THE STORM

If you need help, please contact the following:

National Eating Disorders Association Helpline: 1-800-931-2237

(Monday-Thursday 9am-9pm, Friday 9am-5pm. All EST time)

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SONG OF THE CHAPTER: I STILL HAVEN'T FOUND WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR by U2

You broke the bonds and you loosened chains
carried the cross of my shame, of my shame
You know I believe it

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for

FROM THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Percy was facing away from her, standing in front of her desk. He didn't turn around when she came in, and he was standing very, very still, all the muscles in his back tensed like he was about to fight something.

Annabeth took a tentative step forward. "Percy?"

He slowly turned around. The rules that she normally left hidden on her desk were in Percy's hands. It suddenly became very hard for Annabeth to breathe.

If Percy had been still before, now he was shaking, with anger, or possibly something worse. "Annabeth, what the fuck are these?"

The midpoint between spring and winter was Annabeth's favorite season.

She saw it everywhere: the cool condensation her breath made in the early morning that disappeared later in the day, the scattered tree leaves across Goode's sidewalk, the shorts and t-shirts that slowly replaced pants and sweaters. From her vantage point now, standing inside the Metropolitan Museum of Art and looking out through its enormous windows of the room with the Temple of Dendur into Central Park, it seemed especially beautiful. New Yorkers were taking advantage of a bright, early March day. Her family was out there in the park somewhere, and they though Annabeth had a school assignment on Cycladic marble figures from ancient Greece. "Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?" her father had asked, like his degree in U.S. history would be of any help.

"Yes." Being alone had been the only thing she wanted for forty-eight hours. Annabeth spun around, leaving the enormous room and heading deeper into the Met.

"Do you have a favorite piece here?"

Annabeth had been sitting, staring at Jackson Pollock's "Autumn Rhythm: Number 30" for so long she had forgotten she was looking at a painting. When the voice brought her back into reality, she was shocked to find Rachel sitting next to her.

Rachel looked much happier than she had at the wedding. She was wearing an orange bandana that clashed fabulously with her red hair and loose overalls with paint stains. Annabeth was so startled that Rachel had to repeat her question. "Uh," Annabeth's voice broke, and she coughed. It felt like she hadn't spoken in ages. "No, not really. I don't come here very often."

"I'm here all the time." Rachel smiled slowly.

"I believe it."
Rachel laughed. "Do you have time? Let me show you something."

Unwilling to protest, Annabeth let Rachel take her by the hand and drag her across the Met. Rachel talked non stop as they made their way over, talking about her Art History class at school. Then she dragged Annabeth into a certain wing, towards a specific painting, and Annabeth's heart seized.

Rachel sighed. "It's Degas. 'The Dance Class.' I see it whenever I'm here. I just wish I could paint like that. Maybe someday…"

She kept talking about sinuous line forms and composition and perspective, but Annabeth didn't pay any attention. She was staring at the dancer's bodies in their beautiful outfits, wishing that someone would look at her and think that she, too, could be just as beautiful.

Maybe there was someone out there.

"How did it go with Percy?"

"Um. It was good, for a little bit." Annabeth's eyebrows furrowed. How could she possibly explain anything to Rachel? "Then, ah, he came over to my house. And we kind of argued. About something." That was the biggest understatement of Annabeth's entire life.

Rachel looked confused. "About what?"

"Um, about our," Annabeth raced for a word, "compatibility."

"Why don't you tell me about it? Come on, let's go to the cafe. I'll get you a coffee."

Annabeth could think of nothing she would dislike more, but Rachel was overtly insistent and dragged her along. How could she explain what happened with Percy? Annabeth could barely understand it now. But, needing a decent lie for Rachel, Annabeth began to remember.

Just what had happened?

It was the moment, right when she saw Percy holding the rules, that Annabeth knew.

As the realization shook her body— words she could barely allow herself to think, much less say aloud— she took a step back and her hand flew over her mouth. There was no need to breathe.

But as she looked at Percy standing there, the rules clutched in his hands, Annabeth knew it wasn't time to think about it yet. So she pushed away the thoughts of food and rules and everything deep within her, deep enough that they would curve her stomach and her thighs inward. It wasn't time. Annabeth hoped, sickly, that maybe it would never be time.

So she focused on Percy instead. Their eyes were wild like animals as they stared at each other, Percy waiting, wanting some sort of explanation. Seconds passed, and then Annabeth knew she had to speak.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out besides a slow, shaky breath. Percy's eyes flashed as he took a step forward and began to close the distance Annabeth was creating.

"Annabeth, what are these?"

She didn't respond.

"Annabeth. Can you explain this?"

Her mouth refused to speak.

"I'm not angry, Annabeth."

"Then why do you look so angry?" Even Annabeth was surprised by her comment. "Stop it."

"I'm trying not to be angry. I'm sorry."

