She comes to him in the middle of the night, watching him in a way that makes him wonder if she's aware that he's looking right back at her. He feels her before he sees her, the way the air thrums with unbridled confidence. She's beautiful, taller than any woman he's ever seen in his life and more muscular than most men. Her eyes are a mesmerizing hazel that always seem dull when she looks at him. He's not sure what to say to her most of the time, so they sit, staring back at each other until she disappears in the blink of an eye.
"She came last night." He'll tell his father in the morning. Frank Jackson will look at him with the same sad smile. He's stopped asking why but his father will always tell him.
"Because she loves you." His father will say.
"She never says it." And he'll wonder if anything that perfect could ever love something as imperfect as him or his dad.
His father will sigh, standing out of his chair and kissing his forehead. "Because she doesn't know how." He'll mumble into his skin. It's hauntingly mournful, like the sermon of a funeral.
He'll go about his day, thinking of nothing but her. He searches for her everywhere and he can delude himself to where he can see a piece of her in everything. Not her full, visceral glory that brings him to his knees, but enough to keep him going until the night comes.
She's back tonight, staring at him with an expression that he can't discern. She's more melancholy than usual, hazel seeming more gray. If it were any other night, he'd be content to just watch. To trace the outline of her face with his eyes, memorizing every perfect detail. Her high cheekbones and pointed nose, the way her full lips always remain perfectly straight as she watches.
But things are different tonight.
"Why?" He asks before he can even think. He's not even sure what he's asking her. Why does she always come? Why does she never speak? Why is she so sad? He'd settle for anything. Anything to hear her voice.
Her eyes trail across him. He shivers slightly, as if spears of ice followed her gaze. "I have never had a child." She says. Her voice is as soft as freshly fallen snow and he shivers once more. There's an edge to it as well, a lilt of unconfidence. It seems foreign compared to her majestic features, everything about her exudes self-assuredness.
"Angels don't have children." He says, because a part of him doesn't want to believe the truth. She's too perfect and he's too not.
Her eyebrows furrow in a way that makes him want to gasp. It's the first time he's seen her expression change. "I'm not an angel."
"Your wings." He says, pointing to the glittering gold shapes behind her. It was the first thing he'd noticed about her when she started visiting years ago. It's why he never felt scared when he saw her, because angels were good. "And that thing." He touches the sides of his head where her golden leaves sit.
"I am older than angels." She says, her hand trailing across the leaves. "And I would remember the only child I've ever bore."
There's a hint of vulnerability in her tone, a break in the powerful facade she crafts in front of him. She seems so human, so much less than what she really is the more she speaks. Even as her wings flutter slightly, sending gales across his room. "Why do you come?" He asks.
She's silent for a moment, and he realizes that she's not quite sure of the answer herself. "I feel as if I should watch over you." She says with palpable unsureness. It's an unsatisfying answer for both of them.
"You've never had a kid before?" She shakes her head slightly. "Why?" He asks, unsure if he'll like the answer.
"It never seemed right." She whispers as her eyes flicker across him. "And then it seemed so right. And now you are here." There's a longing in her voice, almost a cry for help.
"What am I here for?" He asks desperately. Ten years of life, five years of her watching and he still hasn't found an answer. Something was missing, calling for him from beyond, and the more he ignored it the more it intensified.
"To win." She says simply. Her eyes are veiled now, emotion seemingly cut off.
"Why?" He almost screams at her. He wanted an answer, a real answer. Not cryptic words but a concise explanation.
Her eyes crinkle slightly, almost as if she can read his inner turmoil. "Because you must." She whispers. "Because you are my son."
"Do you love me?" Tears stream down his face as his voice breaks. Please. Please say it. Please.
She stares, her mouth twitching as if she's about to say something. He blinks. She's vanished.
He screams.
He stares at the window as they cruise along the highway. He thinks they're in Ohio now, almost to New York. His dad had barely given him an explanation, only saying that he'd gotten a better job and they were moving. He'd waved goodbye to all of his friends in their small suburb, left Denver and now they were in Ohio.
He was in a very poor mood.
"When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide!"
"Your mom liked them." His dad says quietly. He snaps his head from the window, staring at him. He hadn't seen her in almost a year. Asking her that seemed to terrify her and now all he had was the memory of her. He hears her voice almost every day, sometimes in a gust of wind or the sound of a baby's cry.
He yearns for her.
"Why?" He asks. His dad looks at him for a moment, the same sad look in his eyes that he always gets whenever she comes up.
