Cursed: Annabeth Chase

Broken

Running.

That's what 22 year old Annabeth Chase had been doing her entire life. She ran from her family, she ran from foster care, she ran from monsters and evil demigods. She ran her way through life.

But never alone.

Percy Jackson was her rock. Her will to live. She'd been with him through thick and thin, monsters and quests, she'd even gone through hell with him. Percy loved Annabeth and Annabeth loved Percy. They were best friends and set to get married in the summer.

They never got the chance.

Percy Jackson was killed on August 18. The swift claws of the chimera ended his life before he got to say goodbye. Annabeth's world came crashing down that day. The very day she used to love because of all the memories.

Memories that had turned sour.

Annabeth ran away from camp on August 28. No one needed her anymore. New half-bloods could deal with quests, her friends had all moved away to start their lives, and the gods and goddesses didn't pick on her or even ask for help. Everyone's lives were great.

Except hers.

She was miserable. She ran from city to city, looking for jobs and places to stay. At least, that's what she told herself. In reality she was running from her problems. Again. Except this time it was different. This time this problem couldn't be fixed because the solution was dead.

You could be with him.

She had though about it multiple times. Even as a child, suicide was in the back of her mind. She had stood on bridges and held knives. She had almost gone through with it multiple times. But that's not what he wanted. He wanted her to be happy.

But what if being happy means being with him?

That was a question she kept asking herself. Was she willing to kill herself to be happy. Was she willing to go to those limits. Was she ready to face him? No, she could never be ready. She had to stay alive. Not for her but for him. She couldn't face him, not like this.

If not now, then when?

She didn't know. It was all a blur to her. She would go about her day pretending to be fine, when in reality she was anything but fine. It was hard but she'd gotten used to it. Now she just fell into the motion. Wake up, face the world, and put on your happy mask.

Coward.

Yes. She knew it wasn't ok to do this but it helped. She coped the only way she knew how. She put on her mask, her happy mask, because it helped. Without the mask she would fall apart and she couldn't fall apart.

Why not? Its so easy.

But its not. Its not easy to be ok. Not to her. She needs a stupid mask, an emotion mask, to look just a little bit ok. Without her mask she has nothing. Without her mask she is crumbling. Without her mask she is broken.

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I drag myself out of bed and stare into the mirror. The broken, chipped, cheap mirror that I found lying on the side of the road. I almost laugh at the resemblance. Almost. I haven't laughed in years, why would that change now? I quickly get changed and open the window for some air. It breaks and falls into the street. Typical.

I grab my torn up backpack and hop out the window. I don't even try the door. Its been broken for years. I land gracefully in the alley and walk out to the busy streets of Colorado. At least, where I live in Colorado its busy. I trip over my shoelaces but immediately pick myself up. No point in tying them when the always manage to slip out anyway.