Chapter 28

Annabeth POV

It's been a week. I haven't opened the curtains once. I've spent most of my time in bed, only getting up to go to the bathroom or to get food, but the food in my fridge has been dwindling for a while now and I just can't seem to make myself leave to go get more.

Every time I close my eyes I see his face, and it makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry. I remember every detail of that night so clearly, it's like a movie that's stuck on a playback reel in my mind. I just wish it would stop.

I remember the shock that had passed over his face when I told him I wanted to break up. I remember his rush to deny my words––the way he pressed on to comfort me and tell me he loved me. But most of all, I remember the look on his face when I told him I didn't love him. The way his tears had fallen like some sort of emotional dam had come crashing down at my words. There are no words to describe the expression he had worn. And I had been the one who caused it.

I pull the covers tighter around me, hugging them to my heart, trying to fill the sudden emptiness that takes over my chest. And just like that, I can't breathe. My eyes are dry, but my breath heaves. It takes me several minutes to calm down.

Some older version of myself that I have locked away in my mind tells me that I'm being ridiculous. She tells me that he's just a boy, that I'm overreacting, that I'm being weak. But that Annabeth is a manifestation of my past self––an Annabeth who had no idea how deeply she could love. That Annabeth couldn't even begin to comprehend what I'm feeling because she hadn't experienced him the way I had.

About two days into our breakup, I finally changed out of the clothes I'd been wearing that night, switching out my jeans and tank top for sweats and an oversized t-shirt. But I haven't changed since then, and boy is it obvious from the way I smell.

I haven't seen sunlight in days, and I'm sure that's taking a toll on me too. I know I need to go out––to get food, to go to my internship––but...I just can't bring myself to do it. I have this underlying fear that I'll run into Percy. I know it's irrational––as long as I'm not just wondering around, what are the chances that he and I will just happen to be at the grocery store at the same time? But I can't help the fear that runs through my body at the thought of seeing him. It's bad enough knowing that I hurt him. He doesn't need to be reminded of it. Neither do I.

There's only a couple more weeks left until school resumes. I'll head back to San Francisco, and everything will go back to the way things were before I came to Olympus Resort. I just need to wait it out here until then. And from the way things are going, it isn't looking like that will be too hard.

The next couple of hours pass beneath me in a daze––just as they have been for the past week. I fall in and out of sleep, getting up only when it's absolutely necessary. I've just settled back into a line of sleep when I hear a knock at the door.

At first, I think I've imagined it. Over the past couple of days, my mind has been torturing me with daydreams of Percy coming to my door––pulling me out of bed and kissing me hard, as if nothing ever happened between us. But I know that's impossible. I hurt him too much. And even if I hadn't, I couldn't see him. I broke up with him to protect him, and even if it means that I have to hermit away in this room for the next couple of weeks, I'd be damned if I put him in danger for selfish reasons.

For the second time, someone pounds on the door. Not my imagination. I groan.

Very slowly, I pull off the covers. I haven't moved in hours, and my body protests as I sit up, my feet sliding to the floor. Standing, I let my legs guide me out of my bedroom and to the front door where I look through the peephole. It's my mom. She stands impatiently, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail.

With a sigh, I open the door for her and a stream of sunlight washes into the room, momentarily blinding me after having been in the dark for so long. My mom steps through the door, her heels clicking against the floor as she enters.

"You're sick?" My mom says holding up her phone and waving it accusingly.

I roll my eyes and shut the door, enclosing us back into darkness. I had texted my mom that I wouldn't be coming into my internship because I was sick, but that was a week ago. No doubt she's caught onto something by now.

My mom looks around, her eyebrows pursed together. "Annabeth, what on earth? It looks like a cave in here. Why are all your curtains closed?" She moves to open one, but I quickly grab her arm, moving at a speed I haven't worked up to in days. She turns on me. "Annabeth what is going on?"

