Who the hell thought making me a Half-blood was a good idea? {ON HOLD}

Act Three- I annoy everyone even when I'm sleeping

Disclaimer: The world of Percy Jackson, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of Rick Riordan and his publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life.This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

"'Cause your boyfriend's a bitch
He ain't shit, he can suck on my dick
I ain't with all that shit
Why he do you like this
When you're home all alone
While he out fucking around with them hoes?" I sang at the top of my lungs.

Luke sighed even harder, burying his face in his hands.

"You ain't never cheated on your mans
So why the fuck do he still got your hand?
Girl, you could do so much better
He ain't even got no cheddar, baby
He just tryna cuff you like the Five-O," I continued, smiling brightly.

"Please, stop," Luke begged between breaths.

"You love it," I shot back with a cheeky grin.

"No, I don't."

Feeling merciful, I actually did stop.

Luke was laying on his back on the rickety wooden bridge of the playground, soaking in the false sun of the dream. Climbing the plastic slide, which is definitely not the proper way to get up but whatever, I stood over him and blocked out the sunshine.

"So, how's college?" I began.

He glared up at me for denying him the sun. "Tiring."

I threw up my hands. "Oh come on, you've got to have something going on!"

"I got a job at a cafe," he begrudgingly said.

"There we go!" I flopped down beside his head. "How's that going for you?"

"Pay's shit, but I like making coffee." He sat up a bit with a grunt. "On Sundays, they get me to play the guitar for the cafe."

I nodded. "How's the song you were working on?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Could be better, I've got the chorus down but I can't seem to figure out the third verse."

"You'll get it eventually," I encouraged, patting his shoulder.

He turned to me. "How's therapy?"

It's my turn to scowl.

"Doc Tamira is nice, but she's got me doing this stupid exercise where I write down every reason to live each night and I don't think it's that helpful."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean, she's amazing. I told her I couldn't do school work at home because my mind's got a very strict divide between what I can have motivation for and where, and she told me to do my assignments at the college library! Brilliant. But I don't really like these whole anti-suicidal exercises."

He eyed me for a second.

"Ophelia..." he said slowly, "Do the exercises make you uncomfortable?"

"Yeah, kinda?"

"And why do you think it is that they make you uncomfortable?"

"I dunno, they kinda feel fake? Like, every reason on this paper is pretty much a person who might just not like me or make me happy tomorrow and they would all be better without me."

He gave me a look. "I think the reason it's not helping is that it's the nature of your own suicidal thoughts to dismiss anything that is a reason for you to live."