chapter twenty-six: don't speak of permanence
Whenever Annabeth knows Percy's at home in the trailer, anxiety buds in the pit of her stomach. Maybe it's irrational, but now she's aware that he isn't safe there she's unable to stop thinking about it. She checks up on him constantly over texts. She never outright asks him if he's okay, but she'll start conversations in other ways just to receive a response. He's a fast replier—she always hears back from him almost immediately, unless he's at work. Neither of them would ever say it aloud, but it's obvious he responds quickly so she doesn't have to worry for his safety.
Percy doesn't seem to mind, even when she calls him in the dead of night when her mind is restless and she's unable to sleep. His voice helps with her nightmares. They've been getting worse, recently, and it isn't just her father anymore. A recurring dream of finding Percy dead has been haunting her, except it's never by a bullet like the one that pierced her dad. No—it's always by the hands of his faceless stepfather who has become a constant in Annabeth's imagination in the same way he's a constant in Percy's life.
It's midnight, and they've been talking on the phone for the past few hours since he got home from his shift. Phone calls with him are always steady and relaxed, punctuated by periods of relaxed silence where Annabeth is content just to listen to the sounds of his movements and quiet breathing. "Percy?" she says suddenly, lifting her head from where it's been buried in Tender Is the Night. She's been reading it for English. After such a long time of not giving a shit about her grades, she's been trying to focus on school again.
"Yeah?" He sounds tired.
Guilt twinges in Annabeth, but she shakes it off. "Have you thought about what you're gonna do after high school?"
He hums, which sounds crackly over her phone's speaker. "I don't know. Try and get an apprenticeship at a machine shop, maybe."
"You'd be good at that."
"Yeah, well." Bitterness coats his voice. "It's the only thing I'm good at."
"Don't talk like that," she rebukes, frowning. "You're good at English."
"Only because of you."
"That's not true," she tells him. "I didn't help you at all last year and you got an A."
He's quiet for a moment. "What about you? What do you want to do after high school?"
"No idea."
"You're so smart, I bet you could do anything you liked." He pauses. "What about photography? You always said you planned to try for a career in it."
She scoffs. "I haven't taken a photograph in months. I'm close to getting kicked out of my elective."
"Months?" he asks. Then, quietly, "I didn't know that."
Annabeth sighs. "Yeah, well. I haven't been feeling too creative lately."
"Do you wanna try taking some photos of me? You used to like doing that."
She laughs, poking, "Someone's vain."
"You know that's not what I meant," he complains. "What else would you wanna take photos of, then? Maybe you need some fresh ideas." Without saying anything, Annabeth turns onto her back. She knows the reason she's abandoned photography, and it isn't a lack of ideas. Since the beginning of last year, the high she used to associate with taking a beautiful photo faded away in the face of the drugs Luke exposed her to. The joy of it isn't there anymore, and she's terrified that her love of photography has disappeared for good.
"Let's not talk about this," she murmurs, closing Tender Is the Night and setting it on her bedside table. Despite her mind being as wired and awake as it has been all evening, she says, "I think I'm gonna try and sleep now." For a while at least, she's come off her sleeping medication. The line between helpful and damaging drugs has become blurred over the past year, and until her perspective is fixed, she's trying not to touch any of them—except for the Xanax that keeps her sane.
"Okay," says Percy. "Get some sleep. Call me if you need me, yeah?"
"Yeah. Goodnight."
"Night, Annabeth." The line cuts off. Annabeth releases a sigh, holding her phone to her chest. Even though she's just spoken to him, that familiar anxiety about him being at home nags at her. It's impossible to stop counting down the days until he's free.
In the new year, she and Piper have been working on rebuilding their friendship. While the unwavering trust they used to have for each other has been destroyed by a year of radio silence, Annabeth is relieved that they're at least talking to each other again. Before Christmas, she began to believe Piper was never going to speak to her again, but thankfully she came around and decided to give Annabeth a chance: a chance that she's determined not to squander.
Since then, Percy's admitted to convincing Piper to let Annabeth back in her life. When she found out, Annabeth hugged him and wouldn't let go for a minute straight; bringing one of her best friends back to her is a debt she'll never be able to repay.
School is just as cruel and vibrant a hell as it's ever been, but it's bearable with her old friends at her side. She still talks to Silena and Charlie, of course—even hangs out with them at the weekend—but Luke seems to have lost interest in her. Annabeth's accepted that her newfound, painful aversion to the drugs he got her hooked on and the empty kiss they shared are probably the rationale behind it, but his loss still hurts. He's the sole reason she made it through the battlefield of last year, and it's painful that he no longer gives her a second glance.
