Why is Everything so Loud?! (Fem. Percy)

Things aren't so bad (they are)

Dad blinked. He stared at me. I couldn't focus on him, not the way he probably wanted me to. His eyes tried to search mine. When I refused to meet his eyes, because I really, really couldn't, his grip on me tightened. I had to bite hard on my tongue to choke back a whimper.

"I'm not going to let you hurt yourself," he said. I was sure my bones were going to break or bruises were going to form on my skin. Too tight. Everything was too tight. His grip, the bandages, the water closing in around me. I knew the water was supposed to try to calm me, but he knows. He knows and he's still trying to use it.

The water never moved, and I wanted to slam my hands against my legs or the floor. I wanted to do it hard. To have pain cut through everything. But I couldn't do that because Dad still held my arms. Sea green eyes stared at me. The smell surrounding him choked me. Tears fell down my face. Everything he was doing made me sick. The bandages needed to come off. It would help. They needed off. Dad slipped his hands from my arms, under the impression I wouldn't resume. He reached forward, and I pushed back. The water around me vanished, taking some of the pressure on my chest with it. My nails scraped over my skin once more. They could never get under the cloth. Again and again I tried to pull off the taut bandages, but no matter how hard I tried, they wouldn't loosen.

An iron grip locked back around my wrists, yanking my arms away from my body. I struggled. Panic sent my heart racing. Dad's grip only strengthened. "Stop."

"Take them off. Please," I begged. "Please." I tried to swallow but all the moisture had vanished from my mouth. If only the bandages would. Dad's rough hands brushed the skin of mine. I trembled. Bile curdled in my stomach, pressing and burning for a chance to come up.

"Why do you keep trying to hurt yourself?" asked Dad, a hard edge in his voice. It grated against my ears like a razor blade against a stone. "I've told you that I'll help you, so why do you keep trying to hurt yourself?"

I shook my head. I wasn't trying to hurt myself. Maybe I wanted to, but I hoped that would go away once the bandages were off. Everything would calm down once my arms were freed, once I had that choice again. Once there wasn't so much.

He didn't let me go. He didn't take off the bandages. And deep down, I knew he wouldn't; he was waiting for me to answer. Yet at the same time, he'd only take an answer that he wanted to hear. I needed to lie. I needed to lie and tell him some bullshit reason. It was the best option, the one that would've gotten him to back off and give me space and just for the love of the gods calm down. So why couldn't I bring myself to do it? My words caught in my throat, replaced with half-choked sobs and whines.

The way he stared at me, narrowed eyes never drifting away, looking at me like I was one of those frogs that gets dissected in science class. A loud sigh fell past his lips, more a scoff than a sigh if I was being honest. His hands fell. Next to immediately did I go back to trying to remove the bandages. They were still oh so tight. Too tight. Why couldn't he have-

My head snapped up, and I looked around the room. Dad was nowhere in sight. I sniffled and pressed my head to my knees. He left. Hot, wet tears still slid down my face, and he left. I wanted him to. That's what I wanted, right? For him to go and to leave me alone. Give me space. I knew that's what I had been wishing and praying for, so why did it feel like someone drove a knife through my heart?

A shuddering breath rattled in my lungs. Pressing my forehead hard against my knees, I relished in the pressure. Hands to my ears cut down on the noise, and closing my eyes helped even more. The less there was, the less it hurt. Unfortunately, my mind only had one thing to focus on. The thing causing so much of this. I did my best to put it out of my mind.

I didn't know how long I ended up sitting in that room. Dad had never came back. The only thing I could do; hope the movie hadn't finished.

He probably just went to bed and left me to fend for myself. Probably got tired of putting up with my shit. I sniffled, no air coming into my lungs leaving me to gasp. I pulled my hand over my face. The lingering nausea didn't leave. Everything was still pressing around me, itchy pressure on every inch of my skin, but it wasn't as bad. I could function. I could.