Annabeth was silent, waiting for Percy to continue. And he did.

"300 calories per meal? No off days?! This isn't yours, is it?" Percy was pale. "But you aren't. You can't be. It's not possible." Then he paced around the room, his hands shook in every direction as words tumbled incoherently out of his mouth, and Annabeth still couldn't speak. One eye was on Percy, the other on the rules clutched tightly in his palm. It was like she was looking into a very strange dream, unable to say or change anything, content to watch Percy's words stumble like waterfalls out of his mouth.

"I didn't want to see it, Annabeth. I thought there was a chance but I always brushed it off..." The words flowed out of Percy like water, his body wild with his movements. He accidentally walked straight into the side of her bed and it banged against the wall. Percy took a deep breath and straightened himself. "I mean, I suspected."

Something about those words brought Annabeth back. "You what?"
"I had a feeling, Annabeth! It was just little things. Like how you never wanted to eat anything and little comments or looks you made. And then I find this, these rules sitting on your desk! What are these? What are you doing?" Percy was riling himself up as he spoke. But Annabeth was doing the same.

She stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest. "What are you saying, Percy?"

He looked at her like she was stupid. "That you have an eating disorder."

"So," Rachel said, seated in a plain white chair across from Annabeth. "What happened with Percy?"

Annabeth shifted uncomfortably and took a sip of her coffee, in a disposable white cup. She could already feel the caffeine running straight to her already-ADHD brain. "It's kind of hard to explain."

Rachel offered her a kind smile. "I don't want to pressure you if you aren't comfortable. But I usually find that talking about something helps me understand it."

Not this, Annabeth thought to herself. But Rachel had bought her coffee and she looked so nice and expectant that Annabeth couldn't not tell her anything. Besides, Annabeth had always been good at lying.

So, so good at lying.

That was what sent Annabeth over the edge. But as the weight of Percy's words crashed into her, something deeper roared in her, telling her to say something back that would make him feel just as small. "I don't have an eating disorder!"

"Yes, Annabeth, you do!"

"What are you talking about? You don't know anything!"

Percy looked really, truly shocked, his mouth wide open. "Annabeth, look what I'm holding in my hands! This is insane! This is what crazy people do!"

Tears had begun to prick the back of Annabeth's eyes but she kept going, refusing to give Percy any ground. "How do you know it's not just normal? And give me those!" she tried to snatch the rules from Percy's hand but he stumbled back from her, keeping them far above her head. "I'm not crazy! I'm not crazy! I'm not crazy! I'm not crazy! I'm not!" She slumped down on her bed. She could already feel the sobs stretching up from her lungs.

"Annabeth. Oh no, oh no. You're not crazy." His voice was so soft. She could hear him walk closer to her. Annabeth took a deep breath and wound up her body. As his hand slowly came to rest on Annabeth's shoulder, she jumped up and flung herself across the room from Percy like he had burnt her. "What the hell!? What did I do to you?!" He yelled, getting a little louder.

"Don't touch me!" Annabeth screamed, the tears dry on her cheeks. "You looked through my stuff!"

"I was just looking at your desk! You said I could!"

"That's private!"

"So it's yours. You admit it."

"I don't admit anything!"

"What the fuck, Annabeth! What am I supposed to think? You act weird about food always. Constantly! You can't get away from it. And I notice it, Piper notices it—"

The mention of Piper had Annabeth grappling for some sense of calm within her. "You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Annabeth would never forget the look Percy gave her then.

Annabeth took one last sip of her coffee before the lie began to slip out, easily as flowing water. "I don't know. The date was kind of awkward." Another lie. The beginning of the date had been fantastic. "And it was kind of one of those moments where you realize that you want different things from your futures." Annabeth felt sick saying this. Partially because it wasn't true, partially because it would hurt Percy, partially because it hurt her to say it. "My parents have been pressuring me for years to go to an Ivy League. It's practically the only thing I talk about with my mom."

"Is that Helen?" Rachel asked hesitantly.

"Oh, no," Annabeth laughed. "Helen is my stepmom. Athena is my real mom. She's from San Francisco. Works in business, crazy like that." At least that was true. "But basically, I'm under a lot of pressure to work hard and go to college. And Percy doesn't quite have the same priorities."

The sick feeling from earlier now magnified in Annabeth's stomach.

Rachel furrowed her eyebrows. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Yeah."

"That's the dumbest thing I ever heard."

Maybe Annabeth should've been offended, but she knew it was true. "Yeah. Yeah. You're right."

Percy's mouth dropped open. "Annabeth, you're the one who doesn't know what they're talking about. How can you not recognize that you have a problem?"

"It's not a problem! I'm just trying to be healthy!"

"Yes, it is a problem."

Annabeth sent a glare she reserved for very, very few people straight and Percy, and he slightly recoiled. "Stop it."

