Daddy Issues

He's Perfect

Nico's POV) 

I was being stabbed in every part of my body with white hot knives, by a collection of demons that had strapped me down to a medical table. My throat was so raw from screaming that I had given up long ago. It wasn't gonna do anything anyway, I may as well just grit my teeth. I didn't even have any tears left to cry. 

Or so I thought. 

One of the demons, the most powerful one, started to morph into a human, one that I, unfortunately, recognized. The subject of my love, of my hate, of my shameful late night sessions where I imagine he's in my bed, his tanned, toned body laying on top of mine as he wordlessly, breathlessly fulfilled my darkest desires. He was the only reason I knew I liked men. 

"... Percy?" I breathed out, an inexplicable hope swelling in my chest, that maybe it really was him, that he had come to save me. 

But as a wicked smile spread across his face, his ocean green eyes glinting with malice, that hope was easily chased away. And as he spoke, fear replaced it. Fear far worse than anything I've ever experienced. "Be careful what you wish for, mortal." His hands grabbed my wrists. "Or you just might get it." 

"No..." I whimpered. I felt fresh, hot tears run down my cheeks again. "Not this... Anything but this, please." I begged, knowing it wouldn't mean anything to the demon wearing Percy's face. If anything, it would egg him... It... On. 

I guess that's what I get for indulging in my homosexual temptations. After all, that's part of the reason I'm here. 

-

I woke up with a start, my heart beating out of my chest. I looked over at the clock, two in the morning. So, doing a little math, from ten to... Two, that's... 2 until midnight, and then 2 more... Four hours. 

I got four hours of sleep. Sounds about right.

I shakily stood up from my bed, only wearing my pajama shirt and a pair of black boxers barely clinging to my hip bones, my breaths still irregular and shallow, and went to the downstairs bathroom, grabbing a disposable razor before I sat on the cold tile floor and dismantled it, bleeding out any lingering tendrils of the nightmare, as I usually did. I also usually brought my jacket down. But I could go back upstairs and put it on, and I never had to put as much effort into hiding this from him as I did to hide it from Hazel. There are some perks to being invisible after all. 

It gave a strange comfort, the process of turning my pain into something physical, something... 

Real. 

Something that counts. 

Once I was calm, I wrapped them with fresh bandages and headed back out to the kitchen, where I saw dad standing in front of the fridge, the door open, its light illuminating his miserable, unshaven face. "... Hey..." I stepped closer to him. "... What are you...?" 

He wordlessly grabbed the orange juice and started chugging it straight from the carton. After a few glugs, he set it back in the fridge and slammed it shut. Well, I guess I'll have to put orange juice on the list. He turned back around and faced me, eyes struggling to stay focused. "... Uh... Hi. Uhhh..." He seemed to look down to my arms. "... What the hell...?" He looked... Disturbed, but blinked hard, shook his head, and tried to walk past me. 

He was so drunk, however, that he tripped over his own feet and nearly fell flat on his face. He would've, were I not there to catch him. "Woah, ok, steady..." I helped him over to the couch and sat him down. 

He curled up under his blanket again, turning the TV onto some random sitcom. "... You're a real saint, y'know that...?" He slurred out, sending a surge of conflicting emotions through my body. That's the closest he's said to 'thank you' in three and a half years now, and... Sure, the unexpected gratitude felt nice, nice doesn't even begin to cover it. But... I didn't trust it. Something told me that him bothering to tell me, out loud, that he appreciates what I do for him... It meant that something was wrong. And knowing my dad... I feared the worst. "... Why are you staring at me like that?" He asked.