Thalia says it's for the best. Annabeth's been calling her for a few weeks now, whenever she loses sight of her motivations for staying mostly sober. She knows Thalia understands, even cared about Luke in the same fucked-up way Annabeth once did. Their situations mirror each other—though Thalia never went as far as Annabeth did, they were both driven by the same wretched grief.
Annabeth's sitting on the bleachers with Piper at lunchtime, watching Jason's football team practice tackling. Piper's slurping sorrowfully on a smoothie from the cafeteria, watching her boyfriend. "He's so annoying," she mutters. "I'm not becoming a cheerleader just so we can be one of those couples."
Annabeth laughs. "You'd think he'd settle for you two literally being a two-person band."
"Tell me about it." Piper sighs, crumpling up her empty smoothie cup. Glancing at Annabeth, she shoots her a snarky grin. "At least me and him have owned up to our shit, though."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You know," she says casually. "You and Percy."
Oh. How has Piper clocked on? Annabeth tries to glare at her, but probably only manages to look mildly inconvenienced. She and Percy haven't told any of their friends about whatever the fuck's going on between them, of course, because the truth is that they haven't even defined it themselves. "What about me and him?" she asks, taking a bite of her sandwich. It's so bland, she nearly spits it back out.
Piper groans. "Really? You're completely oblivious?"
"You're the one who's seeing shit that isn't there."
With a scoff, Piper kicks her legs up on the bench in front of her. "I refuse to believe the two of you are this stupid. You practically eye-fuck each other. In public, too."
Annabeth chokes on her sandwich, coughing. "Piper!"
"What? It's true. Neither of you have any decency."
"How do we eye-fuck each other?" she asks, horrified. Are they really this obvious? "We're friends. That would be weird."
Piper shrugs, but there's still a gleam in her eye. "Agree to disagree. But mark my words: if this keeps going unaddressed, you two are never gonna confront your feelings. You'll probably have a drunk one-night stand or something and I'll be the one that'll have to drive you to the abortion clinic."
"Fucking Christ. You've been watching way too many romance movies with Jason."
Piper doesn't rise to the bait. "Something's gotta give," she insists. "Or someone. And if you don't want to, I bet Percy—"
"Do not finish that sentence." Annabeth wants to sink into the floor.
"Okay, fine. I'll stop teasing you, but only if you promise to think about what I'm saying. Please, for me?"
"Piper," she says, irritation spiking. "I don't care what your opinion is about me and Percy, but I do know that it's bullshit."
Piper's attention's drawn away. "Speak of the devil," she grins. Annabeth follows her gaze. Across the field, two guys have emerged from around the side of the building. One of them is Leo, with his familiar corkscrew-curls. The other's Percy. They're talking and laughing, jostling each other.
Suddenly, Leo notices them and yells, "Pipes! Annabeth!" Percy meets Annabeth's eyes. He smiles, giving a small wave. Chest fluttering, she fights off the blush that threatens rise to her cheeks. Keeping up this goddamn act is going to kill her.
As they approach, Piper nudges her and whispers, "Let the eye-fucking commence."
Though Annabeth and Percy never show their affection in public, it's easy to hold each other, to sink into each other's kisses on the warm nights that they're alone. There's no absence of desire, either, but it's clear neither of them are ready for that yet. This feathered, living thing between them is still so new—so fragile. Though it goes unsaid, they're terrified of doing something to damage it.
But that doesn't mean Annabeth can't kiss him, can't lie tangled up in his arms under the covers or learn how the slight stubble on his jaw feels against her lips. Caring about him is second nature. After all, they've known each other for a long time. She still vividly remembers the day she found Percy, bruised and hurting, on the side of the road.
Annabeth will never forgive herself for failing to notice what was going on with him for the entire duration of the formative years they shared. How did she believe all the flimsy cover-ups Percy fed her? How didn't she see through the curtain he slid around himself to keep her and everyone around him in the dark? He suffered deeply and futilely for so long—surely Annabeth could've prevented it. Helen would have helped, would have gotten Percy out of there if only she knew the truth about what was happening to him behind closed doors.
Annabeth hates it, hates that Percy thought he had to keep so much of himself from her. She's too scared to ask him why he did it. Some part of her is afraid that it might have been her doing, that she didn't give him enough reason to trust her or was oblivious to his cries for help. If she'd really, truly looked…could she have saved him?
