold, Annabeth bunches them up in her sleeves and leans back against the warehouse wall. She isn't certain why she's out here, only that everything is quieter. She thinks about Leo, about how he's found someone in her perpetual absence. She thinks about Piper and Jason, who she's yet to apologise to. She thinks about the way her body aches from the comedown she's still fighting through, about the ragged sores in her mouth that aren't going away.
Annabeth misses Percy—so, so fucking much. She would give herself up in her entirety if he would only speak to her again, if he would only let her salvage the bloodied ruins of whatever they used to be. But it's too late; their friendship is in tatters. How can she do anything except keep laying waste to this aching Halloween?
A sob builds up in Annabeth's chest, but she swallows back her surging emotion. She doesn't deserve to feel sorry for herself, not when she's hurt so many people in the wake of her self-destruction. As she blinks furiously to repel the salt in her eyes, a car drives past. Its headlights flash cruelly golden. She hears quick footsteps behind her; someone's running down the steps. Hoping it's nobody she knows, she doesn't turn around. The footsteps get nearer, then stop suddenly. An uncertain voice calls, "Annabeth?"
That voice—she knows that voice. Great, now she's hallucinating. She turns around, expecting to find nothing but empty air. But standing a few paces away from her is the person she's both been terrified of and has missed like an absent lung. "Percy?" she asks hoarsely. In his faded blue shirt and beat-up sneakers, he looks the same as he always has.
There's a strange expression on his face. "Leo said you were out here," he says steadily.
"I am." Annabeth wants to hide, but she forces herself to face him. His hands are balled up into fists, shaking slightly. He doesn't look threatening, though. "Percy—" she starts.
He interrupts her. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you said."
Annabeth screws her damp eyes shut. Go back to your trailer. The words clang through her, as clear as they were when they left her mouth. "I don't think of you like that," she says fervently. "I should never have said that. It was fucked up." The distance between them seems like lightyears. "I'm so sorry."
Percy looks tortured. He takes a step forward, but can't seem to bring himself to take another. "What you said hurt. A lot," he tells her. "But I've been turning it over in my head, and I think you were trying to push me away." As he speaks, everything that's happened over the last year begins to crumble into ash. "I should never have let you work through things alone."
Annabeth is already shaking her head. "You didn't. You didn't." She steps forward, palms turned skyward in some half-fledged form of surrender. "God," she mutters. "I was so fucking scared of hurting you—any of you—that I hurt you even worse, when I was just trying to get away."
His fists unravel, and he lets out a choked sound. "I was so angry at you. I still am, for Christ's sake. You're a stranger. I feel like I don't know you anymore."
Fresh tears prickle at Annabeth's eyes. This time, she doesn't think she can hold them back. "I don't even know myself anymore," she gasps out. "How do I—how can I go back?"
"You can't," he rasps, and she realises he's close to crying. "But you can go forward."
"Can I?" He's in front of her, all of a sudden, wrapping his arms around her. She relinquishes a sob, leaning into his chest. "When did you get so fucking tall?" she whispers.
Percy doesn't let go of her. The familiar smell of machine oil washes over her, and she clings onto it like a lifeline. "I don't know."
"I missed you."
He lets out a listless laugh. It's sounds hopeful, somehow. "I missed you, too."
Annabeth slips her arms around him, feeling the urge to hug him back. When he lets out an involuntary hiss of pain, she jerks back. "What was that? Are you okay?"
He's already stepping away, closing up again. "Nothing. I'm fine."
"The fuck you are," she shoots back. "What's wrong? You're hurt."
"It's just a bruise." Then, "What are you doing?" Annabeth's reaching for the hem of his shirt. She gives him enough time to stop her, but he remains still as she carefully lifts it up. There's an awful bruise on the side of his stomach. It's scraped up and scabbed over, clearly fresh. "What the fuck," she says emphatically.
"It's nothing. It doesn't hurt."
"Well, it sure sounded like it did!" Percy's withdrawing—it's happening before her eyes. All she knows is that she's not losing him again. "Please," she begs. "Tell me. What happened? Why are you always hurt? Your arm. Your face." Her mind's moving at thousand miles an hour, and suddenly her memories are slotting together like puzzle pieces. He's never let her inside the trailer, she's never even seen his stepdad. Tentatively, she asks, "What's going on?"