I swallow, crossing my arms over my chest. "I told you––I'm not feeling well."

My mom stares at me with a look of confusion for a moment, her head cocked to the side. Then, the weirdest thing happens: she looks at me. I mean, she looks at me all the time, but something feels different about it in this moment––like she's really trying to see me. I watch as her eyebrows unknit and the tension in her neck eases, the tight exterior she weaves in her appearance unraveling, becoming slack. She looks down to the floor sadly.

"You guys broke up, didn't you?" Her voice is low as she says it, softer than I've heard her speak in months.

I take a step back. "Whah–– what?"

My mom swallows, as if nervous. "You and your boyfriend. Zeus's nephew."

I just stare at her. It takes a moment for my breathing to slow. "You–– you knew I was dating someone?" My voice is raw as I say it, and the words bring a whole new wave of pain crashing down on me. Was.

My mom looks at me sadly, shifting her weight uncomfortably as if she wants to move toward me but doesn't know how. A moment of silence passes between us. "I'm sorry," she says. Her eyes are on the floor, and she's clearly uncomfortable. I'm surprised to see this side of her––to see her treading lightly. I didn't think it was in her nature.

Slowly, my mom raises her eyes to my face. Her eyes––the same stormy grey as my own––meet mine, and in that moment, I see genuine concern for me. It makes me even sadder. I can't help the sob that escapes my throat just then, and I quickly bring my hand to my mouth, embarrassed. But I can only hold it in for a moment, and pretty soon, I can't help it as hot tears spill down down my cheeks in a rush. My mom abandons her reserved stance and opens her arms, pulling me close.

At first I'm withdrawn, hugging my arms to my chest like armor. But the longer she holds me, the more I ease into her, and pretty soon my arms are wrapped tightly against her waist, clutching at the back of her shirt.

And for the first time since I was a little girl, I cry onto my mom's shoulder, letting my tears stain her shirt, but not even caring, because for the first time in a long time my tears finally have a parent's shoulder to fall on. With every second that passes, I feel a piece of the ice that coats my heart melt away, the cold thawing with the warmth of my mom's embrace.

And I cry.

My sobs come out in waves, spilling out of my chest like they're being yanked from my body by the comfort of her hug. I take in whiffs of my mom's scent between sobs, and it reminds me of being a little girl––of spending time with my mom in her office in New York during the summers when I stayed with her. Memories I didn't even remember I had come flooding back to me, filling me with warmth in the empty space my harsh sobs leave behind.

We stand like that for a few minutes, and when I've finally calmed down, we make our way over to the couch where my mom sits slowly, taking my head in her lap. She combs her hands through my hair, and it fills me with a calmness I haven't felt in days. It makes me feel protected, safe.

The only person who's ever run their hands through my hair in such an intimate way was Percy, but when he did it, it was loving: exploratory and heated. When my mom does it, it's completely different––motherly and comforting. I close my eyes, letting the amenity roll over me in waves, filling my body with calm.

"Do you want to talk about it?" My mom asks, her voice cautious. I shake my head, and so she just continues stroking my hair. She runs her fingers through my curls until my breathing stills and my body relaxes, and before I know it, I'm fast asleep.

When I wake up, my mom hasn't moved an inch. She still sits exactly as she had when I fell asleep, my head nuzzled in her lap. When the dark room finally comes into focus, I sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

The whole moment feels surreal, like something I experienced in a dream. I feel like my body's been through the washer and left out to dry.

"What time is it?" I ask, my voice scratchy from crying.

My mom shifts her weight and picks up her phone from where it lies on the couch to check the time.

"It's almost 6:00," she says, her voice soft. I bring my hand to my head.

"Morning or night?"

My mom laughs, her voice like a ringing bell. "Night."

It feels weird having my mom here like this, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't slightly embarrassed. We've never been very close emotionally, so to have her see me like that––in such a weak, vulnerable state––makes me feel ashamed almost, like she caught me at my worst.