It's past sunset, and the two of them are lying on Annabeth's bed. Her head is pillowed on Percy's chest, and he's slowly, repeatedly smoothing out the curl behind her ear. His fluctuant breathing is close to lulling Annabeth into sleep. A movie's playing on Annabeth's laptop: Princess Mononoke. It used to be her dad's favourite, though she never really understood his love for it until now. "This movie's so weird," Percy says. "What the fuck are those little bobble head things?"
Annabeth hums. "Forest spirits."
"Oh?" He falls silent, letting the scene play on. Annabeth's eyes almost flutter shut. Still, she manages to keep them open. Shifting her head, she reaches up a few centimetres and lets her fingers drag along the ridge of his collarbone through his T-shirt. It's smooth and warm, singing with the heat of Percy's chest.
She finds that the ridge ends jaggedly, as though the bone isn't laying quite right in his shoulder. "What's up with that?" she murmurs, not really expecting a response.
Attention pulled away from the movie, he asks, "What?"
"Your shoulder."
He rolls it slightly, as though remembering an old affliction. "It got dislocated when I was six. Didn't heal very well."
Annabeth swallows down the discomfort that crawls up through her throat. The way his voice caught when he said six did not go unnoticed to her. Suddenly, she's assailed with the awful vision of a young Percy cowering in the trailer with his shoulder wrenched out of place. She almost says something, but realises he wouldn't appreciate that. She can't shake the feeling that he just trusted her with something huge—it would be cruel for Annabeth to push any further, to peel back the layers of what he really said. An excavation so jarringly intrusive could never be fair to him.
It's impossible not to wonder if there's more scars she hasn't seen yet, more half-healed bones and ridged skin that he keeps hidden. Lifting herself up onto an elbow, she surveys Percy's face. She doesn't know what she's looking for, if there's even anything to find. "Percy?"
He turns away from the movie, looking at her warmly. "Yeah?"
"I…" What is there to say? She leans forward and presses her lips to his, hoping that says enough. He smiles into the kiss, hand curling around the side of her neck as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. Pulling away for a second, his other hand finds her shoulder blade. Moving Annabeth onto her back, he bites gently at her bottom lip and kisses her harder. When he finally pulls away, she's breathless and flushed.
"I've been meaning to ask," he says slowly. "I know we haven't defined this yet, but…I think I'm serious about you. About this."
Annabeth's already shaking her head, flooded with discomfort. "It's too soon."
"For what?"
"For this to be anything."
Percy holds her gaze, refusing to move away. "But it already is something."
"Please, can we not do this yet?" she asks.
"Why?"
She hesitates. "I'm scared I'll ruin it."
"What? Why would you even think that?"
Annabeth sits up, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes to block out the light. Princess Mononoke still plays in the background, its orchestral score rising and falling. She clicks pause, suddenly overwhelmed by her senses. "Because I almost did. I almost destroyed our friendship. I made you think I hated you."
His brows are deeply furrowed, and there's pain in his eyes. "Annabeth—"
"We both know it's true," she says, voice wavering.
He takes her hand, pleading. "You never destroyed anything. We hurt each other, alright? It wasn't just you. I should've said something sooner, should've know you weren't okay on your own."
She can't look at him. Deep down, she knows this isn't fair of her. All Percy wants is to define what they are, to agree that this is something more than empty intimacy. But some part of her refuses to settle, refuses to believe that everything will be okay if she just allows it to be. "I'm sorry." Shoulders slumping, she mutters, "Fuck, I don't know why I'm being like this."
"Hey, no. You're allowed to be like this. If you're not sure about this, then…" His voice cracks slightly, but he smooths it over and continues, "If you're not sure, then that's fine. More than fine." He gathers her into a hug.
"I like you," she says against his shoulder, voice muffled. "I'm happy with how things are. We don't have to tell anyone yet, right?"
Percy nods wordlessly. He pulls away and kisses her nose, drawing a smile from Annabeth despite the conflict plaguing her. He lies back down, letting her relax into the crook of his arm. "Wanna finish the movie? There's not long left," he says, turning it back on. As the sounds and colours of a battle scene wash over them, Annabeth closes her eyes.
