𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 ! [percy jackson]¹

C H A P T E R ⬩ F I F T E E N

L ' A M O U R

C H A P T E R   F I F T E E N

( golden girls )

⟶⬩♡⬩⟵

          THEY SAY THERE are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. 

I'd been through loss before with my dad. At the time, I'd been too young to fully understand what had happened and be able to go through the stages in the way that was considered 'healthiest' for someone like myself. I hadn't grasped the concept of my father's death being real until I had to face the hard truth that came in the form of my aunt and uncle. 

Then I'd experienced it again with Bianca. Her death had been harder since I'd watched it happen. The guilt and the grief had hung heavily on my shoulders and still did, the belief that I could have saved her running through my head every single day. I blamed myself no matter how many times Percy and Annabeth said it wasn't my fault. 

People say that the more you experience something, the easier it is. That couldn't be said for grief. In fact, I believed that the more you experienced grief, the more it hurt. 

Annabeth and I had returned from the Labyrinth after explaining everything to Hephaestus about the telkhines and the forge exploding. He'd been nice enough to show us how to return to camp, especially when he saw our red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. It'd been two weeks since we returned, and I found myself stuck right in the middle of the first stage of grief. Denial.

Percy couldn't be dead. He hadn't made it to fourteen by fighting a Minotaur and the Furies and gods just to die at the hands of a volcano. It wasn't who he was. At least, that wasn't the Percy that I had become friends with. He was too stubborn to let a volcano kill him.

Annabeth had already moved on to the second stage: anger. The last time someone mentioned Percy around her, she'd thrown her dagger at them and stormed off, fuming. Everyone was on edge around her as they waited for the third stage to pass over her and settle her rage. I had a feeling that she wasn't only mourning Percy, but also Ashton and the others who remained in the Labyrinth. Just like me, she was worried for their safety.

When the third week finally came, Chiron stated that it was time for a funeral. A hero on a quest had two weeks to return before they were declared dead by the camp, and despite all my protests, Chiron organized for the funeral to be held Wednesday. And as the day crept closer, my denial grew stronger. Percy Jackson was not dead. I wouldn't allow it.

The night before the funeral proved this to me. I'd been sound asleep in my bunk, curled up under the comforter with Percy's sweatshirt keeping me warm. He'd given it to me at some point during the school year, when I'd come to visit him in Manhattan and forgotten a jacket despite it being the middle of winter. He had teased me and then gave me his sweatshirt, which still smelled strongly of salt and the sea. Just like him.