"Stop what, Annabeth?"

"You're talking about things you don't understand."

"Annabeth, you don't understand."

"You have absolutely no idea what I do and don't understand."

"I know enough to know what you're doing is wrong."

Something heavy began to slide through Annabeth. It didn't take her long to name the feeling: shame. Percy had looked at something private, so private it was a secret that Annabeth didn't even realize she was keeping from herself. And maybe another time she would have admitted that, but right now she was too wounded, too embarrassed, to allow him to get away. "You don't know me Percy, so stop acting like you do."

Percy took a step back. "What are you saying, Annabeth?"

"I'm saying that you come in here, acting like you know who I am after one date and one kiss, and I'm not okay with that. Because you don't know who I am, and if you did, you would trust that I know what I'm doing."
Percy was aghast. "Annabeth, you don't know what you're saying."

"Yes, I do. You don't understand anything about me Percy, and I bet you don't even want to." Annabeth could feel the tears beginning to pool in her eyes. "If you really cared about me you would give me those rules and walk out of here right now."

"Annabeth, will you please just listen to me?"

"No!" Annabeth turned away from Percy and faced the wall, her hands tight.

"Why not?"

"Because you don't get it!"

"I might."

Annabeth could hear the glimmer of hope in his voice, and it only angered her. She would win this fight. She had to.

Percy kept going. "I might be able to if you would talk to me about it. If you admit that you had a problem."

"No, Percy." Annabeth was trying to take deep breaths and calm herself down, but with every word Percy made her feel angrier.

"You can get help. I don't know what to do, but your dad might. And your mom. What about them?"

Annabeth let out a harsh laugh. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"You of all people should understand what it's like to have parents who couldn't give a shit about you."

"I mean, think about it Annabeth. You're a junior in high school— who really cares about what happens in the future?" Annabeth tried to interrupt Rachel, but she powered through. "I know, I know, your crazy parents care. But I'm trying to say that's dumb. Just let me finish. And that's only one reason, alright? Not wanting to be with someone because they don't want to go to a top college is just so elitist and fucked up, frankly."
"I know. I agree."

Rachel looked like she had been expecting more pushback. "So why can't you be with Percy?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"De-complicate it for me."

"I said something that I shouldn't have."
"Ah."

"Yeah. I know."

"Can you tell me what it was?"

Annabeth remembered exactly what she had said, but to say it again… "No. But it was about his family."

Rachel nodded. "Oh. I understand. That's a very touchy subject."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"Did you apologize?"

"I tried."

"How'd it go."

"Um."

"Not fantastic?"

"That's a good way to put it."

Percy went silent.

The shame from before now felt exponentially heavier. "Percy, I'm sorry. That was the wrong thing to say." Annabeth turned around to see Percy now extremely still, his hands balled up into fists. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it."

"Save it, Annabeth."

"Percy. Please."

"No. And for the record, you know nothing about me, either."

Even though it was the exact same thing she had told him earlier, that hurt Annabeth more than anything else Percy could have said. But she couldn't cry. "I think you should get out. Now."

Percy barely looked at her as he left the room and headed towards the front door. But Annabeth followed him.

The anger and the rage had left her, and now she felt so, so empty. She found herself wanting to reach out and apologize, for something, anything, that could possibly begin to clean up the mess they had— she had— gotten them into. But there was only one thing she could even begin to say, before her throat constricted. "Percy. Wait."

He spun around. He looked like a wild animal caught in a car's headlights. "What, Annabeth? Ready to admit that you have a problem? Ready to admit that you run from anyone trying to help you?"

Annabeth hadn't anticipated that. But a small kernel of that rage reappeared within her, and she needed to use it to its fullest potential. "You know nothing about me, Percy Jackson, and I'm sorry that you want to."

Percy didn't look at her or say anything as he grabbed his coat from the closet, quick enough that its hanger fell onto the floor with a clatter. Annabeth ignored it as he opened and then slammed the door to her apartment, and she was left, the only light coming from her room, marking her silhouette against the door he had just left from. And finally, every feeling she had refused to experience during the fight hit her at full force. Annabeth burst into tears.

"Have you talked since?"

"No. Not since he stormed out of my apartment."

"Oof," Rachel let out a low sigh. "I'm so sorry Annabeth."

"You shouldn't be sorry. You should be on Percy's side. He was just trying to help and I was so, so mean." Annabeth's voice sounded dry and robotic. It surprised her that she was even saying this— to Rachel, of all people.

"Have you talked to anyone else about it? Like Piper or Thalia?"

"They wouldn't understand." Piper and Thalia had heard about the blowup through Jason, though none of them had any idea what it was about. It wasn't for lack of trying, however. They relentlessly needled her for information every lunch period, which had just driven Annabeth to Leo, who at least made her laugh and never asked questions about Percy.