On Fridays, Percy works at the machine shop until late. Sometimes Annabeth will keep him company; he appreciates getting to talk to her while he works mindlessly on cars. Still, she knows she's something of a distraction—especially now that they've become whatever they are. So instead, she tends to just hang out with the others on Friday nights. For Annabeth, the weekends hold painful connotations after she fell into a steadfast habit of going out and getting utterly wrecked on whatever drugs Luke could get his hands on last year. Usually, it was MDMA: his personal favourite. Annabeth's ecstasy comedowns were always worse than his, but she was so swept up in his self-destructive cycle that she stopped giving a shit.
It's been weeks since she's done anything like that. But on Fridays, her blood always sings with the desire to forget her inhibitions and relinquish control of her body for a while. Since she's stopped, the Image has gotten worse. Sometimes it's all she can do not to call Luke or Silena and spend the weekend in a haze.
Her friends are a beautiful, welcome distraction. Thalia understands her fear of relapse, and Leo knows what it's to survive without your family. Piper is her second-oldest friend, and Jason is intimately acquainted with her aching grief. Even Reyna is around to lean on from time to time. Annabeth genuinely has no idea what she'd do without them, and she doesn't want to know. It's probably better not to think about it.
Leo's taken to hanging out at the estate on Fridays. He's a drain on Annabeth's snack supply, but she doesn't mind. It's nice to have someone to talk to and play Mario Kart with. Currently, Annabeth's painting her nails while Leo plays Rainbow Road solo on Bobby's old DS. "Did you really sneak in?" she laughs, blowing on her nails to dry them faster. She's painting them a dusky cornflower blue: Percy's favourite colour on her.
"Yeah, we went in through the window," Leo grins. "Nico's mom almost caught me, but he managed to shove me under the bed before she came in to see what the commotion was about."
"What were you even doing outside?"
"Oh, we—shit!" he curses, thumb turning the controller frantically as he almost flies off the road. Once he steadies the car, he sighs in relief. "We were making out in the park," he continues. "And then we made out on his bed. And then we—"
"God, I don't wanna hear it," Annabeth groans. "Spare me the sordid details, please."
Eyes gleaming with mischief, he protests, "What? I wasn't gonna say anything."
"You absolutely were." Unscrewing the nail varnish bottle again, she carefully paints a fresh coat over each nail on her right. She's always been good at keeping them neat—Piper sometimes jokes that Annabeth's hands are so steady she could be a surgeon.
Someone blue-shells Leo right before he reaches the finish line. Cursing, he throws down Bobby's old DS. "Second? Fuck." He reaches for the carton of orange juice on the coffee table in front of them, tipping his head back and pouring it into his mouth.
She grimaces. "Couldn't you get a glass?"
"Nah," he says, continuing to drink straight from the carton. "Can you get more of this stuff?"
"Why? It tastes weird—it's not store-brand," she says absently, focused on her nails. She glances at her phone to see that the screen's empty of notifications. She texted Percy twenty minutes ago; he should've finished his shift and been on his way home to the trailer by now. He probably got held up or something. She knows he'll call her back when he gets the chance.
"Hey, can I borrow some nail paint?" Leo asks, leaning forward to peer in her box of varnishes.
"Yeah. Which colour?"
He rummages around, eventually landing on a dark grey shimmer. "This one?"
"Sure, that's fine. I barely ever use that colour anyway."
"Thanks." Shaking up the bottle, he reaches for his phone. "Can I connect to your speaker?" She nods. Before long, The Smiths are playing from the small speaker on Annabeth's coffee table. Leo sings along as he paints his nails, being considerably less careful about it than Annabeth is.
An hour elapses. Once they're done, they collapse back on the sofa to watch reruns of That 70's Show. Strangely, she can't shake a feeling of foreboding. It's out of character for Percy to take so long to respond, especially when he's at home. Though she tries to hide it, he knows how anxious she gets—she's terrified that the days of him keeping his stepdad's violence a secret will return, and she never wants to let that happen. It's painful enough to sit by and do nothing, trusting that Percy will move out at the end of the month.
Annabeth can't stop herself turning over possibilities, replaying every awful image she can conjure: Percy bleeding out on the floor of the kitchen, Percy with another broken wrist. Her regular dose of Xanax is beginning to wear off, and her pulse is speeding up. She tries to focus on the TV, to tear her eyes away from her dark, empty phone screen. The world becomes fluid as Leo's phone conversation with Nico turns into fuzzy, droning background noise. As she struggles to keep her breathing under control, she feels a pressure on her arm.
