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Phoenyx: Yeah, if you don't tell Nyk what he's doing wrong, he'll think he's perfect. He gets a bloated head sometimes.
Me: I do not! I am just fully aware of my capabilities!
Phoenyx: Ooohhhhh, riiiiighhhhht. Baloney sandwich, right there.
Me: Be quiet. I'm writing this story, not you.
Phoenyx: (smirks) Am I right, ladies?
Me: Just - forget it.
Hale. Gods, it was good to see him again. He arrived, torn, bloodied and bruised, but alive. Monsters had chased him practically the whole way here. Mostly hellhounds, and the bite-marks were evident all over him. He had woken up a few times, and told me why he had come to Camp Half-Blood. Pain and I, ha, we go way back. Know each other pretty darn well. But I could hardly fathom the affliction of flogging that Hale described. Yes, he messed up. He got what he deserved. But that didn't change the fact that it severely damaged my already base opinion of Romans. I admire their bravery and loyalty, and their warrior lifestyle, but they treat everyone the same, no exceptions, nothing. To them, Hale was just another rouge that needed punishment. Just another criminal, stripped of membership to the Legion. And . . . the worst part of it . . . he was punished for defending me. True, he did react rashly out of anger, but aside from that, he was asked for his opinion and he gave it.
I ran my fingers lightly over the outline of his jaw, strong and defined. His deeply tanned face was peaceful. Regal. The rhythmic rising and falling of his chest assured me he was asleep still. His choppy black hair could hardly be called a Roman haircut now. It didn't fall into his eyes, though. It just stuck out in all directions. I smiled. His hair always had a mind of its own. Thick lashes stood out from underneath a dark brow, that when his eyes were open, just made the emerald irises stand out like ink on paper. He was incredibly handsome. Godly handsome. Trust me, I know. I've met a lot of gods. But none of them rivaled Hale. And that was where it had stumped me.
Why on did he ever want my friendship, then my affection? I don't understand. I'd killed his brother. His comrades. And he could easily have so much more. I wasn't pretty, really. I'm not saying this because I'm self deprecating, but I'm not. I'm rather plain. Hale could afford a girl more beautiful than I. His flawless tan, noble face and chiseled figure made him far more attractive than any other mortal, demigod, or immortal I'd ever seen. He would make Apollo go home to Delos and cry. It made it ten times worse (and better. He wouldn't get an inflated head) that he didn't know just how perfect he was, in every way. He was selfless. An effortless charmer. Easy to like. Hale would rip the skin off his back and go it to anyone who needed it. No one better could represent what a true Roman should look like than he: proud, but un-boasting, tough, but gentle, cautious, but hospitable, loyal, trustworthy, selfless. A true abnegator. He is intelligent, strong, and hard willed, but willing to submit to authority.
And I . . . was a quirky, troubled, melancholy head case with major issues, emotional and mental. Destruction followed me close behind, and death was my wake. Sure, I was very strong and fit, but I was no model. Half the time, I was underfed and underweight, ribs sticking out like bike handlebars. I had no permanent home, no sure guarantee of food (except when I stole), and I couldn't go four days without having a mental breakdown. I was a coward, to scared to face my fears, or even think about them, and that ate at me like poison. On some levels, I hated myself. My conscience was heavier than an ironclad, weighing me down like I was carrying the world on my shoulders. There were times when I was tempted to end it all right then and there . . . I'd even held the gun to my head . . . but I never could pull the trigger. I knew where I would go when I died. Not Elysium, not even Asphodel. The Fields of Punishment. I had promised Nyk I would meet him in Elysium, where we would be together, as a family. With my long dead siblings.
I wasn't like this before Nyk died. Rather, before I killed him. I was a shy, quiet, philosophical kid, that only goofed off around my brother. I had a serious interest in martial arts, as I still do, and I wanted to be a firefighter. But, as it were, my own brother was killed by my fire. I I'd always loved the outdoors, and couldn't stand to be cooped up for long. I enjoyed writing, dreaming about a world that in some ways mirrored my own. A troubled, broken puzzle. But unlike my story, this world always had a happy ending. There would be no happy ending for my life. I was destined to die young, already with sins weighing on my back, dooming me to eternal Punishment.
Something inside me felt like it was sinking. I couldn't give Hale any hope. There was none. I needed to cut him off, to save him from the heartache of my inevitable destruction. I know he wouldn't understand, and would be hurt beyond measure . . . but better than what would occur once I was gone. I had to tell him that his love couldn't be returned properly. I wasn't even sure if I could love that way anymore. How I wasn't entirely mad, and entirely suicidal, I don't know. Tartarus . . . snapped something inside me I knew could never be fixed. Maybe patched up a bit on the edges, but never fully healed. I'd barely escaped that cursed place with my life a year ago, and still, it haunted me as if it were yesterday. Who I was had been altered permanently. Nico understood this, when we touched in the Shadow Layer. I tried to hold back the pain and heartache, but it rushed out like a raging river. He too will never be the same. But I wouldn't burden Hale with that. I'd be giving an angel hell. I didn't want to be responsible for ruining yet another life.
I brushed the back of my hand against his cheek, then held it gently. I pressed my mouth to his, savoring the sweetness of his breath, and the mild taste of coconut on his soft lips. I pulled away, but not wanting leave. Longing for the love we once knew, even if for a short time, but could never share again.
"I wish it didn't have to be this way," I whispered, and wiped the tears out of my eyes. I turned around when I heard quiet, almost inaudible footsteps. Nico stood in the shadow of the door, his raven black hair partially shading his dark eyes.
"Do . . . do you love him?" he asked quietly. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"I did." He cocked his head slightly to the side in a subtle question. "I - I don't – I don't think I will ever be capable of it again. And I couldn't let him experience the hell I've been through." My voice caught as I spoke the words. Words that I dreaded. My brother's eyes filled with understanding, and he beckoned me into a hug. He pulled me close protectively, and I buried my face in his arms.
"I get it. I've been there. And I swear by the River Styx, I will do whatever it takes to keep us alive and together."
AGAIN! READ IT, FAVORITE IT, REVIEW IT! You know you wanna! Constructive criticism is DESPERATELY wanted! Flame if you want, as long as it makes sense! Tell me what you might like to see! Tell me what to improve! FEEDBACK!