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There was a special sort of tragedy that clung to Percy like a sickness. No one was ever bold enough to say as much, but he had seen the signs long before he fell into the coma that took four years of his life. It wasn’t until he met Oakley fucking Fenzer that anyone had been so outright with him.
She seemed to carry the very same tragedy, something that clung to her skin and her soul in ways that were too similar to his. Unlike him, she never let it seem to dull whatever spark she had buried beneath the layers of skin and rot, rather it shone through brighter than anyone he had ever met. Oakley was never quite truthful, but her words carried two meanings, one in which people wanted to hear and one in which Oakley actually meant. Percy had learned to read between the lines first and foremost.
“Two people intertwined with tragedy,” Oakley laughed one day, feet tucked up on the dashboard of the car, a joint propped between her fingers. The two of them were roasting under the summer sun, stuck inside with no air conditioner and rather relying on the windows being rolled down and allowing for a few cool breezes. The car itself had been long abandoned at the gas station, tucked into the back corner of the lot for the time being. Not as though either of them had any intention to drive it.
“What’dya mean?” Percy muttered, already feeling the high begin to hit. He was stretched out in the backseat of the car, ignoring the wear and tear of the seats. If he ignored them, he could pretend he was in his bed—his old bed back home that he remembered growing up with, not the stupid hospital bed he woke up in or the shitty beds his fosters offered up.
“We’re tragedy’s,” Oakley hummed, twisting until she faced him with that knowing, almost wicked grin. All sharp teeth and a challenge in her stare. As though he would ever argue anything she assumed true. He had long since learned that when she had her mind set to an idea, it was hard to sway her from it. She had a sharp mind, sharper than anyone else he had ever encountered, and her tongue was mean when she didn’t quite get her way. “Born in an omen of misfortune, destined to be the downfall of those around us,”
Percy bit his tongue until he tasted the iron of blood in his mouth. A stinging reminder that he was alive, present. Oakley had weird ideas, but he could never quite argue with them when her ideas were shared. No one was ever brave enough to say such things, but Oakley was. Oakley always was.
“I mean it,” Oakley pushed herself up to sit on the console now, her gaze hardened despite the glassy look that accompanied the weed. “Between what happened to our mothers, then our dads. Who knows what’s to follow? Tragedy’s, the two of us, it is why we work so well,”
“I don’t like that word,” Percy decided, feeling a bit petulant in his stubbornness, especially as Oakley rolled her eyes. He shook his head, taking a drag from his joint. “Choose something else. Something prettier,”
“Something prettier,” Oakley mocked, “Of course, right. Misfortune, calamity, disaster, catastrophe, must I go on?”
“Choose something from one of those greek stories,” Percy waved his hand, looking at Oakley with a half-lidded gaze, “Something pretty like that,”
“Melpomene,” Oakley responded instantly, leaning back against the dashboard as she thought it over.
“That kind of pretty,” Percy agreed, nodding along. “I like it, Melpomene. Let me guess, goddess of tragedy?”
Oakley gave a snort of laughter, “Close enough. She’s the muse of tragedy,”
“I hardly see a difference between the two,”
“You asked,”
“It wasn’t a guess on whether it was a goddess or a muse. Rather what they held authority over,” Percy could already feel the two beginning to fall into something deeper. Less friendly. They were each other's best friends and worst enemies. They knew each other like siblings and strangers. The curse of being so similar yet so different, Percy supposed. He could see every part of his personality woven in with Oakley’s, yet nothing at all.
More often than not, their nerves grated against each other until they finally snapped, spiraling into a downfall of something wrong wrong wrong. Oftentimes, over the stupidest topics.
“Psyche,” The nickname fell from her lips in a bitter twist, sending a jolt through Percy’s body. He felt sober at once, that edge of anxiety bringing him back into the present and focused on whatever downturn this was about to take. “She’s the muse of tragedy,”
Percy held a steady gaze with her. Neither of them were one to back down immediately and they both knew it. To stand strong was to be proven right, and Oakley often won this fight over and over again without much else. Percy wasn’t sure if it was the guilt that accompanied him or the fact that Oakley truly was terrifying when she was like this.
A moment passed, then another. Oakley's face twisted into a sneer as Percy still had yet to give in. Her foot kicked out at the door until it swung open with a loud clang that caused Percy's teeth to chatter. He jolted back into himself as he realized Oakley was already climbing out and walking away, determined to leave him and his ideas behind.