"Thank you," I choke out. "For...being here…"

My mom cocks her head sadly. "Of course." She leans back into the couch, crossing her legs as she does. She must feel pretty stiff after being in that position for so long.

"How long have you been locked up in here?" My mom asks, motioning around to the lightless room.

I bite my nails nervously. "About a week."

"And how long has it been since you showered?" She teases with a smirk.

A sheepish smile takes over my face. "About a week."

My mom laughs. "What do you say I go start the shower for you?" She places her hand on my shoulder lightly. "We can talk after?"

I nod my head slowly because, for the first time in days, the prospect of taking a shower actually does sound appealing.

I watch as my mom rises off the couch, making her way into the bathroom to start the water. As soon as she disappears around the corner, I place my head in my hands, breathing deeply. For the first time in days, I feel calm. It's like I've been turning to sleep as a way to avoid confronting the pain I was feeling, but now that I've let it out––shared it with someone else––it's not pent up to the point of eruption anymore. I'm able to keep my eyes open and breathe without feeling like an engine trying to run on empty.

Slowly, I rise and make my way to the bathroom.

I take an hour-long shower, and by the time I'm done, I feel more awake than I have in days. I feel like the steam has opened my pores and cleared my airways, letting my breath come more easily.

After I've thrown on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, I make my way back into the living room where my mom sits at the dining table, reading one of the many books I have lying around. She looks up as soon as she hears me enter. "How you feeling?"

I smile. "A lot better."

My mom grins and pats the seat beside her. "Sit."

I make my way over to the seat beside her and sit down, curling my legs up under me and pulling my wet hair over my shoulder.

My mom motions to the books I have lying around. "Quite a collection you have here," she says, trying to start a conversation.

I cock my head at her with a slight grin. "I learned from the best."

She looks sadly out over the table towards the window. While I was in the shower, she pulled open all the curtains, and while it's too late for sunlight, it still feels good to have them open. I feel less caged in. A slight breeze blows up from the ocean, and I smile at the scent of it.

"Your father's the one with the real collection," my mom says, looking down at her hands. "He never did know when to let something go."

I don't know if it's intentional, but I catch a double meaning in her words. I can't tell if she's talking about the grudges my dad holds, or his relationship with Helen, but whatever it is, it makes me sad.

"He's gone you know," I say. "Left a couple days ago." My mom looks up at me.

"I'm sorry, hon."

I shrug. "It was for the best."

I can tell she senses there's something more to the story, but she doesn't press, and I'm thankful for it. I don't know how much more I could take at the moment.

My mom looks back out towards the window. The sky glows a dark blue out over the ocean, and not for the first time, I'm thankful to be lucky enough to look out over something so beautiful everyday.

"The key to dealing with the pain is to pick yourself up one step at a time," she says softly. "You need to feel your grief, but then start pulling yourself out of the hole. Chipping away at little things––even if they seem impossible in the moment––is where the healing comes from in the long run."

I stare at my mom for a moment, watching the shadows from outside flitter across her face. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

My mom purses her lips before meeting my eyes. "Live and learn."

Sighing, I place my head in my hands. "Everything just feels so impossible right now," I say, embarrassed by the words that come out of my mouth. There's a sense of shame that comes with admitting I'm so torn up about a breakup, but my mom doesn't judge at all. In fact, she expresses an understanding at my words.

"You need to start small," she says. "Do something for yourself, then build on it from there. Things will get easier with every step you take."

I smile at her. "Thank you."

My mom returns my grin and nods her head lightly. "Do you have anything in mind?" She asks. "Any first steps you want to take?"

I look around us at the piles of books I have stacked up on the tabletop. "I think I'll start by returning some of these books," I joke. "Unlike dad, I know when to clear something out."

She laughs. "Well in that case, I'll help you sort through them before I leave."

I rush towards the Colosseum, the wind blowing hard on my face as I skate my way down the path, my backpack full of books strapped to my back.