He looks pained. "Annabeth—"
"Who's hurting you? Don't go." She grabs his jacket sleeve, terrified that he'll leave.
Percy's looking down the cracked concrete below them. "I can't," he mumbles. The sheer conflict etched into his features reveals enough. As she draws in a ragged breath, Annabeth wants the universe to burn for what it's done.
Telling herself to remain calm, she reaches up and touches his face gently, brushing her thumb over his jaw. When her hand falls away, his gaze is on her again. "Do you want me to say something first? A truth for a truth, like we used to do."
At first, she doesn't think he's going to agree to it. But then he nods, and everything falls into place. "Okay," he says softly. "But I think I already know."
Annabeth swallows. "I'm addicted to drugs. I thought I would know when to stop, but I was wrong. I should've listened to you, when you tried to help." She's silent for a moment. "I think I'm worse than Luke."
"Are you gonna stop?" he asks quietly.
"I don't know. I'll try. Is that enough?"
Percy offers her a wry smile. "Of course it is. You're enough."
Before she can stop herself, she's laughing. "How do you always know what to say?"
"If you think that," he says, arching a brow, "then you're not as smart as I thought you were."
She takes his hand, afraid to look at him. It's his turn. "And what about you?"
"You're not allowed to freak out."
Annabeth thinks for a moment. "I don't know how I'll react. I'll try not to."
He doesn't look satisfied by that, but nods anyway. He touches the area with his bruise almost subconsciously, as though voicing it aloud is reminiscent of pain. "My stepdad. It's him."
"Okay," Annabeth breathes. Anger shudders through her, but she forces it down—her own feelings can't help Percy. "For how long?"
He's gripping her hand. "Forever. A long time."
Forever. Annabeth's chest aches. "Please get out of there."
"Annabeth—" he starts, but she cuts him off.
"Please. You can't…" You can't last like this. An echo of his own words. "I need you to be okay. If you stay there, I'll be terrified every minute I'm not with you. Come live with me—I live alone at the estate, now. I need you out of there," she repeats.
"Next year," he tells her. "In January. I've nearly saved enough money. I'm gonna try for that apartment, the one over the diner. The current resident's lease ends soon, and I think I'll be able to afford it."
"Next year?" She pauses. "But…that's so far off. What if something happens? What if—"
"Please don't," he says brokenly. "I need to get out myself, okay? I don't know why, but I do. It's all I've ever asked for. All I've ever wanted."
Annabeth hugs him again, careful not to touch his bruise. It's started to rain, and the drops are cold against her exposed skin. "Okay," she whispers.
Percy laughs, suddenly. "This is weird. Everything's out in the open, for once."
"Why did we ever keep so much shit from each other?"
He laughs again. "I don't know. I don't know." He brushes her hair away from her face. The rain's coming hard and fast, but neither of them move an inch. "Annabeth."
"Yeah?"
"While we're on the subject…I think I like you."
Annabeth pauses, like the wind's been knocked out of her. "I think I like you, too."
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. "You do?"
She can't feel the rain anymore, even though it's started storming. "Yes, you idiot," she manages. Percy's hand curves around the nape of her neck, and the next instant he's kissing her. At first, it's soft and closed-mouthed. Annabeth lets out a quiet sigh, taking hold of the fabric of his jacket as he kisses her harder. His lips are chapped. Everything's so goddamn perfect, and Annabeth has to wonder if this is nothing but a pipe dream.
He pulls away for half a second, nose brushing against hers. "I really, really missed you."
Annabeth can do nothing but nod, pulling him down for another kiss. "We're never going so long without talking again, okay?"
"Okay," he says, smiling. "You really like me?"
"We've covered that," she reminds him.
He kisses her, warm and soft and everything she's never known she needed. "You're incredible. I can't believe this is real."
"Neither can I." Rising onto her tiptoes, she kisses him on the jaw, then on the cheek, then settles on his lips with a sigh. As the rain soaks their clothes through to their cold skin, Annabeth thinks they might have invented themselves anew.
writing this was so cathartic, wow :') the next chapter will be up on sunday, as usual. let me know what you thought!
come chat to me on my tumblr at stolen-arts