“Oaks,” Percy began, clambering out of the car after her, “Oakley, wait. I’m sorry, I get it. Melpomene is the goddess of tragedy,”
Oakley paused her walking, slowly turning back to look at Percy with a raised eyebrow. Her gaze was still scathing, something sharp and a bit pressing, urging Percy to continue on. It wasn’t what she wanted from him and they both knew it. She was more stubborn than that, more desperate for the reassurance that she was smarter and better than someone. And wasn’t it so much nicer to be better than Percy? Stupid, nobody Percy. It didn’t mean much to anyone else, but it meant everything to Oakley.
Percy kissed his teeth, willing this conversation to be over already. He wanted to lounge in the back seat of the car, high off his ass until he forgot his own name, but he couldn’t do that when Oakley was upset with him like this.
“Really, Oaks. I understand what you mean. You’re right,”
You’re right. You’re right. You’re right.
Oakley was always right. It was just a fact when Percy was faced with her. A kid who couldn’t even pass their classes faced with a genius who had not only graduated high school early, but had already settled with multiple degrees just because she needed something fun to do.
It seemed to be the right thing to say—it always was the right thing to say—because Oakley shuffled back over, a wide grin on her face as though nothing had ever happened in the first place. The whiplash used to send Percy into a spiral, but he was more used to it now. The two sides of Oakley that no one but him saw. It made him feel special, in a way, being the only one to break open the tight shell that Oakley kept herself enclosed in. He didn’t care about the silent scars that adorned his body with each biting word that came with it.
She reached up to pat his shoulder, nudging him back to the car. Her hand burned through the thin t-shirt he wore, setting his nerves on edge. He shot her a small grin in return, allowing himself to be led back and resting back on the seat as he was previously, feet dangling out the open window as he squinted up at the roof of the car, covered in dust and grime from the months, if not years of disuse. He didn’t spare Oakley a glance as she moved back in her own position in the passenger seat, feet kicked back up on the dashboard.
“What about us being tragedy’s?” Percy questioned, his voice sounded a bit more raspy now. The smoke in his lungs and the lack of water on a hot summer day made his throat feel as though it had been roughed up by sandpaper. He blindly reached for his abandoned water bottle at his side, grunting when he came up with nothing.
“We’re cursed, I think,” Oakley grinned, tossing her head back to fall against the seat. Her brow was lined with sweat and her eyes squinted through the sunlight filtering through the sunroof. “Dunno. People can’t seem to stick around us. I think that’s why we get on so well,”
“You already said that. There’s more to it,” Percy muttered, taking a drag on his joint and holding the smoke in his lungs until they burned and his head spun. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl in the air before finally disappearing.
“I suppose so,” Oakley hummed, moving to tuck one knee into her body, her chin now resting on her knee. “Ever think of how strange of a pair we are? How things turned out the way they did because of the shit we went through?” She gave a biting laugh, something more bitter and twisted. “The shit he put us through, I mean,”
Percy bit back a remark of his own, something cruel curling inside his chest he refused to let out. He knew it was a low blow, the things he wanted to say and the remarks he wanted to make. It was unfair, in a way, to expect her not to speak bad about him. Not when every memory of him was something soft and sweet.
It seemed as if Oakley could read him for it too, her eyes narrowed on him as he found himself staring up at the trail of smoke and the grime smeared across the car. She gave a bitter scoff. “He wasn’t a good person, Psyche. He may have been a good father, but a good father and a good person aren’t the same,”
Percy’s cool gaze flicked back to Oakley, the quiet anger burning beneath his gaze as he tried to smother it deep inside himself. Oakley didn’t deserve anymore cruelty, not from people like him. He could only watch as Oakley flinched under his stare, another cold reminder of him. Because it just so happened that all their similarities, tragedies and not, were because of him. They were one of the same, a mirror of a person, but it was only by his doing in the end.
“Isn’t that the most tragic part about it?” Percy gave a huff of laughter, pushing the blond strands back from his face. “They are the best and worst role model. Kind, yet cruel. Caring, yet greedy. They will do anything and everything to get what they wanted, and yet all they wanted was for us to be safe and happy,”
Oakley pursed her lips, thinking about it for a moment before she gave another bark of laughter, settling back in her seat. “Tragedy’s, the two of us,”
“To Melpomene,” Percy raised his joint like a cheer in the muses name.
“To Melpomene,” Oakley followed, the grin not fading from her lips despite the words echoing in both of their heads. The shared tragedy they knew they carried.
