Chapter Text
You’ve never told me what actually happened” Leo said, muffled by the sandwich he was stuffing in his mouth. “About what?” I asked, focused on the tune I was picking on my guitar.
We sat on the bow of the ship near the covered control panel where I had found Leo tinkering away. I sat down near and plucked away a tune. He loves to have music playing while he’s busy. I love playing. And being near him.
He nodded to my uncovered arms and legs that were covered with slashed scars going every which way and said “those” casually as if it wasn’t marks that would haunt me for the rest of my days.
The scars covered areas all over my back, stomach, arms, legs, feet and hands. The inflictor decided to leave my face untouched thankfully.
“My scars?” I said even though it was obvious. He nodded, chewing a mouthful.
I sighed and wondered how I could get out of telling him this grueling story of my past. “It’s a long story.” I answered avoiding his eyes.
He raised one eyebrow and looked me dead in the eyes while he chewed. Since we have gotten so close he has learned to infiltrate my barriers. He can tell when I’m avoiding something.
We sat in silence for a little bit while I plucked away a tune until he finally spoke, “I realized all this time we spend together and both of us have never really talked about our past.”
I stopped plucking and looked at him. He sat his sandwich down on his plate, dusted his hands off on his pants, leaned back on his hands, and then studied me while he was lost in thought. Knowing how many thoughts go on in his head at a time, only the gods know what he’s thinking.
“How about this,” he said sitting forward. “ I tell you a very sad and tragic part of my background. And in exchange you tell me about how you got those.” He said with a satisfied smirk, leaning back in his hands.
I accepted. It had been so long since I dug up the history of these marks.
Leo started his story about his mom. As the story continued he became more lost in thought as if he was seeing every single thing that had happened again. I tried to watch it behind his brown eyes. Tried to see every emotion that he was feeling as he painted what happened. When he was done he took a big sigh and ran his hands through his black curls.
It all made sense now. Leo’s sarcastic and comedic behaviors had festered from his past. He used it as a way to hide the broken soul that he has had since he was a little boy. It made her throat burn as she pictured sweet little Leo on the streets after accidentally killing his mom. That’s why Leo was always so insecure about his fire. She remembered back to when she had first met him and he refused to even tell them about his power for months.
The urge to wrap her arms around him ceased as the looming anxiety weighed her chest as she noticed the silence between them. He was waiting for her turn. But she felt like she should say something.
“I’m really sorry Leo.”
He gave her a warm smile and said, “it’s not your fault.” He took a big sigh and with a brighter tone said, “well, now it’s your turn! ” She took a deep breath and thought where to start.
When I was a kid. I lived in a small suburb with my mom and older sister. My sister and I were “homeschooled“ and spent our days in the woods playing pretend and making music.
Music was our whole life. We had only a guitar, and random instruments we had made out of wood. We spent hours writing and singing songs we had heard on the radio.
My sister was my everything. She was 5 years older than me, she had curly black hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. Her singing voice was like a slow river. We had never been taught to sing, but our mom is a singer for small gigs around town, and when we would get to leave the house, in our tiny car, we would stay quiet so we could memorize the songs on the radio. I never saw my sister angry or raise her voice at anyone. I only saw her cry once when our baby rabbit we had caught in the woods had been found dead. She reminded me of a morning sunrise and the dew on the leaves of the trees. In my world she was the only sun I saw, and had ever known.
My mother hated me. She had a fine reason too, I suppose.
My mother was a blossom in her youth. She had a heart of music and the voice of an angel. She sang at local music pubs around town. She made just enough to live. One day, when she was in her fresh 20’s, she met a business man at a show. Their love began to blossom and they would be married by the next year.
Her new marriage was going amazing with her first and only husband. A year and a half later they had a beautiful baby girl. That wasn’t enough for my mom’s husband though.
After around 4 years of marriage, he started to come home with the smell of alcohol and other women on him. My mother was so in love with him she brushed it off. Made herself forget the idea of him loving other women.
As 2 years of the same nights went by, my mother’s spark slowly began to fade as the her husband's love for her slipped away. One day she finally snapped.
She thought of many things she could do to get back at him. To make him feel as betrayed as she has the past few years. Clinging to a fantasy of love from a man that only loved her with words.
She decided to take revenge. Her plan was for him to never find out. But if he was going to get to live his sinful life the way he wants, she was going to try everything she could to refill the hole he left.
One night she set out to work at the music pub as usual. She sang on stage. She had no intent on finding a lover in the pub that night, maybe just a one night stand.
Yet, she couldn’t seem to shake the stare of a certain man. A man that looked at her as her husband had many years ago. His sun kissed skin played contrast to his light curls and eyes.
On stage, it seemed like he glowed golden in the dark pub light.
That night she did find a lover.
As the weeks went on of sleeping with this man after her shows, she began to draw closer to him. She learned more about him. Or what he told her was him.
A few months later she fell pregnant.
Ever since the news, it felt like a brick on her chest.
It had to be her husband's baby.
But what if it wasn’t. What would she do? He would surely find out.
Before she met the man at the pub, she tried to hold onto any love that her husband may show her in between drunken nights at the bar. That calmed some of her heart as the painful 9 months continued on.
When the day came, the baby was born.
“Her cries filled the air like a song”, says my sister. But no one noticed that in the delivery room.
Even the nurses quieted as they saw the baby’s complexion compared to the mom and “dad.”