"I'm happy you told me, Annabeth," Rachel offered her a kind smile.

"Thanks for listening."

"Can I go show you another painting?"

"Okay."

They stood up and began to trail throughout the Met, Rachel still offering commentary on most things they passed. Annabeth was grateful for the change in subject. She didn't know where Rachel was leading her, so she stopped paying attention and tried to listen to what she was saying, even if she didn't understand any of it. Truly, Annabeth just enjoyed having something to focus on.

"It's Georgia O'Keeffe," Rachel sighed. "Wow. 'The Storm.' 1922. One of my favorites. My favorite artist, too."

It was a dramatic canvas with sharp contrasting colors. A storm over water. Annabeth had heard the name Georgia O'Keeffe before, but not once had she needed to attach meaning to it. "Oh. What, who was she?" She hated feeling this… uneducated.

But Rachel was kind. "Oh, American artist. She did a lot of work in Santa Fe. New Mexico, you know. I visited her museum last year. She's remarkable, Annabeth."

Annabeth stopped listening, and Rachel picked that up quickly enough. "Annabeth, do you know why I took you to see this painting?"

"No."

Rachel smiled. "Okay. I don't either, to be honest," she laughed. "But it relaxes me. It really does. There's some saying from somewhere— that an artist takes a lump of clay or a blank page or a canvas or whatever, and says: I can't control any of this mess around me, but I can make this thing perfect. I think that's why I love art. I love seeing everyone's control, their idea of perfection. Does that make sense? I think we're all just searching for something to control, which is an issue in its own way. Art is just one example. And even if it comes from a need to control something, well, it does sometimes create something beautiful. Sorry. I'll quit rambling. I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"No, no, don't worry." But with Rachel's words, Annabeth was forced to ask herself: what was she trying to control?

Before she could answer herself, Annabeth's phone buzzed in her pocket. When she checked it, it was Helen saying they were waiting at the front steps of the museum. "I gotta go, Rachel."

"Oh. Well, thanks for coming around with me today. I hope I helped you talk it out."

"You did. Thanks." And just for a moment, Annabeth looked at the girl she had wanted to hate, just for being close to Percy, for being pretty, for being creative and interesting and outgoing, and everything that Annabeth had wanted to be. And Annabeth wished she had been able to see past her narrow, inflated sense of ego to realize that Rachel was a good person. And a good friend, who had been nothing but kind to Annabeth when she had been awful back. Her mouth went dry. "Thank you. Seriously. For everything."

Rachel smiled, like she knew what everything meant. And instead of saying you're welcome or of course, she said "I know."

Annabeth could feel the tears prick her eyes. Fuck. Stop it, stop it. Get back in there. She took a deep, controlled breath and felt them recede. "Bye. I'll, uh, talk to you soon."

"Bye Annabeth."

Annabeth shot across the gallery, willing her feet to take her farther and farther away from the girl who forced her to think. She didn't know where she was going, if she was going to Percy, or even just to her family on the front steps, or if she was walking towards Piper or Thalia, or towards an Ivy League university or community college, or otherwise. But she had been floundering these past few days, unsure of what she was and what she wanted. It felt good to be going somewhere, even if she didn't know where she would end up.

It was sunny outside. Annabeth took a deep breath and she walked out and down the front steps of the museum. Her stomach grumbled.

"Hey, Annabeth! Wanna go grab some lunch?" Her father sent her a smile.

Annabeth felt her stomach curve inwards. "Um, okay." As her brothers began to scream for Chipotle and Helen tried to argue for the trendy salad spot, Annabeth tried to smile.

If you need help, please contact the following:

National Eating Disorders Association Helpline: 1-800-931-2237

(Monday-Thursday 9am-9pm, Friday 9am-5pm. All EST time)

where-do-i-start-0

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello everyone! I hope that you all are healthy and safe, and that this chapter can offer a little bit of a distraction in a scary, unsure time. My thoughts to you and your families.

You can see my art history love bleeding through this chapter. I was going to link all the paintings I talk about here in the author's note but is kinda weird with links, so if you're interested please PM me. I tried to talk about some art/artists that's more well known, mostly because I'm not exactly an art historian myself. I do like it a lot, though! Autumn Rhythm by Jackson Pollock is one of my favorite pieces.

Additionally, I wanted this chapter to focus almost entirely on the fight and the beginning of the fallout between Percy and Annabeth. Don't worry— Percy will be back! And so will Piper, Thalia, Jason, and everyone else! I just wanted to focus this chapter on Rachel because I really love her character. Interestingly enough, writing this story has made me appreciate Rachel more and more. I wanted to offer a different perspective on the Rachel/Annabeth rivalry because I hate the idea that they just fight over Percy and I want to make Rachel more interesting.

Enough with that tangent. I hope you all enjoy the chapter.

Emily :)