Furious

Chapter Thirty

To his credit, Gregory did not try to stop me from harming the wall. He simply allowed me to vent all my frustrations on the useless mirror. In my head, the wall was shaped like Hector's face. It would have been more satisfactory to hit the real thing.

If only it had been enough.

For so long as I'd known him, Gregory only spoke when it was pertinent that he do so. Even when he showed off all of his big-bad-dragon powers he wasn't full of monologue. Today did not seem to be the day he would make an exception; he said nothing as I calmed down enough to put on a complacent face. I turned slowly, trying to hard to fake normalcy as I approached the training room at the end of the world's longest hallway. Gregory didn't look concerned; he just escorted me into the mirrored dojo.

"None of the portals will accept you until Hades has given you permissions to travel freely through his fortress. It's like the Underworld's idea of a finger-print-scanner." Gregory shrugged. He picked up a staff while he spoke, twirling it in large circles around his body absentmindedly. He didn't look at me. "I only recently had my print reinstated."

"Then how did you get around?"

"Alex."

So much for a bonding moment over meaningful conversations. The small hope I harbored that Gregory and I would ever really be friends died in my chest. He would never be fun, a character flaw which only served to delight him. I know he was deliberately un-fun.

Gregory seemed to speak better through actions. Through teaching, more specifically. He thrived when he was telling me what to do, instructing me in the ancient art of getting my ass kicked. I could tell it in the way he almost smiled, the way he puffed up when I finally got it. I'd even seen him laugh at Alex one time. It didn't last long.

"Gregory?" I wasn't quite sure how to express what I was feeling.

Abandoned, since Hector had left me to go handle my problems for me instead of giving me the option to take care of myself.

Despair, at the situation and my failure at all things Underworld, including but not limited to history, weapons training, and control of the mythical Fury inside of me.

Shame, because I wasn't good enough to be the Fury Hector needed me to be, as shown by my huge lack of control and murderous tendencies.

And immense stupidity, because I trusted people who I should have never trusted in the first place. My brain seemed to be fighting itself over what emotions I should be registering, but any of those were valid emotional responses to my time in the Underworld as a whole.

I think I'm entitled to be upset and a little confused.

The only other person in the room ignored me. I walked to him with deliberate steps and snatched the staff from his hands, which he hadn't stopped twirling in the most innately annoying way.

"Gregory," I spoke louder, only inches from his spinning staff. "Everything is wrong. Everything. Hector wants me to fight in his war but he won't let me fight for myself. I can't remember anything that doesn't involve life before this world. I have Ares' blood on my hands and part of me enjoyed killing him. Jasper might be poisoning me, you don't care if I fulfill this impossible destiny, and Lindsay hates me. The list goes on!"

There may have been a spark of sympathy in his eyes, but his face didn't change. He didn't seem to think any of my issues were a problem. He certainly didn't think they were his problem.

"What am I supposed to do?" The mirrors around me betrayed me—if I thought I could put of a calm face, I was sorely mistaken. All of that abandonment and shame were clearly written on my face like giant, glaring tattoos across my skin. I felt old, so old.