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The room was dark, the curtains drawn closed over the window.
Taking a steadying breath, Annabeth flicked on the light. The room was messy, jeans strewn over a desk chair, the bed rumpled, shoes and school books all over the floor.
Careful not to touch anything, she moved through the room, before slumping on Percy’s bed.
Two weeks.
That’s how long it had been. The bed still smelled like him, Percy’s presence still in this room. Her heart beat as she tried to take another shaky breath, to take a hold of the feelings running rampant in her chest.
Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the first tears fall, wiping her hand over her face.
She would not cry. Not here.
Annabeth kicked off her own shoes, pulling her knees into her chest, running her hand over the rumpled bed sheets, trying to feel some, any connection to Percy.
But there was nothing.
He’s gone, her brain reminded her, her hands shaking as she tried and failed to wipe the coming onslaught of tears.
Gone.
She laughed quietly, full of bitterness and pain. She couldn’t even muster up the courage to say the truth. Gone didn’t describe half of it.
A knock sounded, and Sally’s face appeared around the half opened door, peering in, a sad smile on her face.
“Hey,” the older woman said softly, moving carefully through the room to come sit next to Annabeth on the bed. “How are you holding up?”
Annabeth sniffled in response, taking the time to observe Sally. She looked tired, and far older than Annabeth remembered last time she had seen her.
“I think I should be asking you that question,” she responded, trying to once more wipe the tears from her eyes as her body fought her with every step.
Sally’s arm wrapped around Annabeth, and for a second Annabeth wanted to leave. She shouldn’t be here. It had been her fault. Her fault.
But instead she leaned in, resting her head on Sally’s shoulder as fresh tears threatened to spill, Sally’s hand gently stroking through Annabeth’s curls. So she let it out, or at least what was left of it anyway.
Annabeth had cried so much in the last two weeks that every part of her felt… empty. A hollow shell of what used to be.
“He’s really gone,” she whispered into the silence, finally taking a closer look at the bedroom, a fine layer of dust starting to settle on the shelves and desk, as though no one had dared disturb the room.
“Yes,” Sally said softly, that one word sounding just as hollow as Annabeth felt.
It was the kind of hollow which came after the rage of two weeks spent begging and pleading, screaming herself hoarse for anyone, please gods, anyone, to listen.
But they never did.
On Olympus, they had simply stared at her, looked at her with the pity of someone who could never truly understand, as she held Percy’s broken body in her arms.
The gods pitied her, but they couldn’t understand. Not really.
And how could they?
Them with their immortal, never-ageing bodies.
With their perfect teeth and hair and clothes. Them with their inability to die and to feel emotions.
They thought they could feel emotions, real human emotions. But that was all it was. A thought.
The anger she had felt when they had looked at her, clothes torn, arm broken, Percy’s blood smeared on her hands, his body cradled to her chest.
They had offered her a reward, as if it could ease her pain.
She had asked that they return Percy, that they return him to the land of the living, had screamed, begged, yelled.
They refused, Poseidon the only one in support of her idea, the only one who hadn’t looked at her with pity, but at Percy with grief and torment.
The demigods surrounding her had muttered their agreement, had screamed with her, for once, each and every demigod in tandem and in one unanimous decision.
Bring him back, they had yelled.
No, the gods had responded.
Percy still had a long life to live. There were so many things Annabeth had planned to do with him.
Take her boy by his hands, kiss him in the moonlight as they danced by the campfire. Tell him about her plans, not just for her architectural dreams, but for them as well.
A life.
A future.
Happiness.
Something permanent.
Something permanent.
Just for them, their life.
A life where they wouldn’t have to run from monsters everyday, where they could live and be happy.
Where they could go on dates for walks and picnics in the park.
A life full of stolen kisses and laughter.
A life full of family, one which wasn’t broken, but whole. One where there were no broken promises turned into curse blades, where they would support each other unconditionally.
Annabeth sniffled, burying her head further into the crook of Sally’s neck.
She was drowning in guilt, her body a swirl of that hollow feeling.
And she had no Percy to save her.