The baby had a full head of curly blonde hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes. Almost completely countering the appearance of my family who’s curly hair absorbed the light in the room, along with their dark eyes, and reflecting skin.
That day in the delivery room, my mom’s husband didn’t even stay to hold me.
He walked out of the room.
When my mom and I arrived home from the hospital, my moms husband was waiting there for her. Truth slipped out as my mom’s husband demanded for answers of why I wasn’t his baby.
When my sister told me this story in our fort in the woods, she made sure to tell the part where she took me to our room to make sure I was safe.
When my mom was finished with unfolding the truth of her mistake, her husband curled his fingers in a fist, and hit her again and again.
My mom laid there that night on the cold kitchen tile asking herself when did it all start? Why did he stop loving her? Yet, her lover had left for good. Only to be seen to sign the divorce, and child support papers.
Her life would never be the same now. The idea of seeing the father of her newborn baby at that pub again made her throw up in between sobs. She never wanted to set eyes on him again. The thought of her only true love driving farther and farther away from her as she sobs and shakes on the floor makes her wail louder.
After recovering, my mom wiped the blood from her nose, and dragged herself up to take care of her daughter, and the living reminder and consequence of her life’s mistake.
The weeks after, my mom fell into a depression and cared for me just enough to survive.
Until one day she was drunk on the back porch after putting me to sleep. She stared into the night when suddenly a man walked out of the forest.
He glowed golden against the night. He looked the same as he had those nights oh so long ago. Except for the shimmering bow strapped across his back, and the ring of gold sat on his light hair.
Lost in his beauty as he walked up to her all she could say, “It’s you.”
“It’s me”
Suddenly, by those words she was snapped out of her trance and the anger and guilt started rising through her.
She stood up fast to get away from him.To run away from him. She has to get away from him.
“Wait,” He said, grabbing her forearm. She was frozen at his touch.
“ I need to speak to you,” he said with such an important authority. She sat back down.
She looked at him with all the hate she was feeling.
The silence was deafening.
“Listen,” he said, after a moment.“I think you know that the little girl you had is mine…and I’m sorry for that.”
She was stunned. Somebody must have told him, if word has gotten out that she has cheated on her husband…no. There was something different about this man. That thought has always been in the back of her mind, but it rises to the surface now as he glows in the night before her.
“How do you…” she says, lost in thought.
“I have a lot of explaining to do,” he says, taking a deep breath and sitting in the chair next to her.
Over the next few hours he tells her about the world of the gods. He tells her who he is, and how the baby she just had is going to be a demigod. He tells her about the mist, the mortal world, camp, and the history of the gods.
After hours of him speaking and her sitting there trying to comprehend what was happening, he stood up to leave.
She stared off into space processing. It all made sense now.
He stepped off the porch steps and turned back around to say one more thing. This time his tone was serious, and he didn’t have his playful grin he usually had on his face.
“One last thing. I need you to listen to me when I say this. The reason you had this baby was because of the fates. She was chosen to be in this world. If you decide that you want to try and get rid of, or kill this baby in any way out of anger. You will feel the wrath of the gods. Goodbye Rachel.”
And with that, he turned away while drawing his shimmering bow, and walked into the dark void of the forest.
————-
The next few years my mother was gone most of the time during the day, working any job she could get her hands on. She quit the music job at the pub because she couldn't pay the nanny anymore while she worked nights. Even though my sister’s wealthy dad gave a good deal of child support, we were low when it came to money.
That didn’t stop me and my sister though. We spent our days singing, writing songs, playing instruments, making up games, climbing trees, and reading any books we could get our hands on. My mom had taught my sister to read at a young age, and my sister taught me.
When my mother was home, she would provided just enough for me to not get take by social workers, yet she worshiped the ground my sister walked on.
I was the living, breathing outcome of her biggest life mistake. She hated herself everyday for her choices those nights.Yet, she couldn’t give me up to someone else for fear of the god that is my father. So instead of attacking and Mistreating me, she didn’t treat me at all. She found that if she could pretend I wasn’t alive, then she could pretend something had happened at all.
Anytime I would do anything slightly to make her mad, or remember that I exists, she would make me sleep on the back porch. I preferred the grass instead.
When my mom would fall asleep, my sister would silently slip out with a blanket, guitar, and sometimes a book. We would sing songs to the stars until we fell asleep, and then we would wake when we could see light past our eyelids and the morning sun warmed our skin.
As me and my sister got a few years older we made a few friends in our neighborhood and played at the park. I had never been a talker, and when we were in public I was glued to my sister’s side and let her do all the talking. I look back now to the mindset I had when I was a kid. If my mom didn’t like me and thought I was such a burden, why would anyone else like me? Except my sister.
Not only was my sister a light in my world, she seemed to gravitate towards people. She made dozens of friends in our neighborhood.
They were all so beautiful and mature. I have a faint memory of my sister’s 10th birthday party. The party was in our backyard with all her friends. All the girls sat around a table. My sister and I had been counting down the day for weeks. Me mostly because even though I don’t like talking much, I still like to be around people.
I remember a few girls, that I thought were so cool, sat around me showering me with compliments and braiding my blond curls as I ate chocolate cake. I had never felt so loved before.
My childhood was a quiet one. Filled with music, stories, and playing pretend at the park.
It was at that same park that my sister and I played that my quiet life would be destroyed.