⚬──────────✧──────────⚬
Melpomene. The Greek muse of tragedy.
Oakley had once said that the two were destined to be the downfall of those around them, Percy just assumed that meant Oakley was safe from whatever tragedy clung to Percy like a second skin.
He was wrong, of course. It was only time before the tragedy took her too. Percy wished there was some sort of sign. In some other life, she would have died in some accident or she would have gone mad. That wasn’t what life seemed to want for her in this life though.
It was her first time visiting Russia. The two had hung out in person before, of course, but there was something different about seeing her now. She looked healthier than when he had last seen her. She seemed bigger. Bolder, perhaps. More confident. The weight of her past still weighed on her, only she seemed more suited to carry it now. He had heard of her adventures back home, finally settling down and becoming more steady. Finding a family she could call her own, whether related by blood or not, and making a life for herself outside of the one she was stuck with.
Part of Percy was envious of her—part of him knew he would likely always be envious of her—stuck in the monotone cycle of work and school in the middle of nowhere Russia. Whereas Oakley was becoming someone, a better version of herself everyday.
“So Psych, huh? How’s that working out for you?” Oakley questioned. She did seem genuine, though he knew she didn’t understand the reason behind him choosing to pursue a degree in Psychology of all things. They had both agreed long ago that any field of science was off the table and while Percy was left with plenty of options, the one seemed to draw him in the most.
“It’s fine,” He shrugged, tucking his hands in his pocket to fidget with the altoids tin that rested there. His mama liked to give him altoids, said it would help him focus in his classes, and while it was true, it also only reinforced another poor habit of his. “I’m failing my one math class, so I’ll likely have to retake that, and I’m stuck in a bio class, but the psych classes are fun,”
They were fun. He was just beginning to get into them, but he found it interesting how the human brain worked. How his brain worked and now recognizing how Oakley's brain worked. Oakley would freak out if he exposed the more he knew. She always spoke bad about people in his position, working under the psychology field, more because she didn’t understand. She felt like a test subject, she had claimed. Percy couldn’t quite refute that one.
“I’ve told you that I can help you with any math class, y’know?” Oakley scoffed, giving a small roll of her eyes, “There’s no reason you should be failing,”
“Mama said that too. I told her we’re in different time zones and you’re busy with your new company. How’s that going, anyways?”
Oakley hummed, a smile crossing her face at the thought. They had exchanged letters, and messages, and calls, but it was different seeing her like this in person rather than just taking her word for it. She truly was happy now, something he never thought he would see. The spark was burning brighter, the rot beginning to heal. She reminded him a lot less of a tragedy these days.
“It’s going well,” She decided finally, “Things are still a bit slow, but I have a lot of support helping me out. We recently started a new department for involvement in the community and charity work. I’m really excited about that,”
“What sorta charity work are you thinking?” Percy asked, kicking at a loose stone with his foot as they continued walking. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought. This is what Oakley really wanted to do. Who she wanted to be. She was the type to be a hero in everyone else’s lives but her own. He knew she still had her shadows, a heavy burden she had to carry and the nightmares that remained almost ten years later, but she had so much more meaning to that in other people's lives.
Percy wasn’t quite sure when his role model went from his father to Oakley, he just knew there was one moment he saw his father as everything he wanted to be, and then the next Oakley was in that place. He knew Oakley wasn’t a perfect person, but he also knew she was a whole lot better than the man he had previously believed in.
“Starting with lower class support,” Oakley started, and Percy nodded along. That made sense. Oakley had grown up in the lower class, barely scraping by most days. A tragedy, she had once called it, now Percy couldn’t look at it the same way. “Helping supply people with homes, food, and education. Getting them the support they need for however long it's needed,”
“I like that idea,” Percy smiled, something a little softer. It felt awkward on his face, as though it had been stamped on. It only made Oakley roll her eyes and nudge him.
“Doesn’t matter whether you like the idea or not,”
“I try to be a supportive little brother and this is what I get in return,” Percy gave a dramatic sigh, draping himself against Oakley’s side.
Oakley shoved him off with a bark of laughter. “Oh shove off, You know what I mean,”
“You know what I mean,” Percy mimicked, raising his voice to be higher. He watched Oakley's brow quirk upwards, trying to hide the smile crossing her face. “Sorry! Sorry, I’ll be nice now!” He laughed, ducking away from a swat directed at the back of his head.