Jerking her head up, she sees Leo's concerned face. "Hold on a second. I'll call you back," he tells Nico, ending the call. "Chase? Are you okay?" Unable to form a word, she squeezes her eyes shut. "Oh, shit. You're breathing really fast."
Hating the terror lancing through her, she runs through the steps she needs to take. Breathe in for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight. Soon enough, she begins to calm down. "Sorry," she croaks. "I just—"
"No, it's fine. You're fine." Leo hugs her. "What happened? Did you take your meds today?"
"Yeah," she says. Hands shaking, she reaches for her phone. "Percy. I need to call Percy."
"Wait, why? What's going on?"
She presses on Percy's contact, holding the phone to her ear. "I don't know. He's taken ages to respond—he never does that. Not when he's at home." His phone rings and rings, before going to voicemail. Frustrated, she jabs the call button again.
Leo reaches forward, palm raised. "Seriously, Annabeth. Why are you worried? Is Percy in trouble or something?"
"I don't know. I don't know." The line goes through to voicemail for the second time, and Annabeth tries not to freak out. "He has to be at home by now. It's nearly eleven."
"Maybe his phone's dead?" Leo offers.
She shakes her head. "If it was, he would've put it on charge when he got home."
Leo appraises her, gaze dark and calculating. "Annabeth," he says slowly. "You need to tell me what's going on."
Percy would hate her if she said anything. "I can't, I just…" She exhales sharply. "I need to contact him somehow."
"How are you gonna get hold of him if he's not picking up his phone?"
Frustrated, she throws her hands up. "I don't fucking know." Standing up, she grabs her leather jacket from where it's laying in a heap on the coffee table. "I'm gonna walk there."
Leo shoots to his feet. "Are you crazy? The trailer park's ages away and it's dark outside. You could get hurt."
"I can't do nothing!" she shouts, shrugging into her jacket.
He looks at her phone, then back at her. Groaning, he grabs his hoodie. "I hate you."
"No, you should stay here."
He folds his arms. "I'm coming. Tell me what's really going on."
Clenching her fists, Annabeth deliberates back and forth until she eventually comes to a conclusion. "I can't tell you explicitly," she says quietly. "But I'm scared for him."
"Why? He's at home." A period of silence follows, and Leo's mouth drops open in realisation. He's smart—smarter than anyone gives him credit for. "No. You're kidding, right?" Annabeth doesn't say anything, only turns around and heads for the hallway. He follows, dumbfounded. Annabeth begins to lace up her shoes. "Wait," he says suddenly, turning on his phone.
"Leo, what are you doing?"
"I'm calling Jason."
She blanches. "Why?"
"Because Thalia has a car," he responds, lifting the phone to his ear. "Hey, Jase. Is your sister around?" He pauses, listening. "Great. Could you two come pick us up? We need to get to the trailer park—it's urgent. Something's up with Percy." There's a longer pause this time, and then Leo nods. "Okay, see you in ten minutes. We'll be waiting outside."
Thalia makes it to Annabeth's estate in half that time. Before they head out, Annabeth grabs her dad's pocket-size Swiss Army knife from a kitchen drawer—just in case she needs to defend herself. She hopes to God she won't be given a reason to use it. "Hey," Jason greets them from the shotgun seat.
Piper's sitting in the back—she was hanging out at Jason's before they came. "What's going on?" she asks as Annabeth and Leo climb in next to her.
Slamming the car door, Annabeth pulls on her seatbelt. "There's not enough time to explain."
In the rear-view mirror, determination sings from the set of Thalia's jaw. "Annabeth, I sure hope you know what you're doing," she tells her. "Everyone ready?" Without waiting for an answer, she steps down hard on the accelerator.
The drive flashes past in increments, a haze of yellow streetlights. Annabeth stares forward through the windscreen, nails biting into her palms. She hopes like hell that she's wrong, that Percy's gone radio silent for some other reason, but in her gut she knows she's right. She has no idea what she's going to do when they get there. Knock on the door, then call the cops if there's no answer? Beside her, Piper touches her wrist. "Annabeth, everything's gonna be okay." She doesn't respond, aware that anything she could say would be disbelieving.
The trailer park is cloaked in an opaque fog that's descended from Virginia's skies. Thalia parks outside the trailer park. She switches off the engine but leaves on her headlights. Turning around, she asks, "Annabeth? Do you want me to come?"
Already clicking off her seatbelt, Annabeth stutters, "I…I don't know."
