Chapter 9

Annabeth.

Once Percy left the group, Chiron relented and told us that the meeting would be postponed until morning. So, we all wandered back to our rooms. A few teens were waiting for us in the halls. Luke was right about one thing, they were extremely jealous of how we got to go out. After all, we were the worst behaved group.

I managed to avoid any questions targeted my way and slipped into my room. I won't not admit that I thought about Percy. I was worried about him.

Percy.

Group therapy the next day went about as well as expected.

I enter the room with a new sense of optimism. Forty-seven, the dog that followed me home, had left. I'm convinced that he-it was temporary.

As I enter, everyone stares at me. Like beckons me to my usual spot in the circle. I smile as if nothing's wrong. I hate people staring at me. Luke starts speaking, but I can't pay attention. Everyone's staring at me. I hate people staring at me.

"Percy," Luke calls my name, and snaps me out of whatever I was in. He laughs nervously. "We were just talking about yesterday. Um, what happened yesterday?" I knew he was very nervous, only Chiron spoke to me openly about stuff like this.

"Nothing." I narrow my eyes, daring him to try again. I know that Luke knows that I hate him. Sure enough, he changes the subject.

"Well, it seems as if you made some friends?" I give Luke a confused look. Was he calling Forty-Seven a friend? "I just mean," Luke started when he saw my face, "you were having fun at the orphanage...with that little girl."

My gaze on Luke softens. "I don't know, I just like children. They don't judge." I mutter, embarrassed.

"Aww." Thalia cooes, sarcastically. I roll my eyes at her.

...

For the time being, I've returned to my safe haven. The rec room. I know that in individual therapy, which for me is later in the afternoon, Chiron would want to talk about yesterday.

As I draw, I spy something coming in from the corner of my eye. At first I think it's Annabeth, who now comes frequently to this room, but as I turn the corner, I see a dog.

What the hell? A dog, in the hospital...I don't understand what's happened until it hits me. This dog is a Rottweiler with a green collar. It's Forty-Seven. He's back. He wasn't temporary.

He stares at me. I'm afraid to break eye contact. My second thought is that he's too real. I can't have made up something so defined. And I'm right. Every part of him is precise. His ears are alert, his mouth is full of dirty, sharp teeth, and his tongue is hanging out of his mouth. Even his fur looks bristly.

Maybe it's because I'm an artist.

I reach out my hand subconsciously to pet him, and sure enough, his fur is dry and smooth. I second guess myself again. This dog has to be real. Imagination isn't this precise.

The dog looks happy. He doesn't look as evil as I'd thought he did yesterday. He's panting excitedly and wagging his tail. I keep petting him for a little while longer, slowly getting used to his company.

"Hey Forty-Seven. I know it's not your fault I'm insane. Life just sucks."

"Yeah, life sucks,." I jump back at his voice. It's unnerving, how his mouth moves to make human syllables.

"I forgot you could do that." I mutter towards him. All he does is motion towards my hand with his head. He wants me to keep petting him.

"Dude, we could be friends. I wanna be friends man, like you and everyone else." He speaks again, but this time I hide my discomfort.

"Alright let's be friends," I giggle a little "Of course, I'm friends with a satyr and an imaginary dog."

"That's just how life is man. One day you're eating ice cream, the next you're in a mental hospital - talking to a dog." I turn my face away from his. His voice sounds a lot more human and friendly when I don't see where it's coming from.

"Yeah, tell me about it. I wish life was normal. I hate being here. I just want to be normal."

"But I thought we were friends, man?" His voice sounded a lot quieter.

"Huh?"

He trotted around the couch so he was facing me again, and I can see his face. "I thought we were friends man. You said you wished that I was gone."

I could already see where this conversation was going. I quickly tried to take back my words. "No, that's not- I said-"

He jumped on me. My imaginary dog friend, who apparently weighs fifty pounds, jumped on me. His claws dug into my shirt. I could feel blood -real not imaginary- seeping through. My eyes widened at him, and I let out a small whimper.

"I'm sorry man but don't be disrespecting me. I'm your friend, bro." The Californian accent in his voice now sounded sinister.

"Alright sorry, sorry man." I take on his accent, my voice hoarse, hoping it will appease him.

It works, apparently, because he gets off me. "It's all good." He looks once more like an excited, innocent dog. "Gonna go chill now, though." He says, and he leaves through the opened door.

I only sigh. Only I would get attacked by my imaginary, Californian talking dog. I look down at my cuts. The shirt was definitely ruined. If they're not real, how can they inflict so much pain?