“Don’t give me the I’ll be nice now bullshit. You’re never nice,”
“And whose fault is that? I had to learn it from someone,” Percy turned to face her, poking his tongue out at her just for fun. “I certainly didn’t learn it from my mama. She’s trying to get rid of my lack of manners I learned from someone,”
“Don’t blame me for your shit!” Oakley protested, “What the fuck?!” Despite her words, she couldn’t help but laugh along, running to catch back up to him and follow at his side.
“Too late. I’m afraid you’re stuck now. You’re my bad influence,” or his best influence. Percy wanted to be like her in every way, the good, the bad, the inbetween. He would take the bad manners and rude remarks if he was half as good as her in his future.
“Well shit, I really have to clean up my act then,” Oakley sighed, gaze darting to the side, eyebrows furrowing as she seemed to read a situation between two people. “Hold on. Stay here, I’ll be right back, yeah?” She patted his shoulder before making her way over to them.
Percy had learned that the brain could block traumatic memories. He had experienced it himself. He knew the effects dissociation had on his own memories and the things his brain had decided was too much for him to handle. And yet he could never forget the thing that happened to Oakley in front of his eyes.
“They were arguing, and Oakley went over to help,” Percy recognized the dissociation setting in too late and it felt cruel now, knowing his mind would never linger on what happened after and just what happened then. “I think she could sense things were going to take a turn for the worse,”
It was a wash of numbness, the dull ache in his chest, the wet streaks on his cheeks, and a cold, distant feeling lingering in his body which felt as though it were merely a flesh puppet being controlled from afar. Still, he remained steady as he spoke with the cop.
He couldn’t look at where he knew she still was. Body now draped in a sheet while the man who killed her was being shoved into a car.
She was a hero, Percy had recognized. But he wished she didn’t always want to be a hero, that she wasn’t so willing to throw everything away so quickly for someone she didn’t even know.
Everything else was a blur. The rest of the questions, getting driven home, explaining to his mom what had happened, and later buying a flight to return to Chicago for a funeral he had to prepare and the logistics of everything following. Oakley had no inheritor, nothing she had outright told him at least, but he knew how to read in between the lines of her words and grew to understand what she had said.
It was almost as though Oakley knew she were fated to some early doom, destined to die at the age of 21. Tragedys, she had often called them. Souls of Melpomene, as Percy preferred. They were one in the same, Percy just wasn’t sure which was more tragic, doomed to die or doomed to stay.
Her funeral went smoothly. She had no family to attend, but she had friends close enough. Some she viewed as parents, others as siblings. It was a small gathering fit for those she was closest to. Those who understood what the world had taken and the tragedy that had buried beneath her soul
It was Percy who remained, sticking to her side even in death. He sat by the headstone long after the sun had set and the others had left. His suit was rumpled, knees now streaked green with grass stains and dirt. He probably would have felt worse about it, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. He just sat there, spending hours by the headstone. Numb and a bit out of it. Still not quite present following her death, his soul felt as though it was barely tethered to his body, and still he felt nothing at all.
It wasn’t his first funeral, but it hurt more than the last. If he were to wander around the cemetery, he would know the names scrawled into headstones, people he couldn’t visit because the ache in his bones and his chest and the guilt that coiled around him and squeezed.
He kept fidgeting with the flowers in his hands—daffodils, because he fondly remembered not only was it her favorite color, but one of her favorite flowers, and forget-me-nots. Some of the leaves were becoming worn and loose from his fidgeting, but he didn’t dare mess with the petals and ruin them.
He had to leave, he dully realized. Some reminder in the back of his mind. He had only traveled back for a few days—for her funeral—and was set to go back to Russia the following morning. He was set to have meetings over the phone to learn what was to happen with her company and the rest of her assets, not needing to stay in America for the duration of the mess that was to come. He had a flight the next morning. He couldn’t spend all night in the cemetery despite wishing otherwise, and yet that mental reminder did not do much to comfort him at all, let alone will his body to move again.
His forehead rested against the cold stone, a sob rising to his throat. Then another one. It would be the first time he cried since the day she died. The thought only made him cry harder, body trembling with the force of his sobs.
“I just need tonight with her,” He whispered, voice broken. A fractured mess of a person. Because Percy was nothing without Oakley. She was the light in his life, his role model and his person. Without her he was a shell of himself, a person covered in a second skin made up of rot and tragedy. A soul of melpomene left to drift along the world alone.
Just tonight. One more night and then he would let her rest..