Our Bedroom After the War (Percy Jackson Fanfiction)

Misplaced Trust and Old Friends

He felt like he'd just been slapped in the back.

"A what?" He asked setting down the lukewarm liquid.
        It felt pleasant against his tastebuds, and its subtle perfume roamed through his lungs freely and delicately.

"You've never had one before, have you?" She asked, a sad look momentarily passing over her eyes.

        Percy shook his head, his gaze still fixed in the cup. He could see the bottom of the cup through the murky golden colored drink. Annabeth bit down on her lip, as she pushed her hair back. Everything around him felt cold, but she was warm. She felt comfortable, approachable, reliable. He knew her well enough, even know, when he wasn't looking at her directly, he knew she was coming up with a plan of some sort, the perfect answer.

"Basically, it feels like you're dying. They usually only last for a couple of minutes..." She continued.

"And, the cold water?" He asked curiously.

"It helps you snap out of it." She answered quickly.
        She was studying him, awaiting some sort of reaction, or explanation. One he wasn't sure he had. He waited for her to say more. When she didn't, he spoke up.

"Did I say anything? About—"

"You said lots of things Percy. None of which made much sense, you mumbled something and then, when I got you here you broke down, and now we're drinking tea." She shook her head slightly. "It doesn't matter though, words are just words." 

"It does. It does matter, to me at least." He took a deep breath, and looked at her, his green eyes taking on a blue hue in the dim light. 

"I was a jerk. I was a complete jerk to you, and still you make me tea, and answer my stupid questions, and... You haven't let me go." He ran his hand through his hair, and focused on anything but her.

        He was an idiot. Faint images of what had happened between them earlier still floated around in his mind. He could still feel her skin around his fingers as he tightened his grip. He could hear the faint and hallow sound that escaped her lips as he held on. He was sober enough now, to remember the words spat at her, like daggers protruding from her body, and feel the deep and fatal blow of shame, just from looking at her. He might've been angry, and drunk, and every other thing in this world, but that did not justify any of his actions. He knew that. He knew she would forever be more deserving of anything he might've been able to offer her.

"Break up with me." He spoke, no sign of amusement in his voice.
        She looked at him reluctantly, as if waiting for him to tell her it was a joke, or that'd she'd heard wrong.

"What?"

"I said, break up with me." His voice was firm, and this time he met her eyes. He held off her stare long enough for her to understand the gravity of the matter.

        There weren't any outbursts of anger, or array of insults mixed with unanswerable questions, just dead silence. When she did speak again, her voice sounded like it had burned out and all that was left was a fine trail of smoke.

"Why?" There was a panicky hitch in her tone, one that slipped past her lips as she asked the dreadful question.
        He rubbed his temple and let out a sharp breath. The answer seemed too obvious to point out. It surrounded him and made him feel small, it pushed him into a corner he no longer wanted to be in.

"Because, Annabeth... I- I could've hurt you! I could've—"

"But you didn't! You barely even touched me! Percy, where is this coming from? That was a stupid fight—" It was his turn to interrupt her, his words bursting out of his mouth as soon as his brain procured them.