I stand up and consider telling someone what'd happened. "Yeah excuse me ma'am, I hurt my talking dogs feelings, and he attacked me." I laugh it off, the pain - everything. I move towards the rec room door and to my room to clean myself up.

...

When I come back into the room, Annabeth's there. She's reading a book. I nod at her before collapsing on the couch, face up. I'd left my sketchbook in my room, so I reserve myself to just thinking. Subconsciously, I start thinking about Forty-Seven, which leads to Grover, which leads to Annabeth. I started thinking about how different we are.

Annabeth.

"We could learn a lot more from each other, Annabeth Chase." Percy says, a few minutes after he came in.

I look up and raise an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean, Percy Jackson?' I mock his formal tone.

"You need to learn how to live, and I need to learn how to die." He said it so firmly, as if he'd thought about it for so long earlier.

Me, realizing that this was a serious conversation, sat up. "What the hell…?"

Percy stayed laying on the couch, gazing up at the ceiling. "Think about it! We both have too much or too little emotion. You don't care about anything. I care too much about everything." He was getting worked up now, but his eyes still wouldn't meet mine. It was as if he didn't want to see me shoot his idea down.

"What do you mean you care too much about things?" I asked, feigning nonchalance, trying to change the subject.

"I'm really paranoid, I freak out about everything, I have too much life." This time, as he spoke, he sat up too look at me.

"You have too much life."

"Yeah I do! I have so much life that I can't focus on anything, I'm disorganized, I don't think straight." He snapped his fingers like he'd just thought of something brilliant. "I have so much life that I had to create fake life that only I can see."

"You mean Grover?" My voice is teasing.

Percy's got this sort of psychotic grin on that makes him look like he's either cured cancer or he's a mad scientist. "Yeah, I mean Grover," He shouts, "And-" He cuts off quickly.

My eyes narrow quickly at him. "And who?"

"Nothing, no one." He quickly change the subject. "But don't you understand? That's what this is-I have too much life! What else would this be? Why else would I be here?"

"Schizophrenia." I state, coldly. Both what I said and my tone catches him off guard.

"What?" His smile's lessened considerably.

"Everything your listing - the paranoia, the disorganization, the mood swings, even the hallucinations," Percy flinches, "these are all just symptoms of the mental disorder schizophrenia."

Percy, who excited during his rant had stood up, collapsed back on the couch. He stares off into space and doesn't say anything for a while. For about ten minutes he sits there in silence, leaving me to wonder if I've been too harsh.

Finally, when I was about to apologize, Percy speaks. "Yeah, you're right. It's just schizophrenia." He sounded depressed, as if his previous happy demeanor had been ripped off of him. "But…" he smirks, "I still wanna do it. I still wanna teach you how to live. I still want you to teach me how to die."

"Why, Percy? It's illogical." I growl, annoyed that he doesn't get the point. Unhappy that I'm still being dragged into his plot.

"Annabeth." His tone is serious now. A permanent serious, not like any of the other emotions he's exposed. "I'm getting crazier - hear me out." He states, because I open my mouth to protest.

"In a year we'll both be eighteen. When we turn eighteen, we'll be adults. This is a summer hospital program for youth. In a month, if this place doesn't fix us, we'll be turned over to real residential hospitals. With people with worse, more intense, mental diseases. Right now, we can pretend we're not 'crazy'. But what about when we get over there? We'll be crazy, Annabeth."

He pauses his speech to see my face, which was not impressed. "You, of course, won't be admitted to anything serious, 'cause depression ain't something they'd take so seriously. You'll be prescribed a bunch of drugs and sent off into the world, sad." I raised my eyebrows at him, urging him to get to the point. "I, on the other hand, will be sent to a place with electroshock-do you know how many nightmares I've had about electroshock? They'll take away my sketchbook, they'll saddle me on drugs. I won't be myself! I've only got one month."

"You've got a whole year!"

"I've got one month, because my birthdays in August. Please, Annabeth, I'm begging you - teach me how to die."

"What about Thalia? She's nineteen, she's still here." I point out.

"That's because her dad's super rich and can pull some strings. He basically owns this whole hospital."

I bit my lip. "What does that even mean? Teaching you how to die?"

"Teach me how to not care so much about stuff. Tell me how you're so chill all the time."

"It's called depression, Percy."

"I just need some calming techniques."

"It won't be anything Chiron hasn't taught you. I'm not a professional psychiatrist, Percy. I might just make it worse."

"We have a connection, Annabeth. It's that were totally opposites." He gave me a pleading grin. He pouted, he fell onto his knees.

I, completely prepared to say no, said, "Fine."