In answer, Thalia opens the driver's-side door. "Alright. The rest of you, wait in the car." Though she's only a few years older than the rest of them, right then she sounds more authoritative than Annabeth ever thought was possible for someone who's barely an adult.
She leads Thalia into the trailer park, heading down the burnt-grass path. Annabeth is terrified, but she won't let herself panic; there's no way she's losing her composure now, when Percy needs saving.
As they approach Percy's trailer, the echoes of muffled shouting washes over Annabeth. Then there's silence, followed by something that resembles a cry of pain. "Oh, God," mutters Thalia. "I'm calling the cops. Annabeth, don't go any closer—it might not be safe."
Annabeth is glued to the spot. Rage filters through her body, igniting her fingertips and pooling in the pit of her stomach. In that instant, she resolves to ruin the disgusting excuse for a human being that is Percy's stepfather. She watches helplessly as the door to his trailer is pushed open and pale light floods out of it. The shouting is clearer, now, and she can make out words: Dirty, filthy liar…
Percy's voice is quieter, choked with pain yet dignified. His stepfather's holding him up by the collar like a rag doll, spitting defamation in his son's face. He draws back his fist, knocking Percy's bruised jaw upwards in a ruthless uppercut. The force sends him staggering, and Annabeth watches in alarm as Percy loses his footing and crashes down the steps.
She's already moving, heels digging into the grass to overcome the inertia. "Get off him!" She sprints forward, vision tunnelled on Percy's unmoving, bloodied body lying crumpled over the trailer steps. It's impossible not to see her father in his place. Suddenly, she's crouched over him. Blood oozes from an injury on his temple, and his eyelashes flutter open and closed like he's trying to focus his vision. He's bruised all over, and she thinks that might be a welt on his arm. "Annabeth?" he croaks.
No longer faceless, his stepdad glowers down at her. "Get out of here. This is between me and him."
Annabeth touches Percy's shoulders with shaking hands, but she's terrified to move him in case she makes his wounds worse. It's clear that he's suffered some sort of head trauma. "How the fuck could you do this?" she yells hoarsely, getting to her feet. Dimly, she hears Thalia call her name.
Anger contorts his expression. "Why, you little—" He barrels towards her. All she can do is raise her arms in a useless bid to protect herself as he lands a hard punch in her stomach. Winded, Annabeth doubles over as she fights the urge to throw up. He shoves her back, but she manages to keep her footing. Fumbling for the penknife in her jacket pocket, she flicks it open. He pulls back his fist, and a lucid, hateful of fear spikes in Annabeth's chest. She wants to kill him for the years of suffering he's put Percy through. Without hesitation or grace, she plunges it into his thigh.
A ragged cry tears from his throat. Annabeth yanks the knife out, and he collapses. Horrified, she stares for the sickly moment at the warm spray of blood on her hand. The hazy screech of sirens bleeds into focus as she turns around, kneeling haphazardly beside Percy. His eyes are closed, and his breathing sounds raspy. "Percy? Where does it hurt?" She sounds manic.
"God," he croaks, almost inaudibly. "Everywhere." Annabeth lifts his wrist to take his pulse, holding back a sob.
Suddenly, Thalia's hand is on her shoulder. "You're insane. You're insane," she mutters. There's a police car parked a few paces away from them, an ambulance close behind. Two officers step out of it. One of them is speaking fast into a handheld radio as the other approaches Annabeth and Thalia. He grabs Annabeth's shoulder, hauling her to her feet. "Drop the knife. Hands behind your back."
She barely registers it slipping from her fingertips as the officer wrestles her hands behind her. Thalia's protests wash over her, and she can do nothing but watch as paramedics rush to Percy's side. His eyes are open again, and he locks onto Annabeth's gaze. He barely seems conscious. Somehow, he manages to grit out, "Wait, stop. She was protecting me."
Cool, metal handcuffs slide around Annabeth's wrists, but the cop doesn't click them shut just yet. "We can't call this defence of another unless the victim intends to press charges," he tells Percy gruffly.
Percy's mouth opens like he's about to say something, but he cuts himself off with a raw cry of pain as he's moved onto a stretcher. His raven hair is plastered to his face, sticky and dark with blood. Annabeth hates herself for failing to prevent this. "I'll do it," he says softly in a ruined voice. "Let her go. I want to press charges."
this is the last chapter of Act Two—I'm so excited for Act Three. sorry for that ending haha! hope you liked it, I'd love to hear what you thought!
find me on tumblr at stolen-arts :D