"Because they won." Something almost breaks inside him at those words. His dad rubs his shoulder for a second before turning the volume up. "You'll win too." He hears over the blaring instruments.
"But do you, don't you want me to love you?."
He feels something clench his heart as stares back out the window. Winning? Was that what he had to do? Win what? He thumps his head against the window.
If that's what he had to do, then that's what he had to do. He'd win, whatever the hell that even meant. He would win.
For her.
They listen to The Beatles for the rest of the drive.
He snaps upright in his bed. He can feel it. The buzzing in the air, the faint smell of burnt rubber. He turns his gaze to the corner of his tiny room.
She's back.
He smiles widely, jumping out of bed before he can even think. "You're back." He says. She inclines her head a few degrees. She looks the exact same as when he last saw her except her eyes are even more lifeless.
"I- I thought about what you said. A lot." He says as he opens his closet. He drags a large cardboard box out. He lifts the box with a strength he shouldn't have, throwing it onto his bed. "So I've been trying. For you." He takes as many trophies out of the box as he can carry, though he barely makes a dent with how many are piled inside. He holds them out to her, praying for a positive reaction. Even a twitch of her lips. "Anything I could win, I won. Chess, Football, Basketball, the damn Spelling Bee."
Her eyes fixate on the trophies, the cheap plastic seeming to wilt under her gaze. She takes one from him, reading the description. "First?" She asks.
"Of course." He says. "It's not winning if you don't come in first."
She hums lightly, putting the trophy down on his cluttered desk. She takes another trophy, studies it, then places it next to another. She repeats it, like a ritual, until his hands are empty. "I have more." He says, turning back to the box. "A lot more. I've been busy." He starts filling his hands with more trophies and awards.
"Perseus."
He jolts up, the trophies clunking back into the box as he does so. She's never said his name. Not once in all the time she's visited. He's never liked it, it always sounded so pretentious. But hearing her say it? The way it sounds so effortlessly powerful coming from her?
Screw 'Percy', he'd be going by Perseus now. For her.
He turns around, trying to still his shaking hands as he does so. "Yeah?" She didn't seem proud, not like he'd hoped anyway. But that was okay. Maybe she didn't show pride easily, or any emotion for that matter.
"You are not meant for this." Her words hit him like a punch in the gut. His hands start to shake even more.
"What?" He tries to keep a level voice but it's too hard with how she's looking at him. He just wants her approval. A word, a gesture, anything.
"You are not meant for this." She repeats, albeit in a sadder tone. He feels like he can barely breath, the world around him getting dizzier and dizzier by the moment.
"I'm winning!" He cries at her. "You said that's what I was meant for, so I did! Over and over again!"
Her face is a perfect mask of calm, betrayed by the white knuckled fists at her side. "Not like this." She says tightly, like each word she speaks causes her physical pain.
"Why?!" He yells. Dad worked third shift so no one would be disturbing his mental breakdown. "You don't get to do that! You told me to win so I won! For you! And now all I can think about is winning!" His legs give out as he falls to the floor. He presses his head to the floor as he punches through the wood paneling, splinters embedding themselves in his arm. "Don't you see how hard I'm trying?" He asks brokingly. "I just want you to love me."
There's silence for a moment before he hears the soft clink of her golden sandals. A shaking hand cups his cheek, drawing his eyes upwards. Her touch is impossibly soft and warm, feeling goose pimples rise across his body. "I feel something for you that I feel for nothing else in this world." She whispers. He's never been so close to her, never dared to approach her before tonight. "If that is what you call… love," Her other hand grips his injured hand, pouring warmth into it as he feels his cuts close. "Then that is what I feel for you."
He sobs harder than he ever has in his life, pushing his forehead into her chest. She stiffens at the contact before relaxing, running a hand through his hair. It's not the perfect 'I love you' but it's so much more than enough at the moment. "I don't understand." He mumbles into her, savoring the contact that he'd been craving for so long. "You said I need to win."
She sighs lightly, her wings flattering. "You are not meant to win simple trophies, Perseus." She says. "You are my son."
She stands, bringing him with him. She stares at him for a moment before touching one finger, covered in blinding gold light, to the small of his back.
He screams in agony as falls back to the ground, hands flailing wildly to his back. It's the worst pain of his life, searing pain running along his entire spine. It feels like something writhing around inside him, clawing at his insides to get out. He flips to his stomach as he feels his skin tear open, the force of it knocking his bed into the wall. He feels heavier, like fifty pound weights had been attached to his back. She kneels down to him, placing an uneasy kiss to his temple.
"You are meant to win wars."
His head hits the floor with a dull thud, and everything goes black.