The warm glow of the streetlamps guides my way up the sidewalk, and I'm thankful that there's almost no one out tonight. The privacy feels good. So does the freedom of being outside.

I'm grateful to my mom for showing up, even if I am a little shocked. I hadn't expected her to be so understanding, much less helpful in getting me through what I was feeling.

It's about 8:30, and I made sure to leave during a time when I knew Percy would be working to make sure that there's no chance I'd run into him. It would be cruel to run into him right now––both to him and me.

The gravel is rough beneath my board as I pull up to the Colosseum, and I slide my board into the bike rack before making my way up the steps.

The cool air feels good after being inside for so long, and I can't help but feel a little happy because of it, despite the underlying sadness that still tugs at my gut.

Even though I know I won't run into him, my mind is on high alert for any sign of Percy as I enter the Colosseum. I walk through the lobby feeling exposed, but no one pays me any attention, and I pass workers and guests alike as I make my way down the dimly lit hallway towards the library.

When I enter the room, a sense of comfort washes over me. The familiarity of the space––one of the first places I felt at home here at the resort––brings with it a sense of safety, and I'm sad to say that it's been a while since I was last here.

Looking around, I'm not surprised to find that the library is almost completely empty. I make my way into the space, and as soon as I do, I feel my face light up when I spot who's behind the counter.

There, Thalia sits, scrolling away on her phone, her choppy hair tied back into a tiny ponytail. Black bangle bracelets line her arms, and a smile shoots across my face at the sight of her. With everything I've been going through, I've missed my friend more than ever. "Thals!" I shout, dropping my backpack to the floor and making my way over to the counter, an eager spring in my step.

As soon as she looks up though, my smile falls.

I've never seen Thalia look at me the way she does right now. It's like all the looks she reserves for her least favorite people––Hera, Zeus, Drew, Dylan––have morphed together into a look of outrage and hatred that chills my bones. And it's directed at me.

I feel like I'm going to throw up. How could I have been so stupid.

In my mind, Thalia and Percy have always existed in two separate groups: bestfriend and boyfriend. The fact that they're cousins always took a backseat in my mind––something that just happened to be convenient when we all wanted to hang together. It's just about the least convenient thing in the world right now.

"What the fuck Annabeth?" Thalia stands as she says it, her eyebrows warped together. I want to curl up into a ball out of shame.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I take a step back.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Thalia laughs. "You seriously have the audacity to show your face down here––the place that I work––after what you did to him?"

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"I––" I start, but nothing follows. My mind is blank.

"I thought I knew you." Thalia says. "You were my friend. You were his––" Her voice breaks, and she shakes her head angrily. "How could you do that to him?"

With every word, I feel like I'm being dealt a physical blow. And the worst part is, I know it wouldn't hurt so much if what she was saying wasn't true.

Thalia looks at me with a gut wrenching mixture of sadness and disgust. "You broke his heart Annabeth." She laughs humorlessly. "And then you left him to rot like used goods! He called you over and over again––texted you a million times! The least you could've done was respond with some sort of explanation. You wanted to break up with him––fine! But give him a little follow up, a little closure. You can't just tell someone you love them and then dump them like trash, Annabeth. That was a dick move." She shakes her head slowly. "Who even are you?"

I feel pressure build up behind my eyes, and I muster every bit of strength I can to swallow my emotion down.

My phone's been dead for days, but even if it hadn't been, I know I wouldn't have responded to Percy's messages. The knowledge makes me sick to my stomach.

Who even are you?

The tears fall against my will, and I angrily wipe them away. Thalia presses on. She's inches away from me now.

"He's never liked...loved...anyone like that in his whole life, Annabeth!" She shakes her head. "And you just dumped him out of the blue." There's a moment of silence where she just stares at me, and I feel like my pulse is going to burst through my wrist. I let the tears fall painfully down my face as Thalia glances down, her voice growing deadly soft and angry. "Did you ever even love him?"

