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Life would be so much easier if Thalia Grace was as heartless as people thought she was.
Staying at camp wasn't a choice she expected to make, but it was somewhat comforting. She called herself Annie's 'protector', just as she used to. But she wasn't really doing anything besides grovelling inside her cabin, staring at the few photographs she hadn't yet burnt. The creases that ran along the corners looked like lightning. One ran right across Luke’s eye. How nice.
Maybe she was her mother’s daughter; sobbing and fussing over a boy never set to return. The thought drifted quickly, but the bitter and metallic taste it left in her mouth was far too adamant to leave.
There used to be a mirror in her corner, a token from one of her suitors in Cabin 10, until Thalia decided she couldn't stand her own reflection. A few bleeding knuckles later, she was forced to call Annie at two in the morning. Cleaning up the mess was bearable, but the silence that came with it made Thalia regret every choice she’d ever made. Dramatic, yes, but not too unusual for her standards.
Right now, it was probably one in the morning, and while Percy took Annabeth stargazing, Thalia was talking to a wall pretending it was Luke. Conversations like this were no where near uncommon, which Thalia had to admit, was quite pathetic.
What a cruel little double date.
The knock on the bronze doors startled her, but she couldn't help but smile. On cue, she was met with the sight of Grover tip-toeing his way to her corner of the room. Can Satyrs tip-toe?
As he got closer, she noticed his new pair of cargo pants. "Percy gifted it to me," he clarified, sitting behind her. She hugged her knees and Grover pulled out a comb from one of his many pockets.
Thalia pointed an extremely large one. Gosh, he must love those. He chuckled and began to brush her hair, gentle as ever. She let out a weak sigh, hugging her knees.
He had decided to check up on her every night and try to talk her into sleeping. And on the few days he succeeded, he'd stay by her side the whole time. As sweet as the gesture was, Grover was horrible at hiding his guilt.
"Juniper?" she croaked.
"Lovely, a little tired these days. Let's talk about something else." He replied, struggling with a section of particularly matted hair. “Archery tomorrow? You really need some sunshine." Thalia paused for a moment and shook her head. She knew Grover would be disappointed, but she didn't really care.
"Its not criminal to feel some joy while grieving, Sparks." Grover said, moving to sit beside her. She ran a hand through her hair, surprised by how smooth it felt.
"We've never really talked about it, you know?" He added, earning a grunt of disapproval. Over the past few weeks, Thalia insisted that they either sit in silence, or Grover could talk about his day. His voice soothed her, it let her focus on something warm for once.
"No," She retorted, though it was barely a mumble. Even that was probably pushing it.
"I can be helpful, you know?”
She didn’t doubt it, but he was doing more than plenty. It must be exhausting, and she wasn’t being ‘easy’ either
Uncurling, Thalia relaxed her knees and stretched her legs before her. Grover put his comb back, posture relaxing slightly. His curls looked disheveled and the bags beneath his eyes were beginning to show. The cabin was relatively lit; a small lamp Thalia borrowed from Charlie before . . . and a sliver of moonlight from beneath the gates. Grover stared at the statue of her father.
"Annie blames herself," he whispered. Thalia's head perked up. His brows were furrowed. He did that whenever he was bothered. “I don’t know what else I expected, frankly. I do wish I could shield her from it, being her protector and all. But here I am.”
And gosh, she was grateful. Guilty and disappointed, but eternally grateful. Thalia smiled; it was small, and one more of sorry than happiness, but a smile nonetheless.
"Thank you," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. He was quick to place his over hers. Warm.
After a few minutes of silence, Thalia mumbled, “Disgusting."
"This?"
“Luke."
Her voice was hoarse. She grabbed a bottle of water from beside her, tossing a photograph to the side.
"I think you'd fit in quite well with everyone else then." He replies, praying to the gods he'd said the right thing.
She shrugged. The thought of seeing the others wasn't a pleasant one. Campers still viewed her as 'Luke's girl', so they found a lot of satisfaction from dragging his name through the mud. Frequently, things would get out of hand. She wasn't really proud of how many people she'd sent to the infirmary, but she was sure they'd deserved it.
Who was she kidding, she was definitely proud.
“Unnatural. To resent him, so I need time.” It was tiring getting the sentence out, which Grover could tell from the pauses between each word.
Thalia recoiled her hand, shaking his off, and sighed. Grover frowned, but he made quick work of hiding it. Silence, heavier this time. Thalia fidgeted with her hair as Grover rummaged through his pockets, avoiding each other's eyes. Gosh, they were horrible at this.
"I'm sorry, Sparks."
“For?"
“Everything."
“Don't"
Grover’s frown reappeared. She’d heard he spent most of his time in the infirmary, nursing demigods back to health. Especially the younger ones. He also played music every now and then at the amphitheatre. That sounds rather, gosh. She should ask him to stop caring for her, because Thalia was well aware of how big of a burden she was.
“Go. Rest.” She whispered.
“What?”
“Drowsy. I’ll sleep.”
“Thalia, I don’t believe you, let me st—”
“No. Rest.”
He tilted his head and shoved her gently, then stood up and gave her a small wave. She mouthed ‘Goodbye’. Grover slowly made his way back to those bronze gates. He tried closing them as quietly as possible, but a low thud still reverberated through the cabin. She flinched at the feeling.
Thalia was once again left alone with her thoughts. Thinking was exhausting. Her focus wandered to the picture she threw. It was Luke and her in this horrid inn, trying to take a selfie with a stolen camera. Thalia was barely in the frame, but she couldn't care less. All she did was stare at him: his toothy grin, those lovely eyes and freshly cut hair.
And then it hit her, that lovely and miserable voice.
‘You look sad, Tempest.’
Here we go again.