Percy POV
I knew the visibility was awful, and the conditions of the snow were dangerous.
I knew I shouldn't have been alone on the slopes, without my coach or teammates.
I knew that I shouldn't have attempted the switch triple rodeo, especially when my routine was already perfected for the newly released course for the 2016 X-Games, a skiing, slopestyle competition in Aspen, Colorado.
So why did I do it? Why was I so reckless? Why didn't I stop to think before making such an impulse decision that altered my life forever.
It was nine in the morning, and I was already at the top of the freshly groomed slopestyle course, trying to get a read on the conditions and the jump in the distance. Snow was falling, and the mountain seemed to be covered by clouds, making it hard to see further than five feet in front of the tips of my skis. The evergreen trees were frosted over with snow, bending the branches. The rest of the mountain seemed to be deserted, being Wednesday and such poor conditions, the other (sane) resort goers seemed to shy away from the mountain.
Nothing was going to stop me. The prospect of the X-Games was near, and the goal of obtaining a gold medal was closer. All of my childhood dreams and aspirations were so close I would taste the victory on my tongue. I had worked with my coach Grover for months perfecting my skills, and creating a routine that would hopefully clinch the medal in the competition. But I knew I had the capabilities to surpass the basic run we had perfected. I knew that I was better than settling for a routine so scripted and bland.
As I gazed out over the practice course, I visualized the perfect landing for the switch triple rodeo I planned to attempt. Just do it you wuss, my devil on one shoulder screamed at me. You know these aren't the conditions to be doing this, the angel on the other whispered. After another minute of contemplation, I pushed off my poles, and propelled myself forward, trying to gain speed before projecting myself off the large, groomed mound of snow.
The second my skis left the ground, I knew I had made a mistake. I started to rotate too late, and didn't have the required speed to complete the skill. Shit, I thought as I crashed into the rock-hard snow.
I flinched my seat and my whole body convulsed as my sea-green eyes shot awake. My eyes scanned my surroundings, and I let out a breath to realize that I was just in the airport seats, not actually reliving the day of the accident. The same nightmare had been plaguing me for weeks, and sleeping almost inevitably led to waking up in cold sweats with tears brimming my eyes. I took a breath, and ran my hand over the brace under my jacket. I was still tightly bound together, in order to protect my broken ribs. My heart was still racing from the nightmare that recreated the dreaded day, just weeks prior.
My eyes wandered over to the flight board, that announced the departures and arrivals of flights. Flight 4372 to New York City: Departed. I let out a small sigh. That airplane left the Denver airport with one empty seat, because I was too much of a coward to face my family. I shut my eyes once again, and the constant buzz of the airport seemed to quiet as I attempted to gather my thoughts. What kind of moron deliberately misses their flight? Oh yeah, me.
Now I was sitting in a busy airport, studying the wide variety of people passing by. I saw an older couple, yelling at each other in a language I couldn't decipher. I watched as a couple, probably my age, swung their enclosed hands back and forth as they walked. The man pulled his sweetheart to his side, and planted a kiss on her temple. A father walked by, with his four-year-old son perched on his shoulders. My heart seemed to clench at this, and I resorted to closing my eyes again. That bonding I witnessed reminded me too much of myself and my own father. I clenched my eyes shut even harder. Now is not the time to be thinking of him, my conscience whispered to me. But I couldn't stop my mind from wandering to my family as I sat in the uncomfortable airport chair.
Memories of my father, Poseidon, danced across my mind. Him buying me my first pair of skis, just as I was learning to walk. Him teaching me the basics, even when I would scream and cry at the cold; he was so determined to make me the skier he was. Him coaching me as I grew older and more experienced in the slopestyle park. The smile that would sparkle across his olive face when I would cleanly land a trick; the way his eyes, identical to mine, would light up. Then my beautiful memories twisted into the ugly demons that haunt me to this day. The way my mother would scream at him, telling him to stop being so reckless. The constant disapproving looks she would cast us as we went up for another day on the mountain.
I knew my father was a thrill seeker, but I didn't know it would cost his life. I remember the day as vividly as yesterday. It was an average winter day, early in the ski season. My father was solo skiing, and ducked the rope into a closed area of the mountain, and was caught in an avalanche. He was stuck under the snow for thirty minutes as search and rescue frantically searched for his body, but when they found his frozen body, it was too late: he had suffocated.
From that moment on, my life took a dramatic change. My pinpoint dream of a gold medal was intensified. I needed to win for him; for my dad. I knew that it would make him proud of me.
My mom remarried a professor, Paul, who was just as equal in his hatred for my passion of skiing. The two of them would argue with me, until my mother or I was in tears, and we would reach the same standstill every time: They refused to support me or attend my competitions, but I continued to ski.
When I had my accident that took away my gold medal dreams, my mother's face danced in my vision, saying, I told you so Perseus. Skiing is going to ruin you. As of now, she doesn't know about the accident, even though much of the local ski community in Aspen, Colorado does. (They call me the "Almost Boy." Who was so close, but not close enough.)
Hence the reason I am cowering away from the flight that will take me back to New York. I didn't want to visit a mom and step-dad who haven't shown an ounce of love or support for the past 15 years of my life, and who will gloat at the fact that they were correct with their distrust in the sport. It wasn't like they would miss me, they started a new family with a daughter and son, 13 and 11 years old.
I glanced at the clock once again. It was 11 in the afternoon, but the bar seemed like the only place I could find comfort in now, since the ski mountain wasn't an option (thanks rib brace). I stood up from the airport chair that I had been lounging in for almost three hours now, grabbed my black carry-on backpack, shook out my jet-black hair, and started to walk to the nearest bar in the C terminal.
I arrived at a fairly mellow, lit up bar and restaurant. I took a seat on one of the stools, made eye contact with the bar manager, and pointed to a glass of scotch that he had. He seemed to understand, and brought me the glass. I swirled the toxin around in the glass cup, before downing it down my throat.
In my peripheral vision, I saw movement two seats down from me. The female occupant of the seat turned towards me, and my heart stopped beating in my chest.
My eyes went up and down her whole body, and I told myself I was staring, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. Her head was adjourned with a black beanie, and golden curls that reached her chest spilled out from underneath it. The top of her body was covered with a navy razor back tank top. Didn't this girl realize it was 20 degrees and snowing outside? I almost smirked at the thought. Her long legs were covered with form fitting leggings, and my eyes lingered, although I tried to keep them moving.
She caught me staring, and blew out a frustrated breath. Damn, didn't want to mess with angry angel girl. I averted my eyes back to my now empty glass of scotch, and tried not to look back at one of the most beautiful women I have even seen in my life.
A/N: Okay so here is chapter two! I hope you are excited for the future, which will primarily be percabeth interactions, and the formation of a friendship/relationship with blurry lines as to their status. I'm sorry if the ski lingo didn't make much sense to those non-skiers. I tried to keep it as simple, yet descriptive as possible. That won't affect much of the rest of the story. Please review. As an author, it becomes hard to write for a seemingly nonexistent fan base! Drop a quick "good" in the review box and it will make me smile!