I can't take it anymore––I feel like her words are poison, slowly making its way through my bloodstream.

"I...I'm sorry," I choke out. I quickly turn on my heel, not able to bear the expression of hate on Thalia's face any longer. I'm vaguely aware of myself leaving my backpack behind, but I don't care. All I know is that I need to get out of there.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I rush out of the library and through the lobby of the Colosseum. I keep my head down as I move, doing my best to avoid the stares of passersbys.

As soon as I'm outside, the cool air no longer feels welcoming––it feels harsh, unforgiving. I leave my skateboard at its place on the bike rack, marching off down the sidewalk. I don't even know where I'm going, just that I need out.

I find myself making my way down the cliffside steps to the beach, and before I know it, My feet are in the sand. I leave my flip flops at the base of the steps and run across the empty beach, a fire burning in my lungs. I just need to get to the edge––as far as possible, as fast as possible.

When the first wave breaks across my feet, it's like an angry wakeup call, and I take a deep breath in. The cold numbs me, and I feel myself falling addicted to it. Without even thinking about what I'm doing, I lay down in the sand, the cold water completely soaking my body. The ground is freezing against my back, but as I lie there, I feel myself waking up, like the neurons in my body are finally becoming aware of my surroundings again. I'm soaking, but I don't even care. I feel more grounded than I have in days.

I'm just far upshore enough that the waves never rise up above my face, so I'm able to breathe, but I feel them roll past my head by my ears, the water stretching past the length of my body.

I take deep breaths in and out, letting my breathing move with the pull of the waves. It calms me, and I'm thankful for it.

I don't care how it makes me sound––breaking up with Percy was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I never could've anticipated how much it would hurt. But I wouldn't have done anything differently. Loving him means protecting him, even if it breaks my heart to do it.

A sudden surge of hatred rushes over me with the next wave that passes my head. Hatred for whoever threatened me, for whoever had the audacity to pursue this whole illegal dumping scandal and go to such horrific lengths to cover it up, forcing me to break the heart of someone I love. Hatred for my father and his tendency to choose other people over me, a tendency that has left me feeling abandoned and broken for most of my life. Hatred for my stepmother who never showed me a shred of kindness growing up, whose cruelty made me miserable for a huge portion of my life. Hatred for my mother for not fighting harder for me, for not saving me from the childhood I ended up having to endure. Hatred at myself for hurting Percy and pursuing something that forced me to cut myself off from some of the most important people in my life.

I let loose a scream. Anyone watching me would think I'm insane––laying in the freezing waves, screaming my head off. But there's no one around. And so I scream, grabbing at my wet hair in fistfulls.

I hate that I'll be heading back to San Francisco in the fall––back to my stepmom and a life without Percy and Thalia and the other friends I've made at the resort.

And in that moment, laying there, shivering in the cold as the dark waves roll past me, I make a decision.

My mom had said that to pull myself out of a hole, I'd need to chip away at the things that seemed impossible––the things that were holding me back.

I think back to the note that was left in my room the day before I broke up with Percy. No more snooping. Don't tell anyone else. If you do, you will pay the ultimate price. So will they. We're not afraid to get our hands dirty.

These people––whoever they are––are holding me back from living the life that I want. Through their threats, they're holding me back from finding happiness. But now that Percy's out of the equation, the only thing still looming over me is the threat to myself and my personal well being. But if I'm being honest, the biggest threat to myself that I can think of is the idea that I'll never be happy. That I'll keep having to live a subpar life, suffering under the cards I've been dealt. And I'm sick of it.

Like my mom said, in order to pull myself out of this hole––this goddamn hole I've been living in my whole life––in order to find happiness, I need to chip away at what's holding me back. And that means pulling myself out from underneath the threats that are keeping me in chains.

Lying there on the freezing sand, the waves tugging at me from this way and that, I make a decision.

I need to fight my way out.