Under the Water(Fem. Percy)

Chapter 3

The next morning, Dad finds me curled in the cushions, one of the heavy blankets from the bed wrapped around me. I stare into the rising and popping bubbles of the vent. There's something about the emptiness, the lonely feeling of the room. By now, and I think it has to be seven or eight in the morning, Mom will be busy in the kitchen. She's probably making scrambled eggs and waffles. In a half hour, she'll walk into my room and I'll be missing.

And I can't message her, because no white light means no rainbows.

"How long have you been awake?" he asks, sitting beside me. His warmth is welcome, a false comfort that can let me believe he really has my best interests at heart. I can't allow myself to get too comfortable or let my guard down. Triton brought me here for a reason, on Dad's orders no less. Something is going to happen. It's best to be prepared. How many times has something gained my trust only to end up trying to kill me?

"A while." Did I even fall back asleep? I can't remember. A pressing, pulsing pain lurks behind my eyes, and it makes me think I hadn't. Fuck. There's no way I'm going to get answers out of him in this state.

Water smoothes across my forehead. Eyes shutting, I shiver. I can feel his eyes on me, scanning and dissecting every move I make. Is it obvious I'm uncomfortable? Can he tell I woke up with my heart racing and that the panic hasn't fully left? Colors flicker. It makes my headache worse.

"What's wrong?" This time it's his hand on my head.

"Why are you being nice?" I look at him. My vision's blurry, and I kick myself for closing them so tightly. No wonder he's concerned. Scrunching up my face like I want to avoid even catching a glimpse of him. Idiot. Even a god would get worried at that point.

"I'd hardly consider basic concern for my daughter being nice." He fixes me with a look. It's instinct to meet it with a deadpan.

I shake off his hand and force myself up. Wispy strands of hair float freely around my face. Trying to tuck them behind my ears won't solve the issue--they must've pulled free from my braid at some point--so I'm stuck looking a mess. Normally, I don't care about my appearance, but something about Dad means I worry and fuss like Mom's possessing me. I try to smooth out the wrinkles in my button up pajama top, as if that makes the pastel blue terriers any better.

There's so many ways to respond to him. None of them are quite right. All of them risk making him mad. I pick at the material of a squishy crimson pillow. What do I say? What can I say?

"Stop that." Dad taps my jaw. "You're going to bust your lip."

"Headache," I mumble, too ashamed to make it louder. Weakness is bad around gods. "That's what's wrong."

He hums and pulls me towards him. A hand on the back of my head presses my face into his chest. It's comforting. There's not any true darkness here, even in the bedroom. Bio-luminescence doesn't have an off switch. So I enjoy the shadow he's providing, even if I know it's temporary.

His hands run over my back, a soft, constant pressure. "You can go back to sleep." He says nothing about moving me or going to bed. It's a weird thing for him to leave out, especially since he tightens his hold. "I've missed out on many things, let me have this one." A pause. "You're easier to read than you probably wish."

I swallow. Can I let him have this? Probably, but his grip tells me I don't actually have a choice. It's clutching and searching and possessive.

"Don't you have stuff to do?"

"Nothing that can't wait." The gentle squeeze makes me smile. These soft moments are almost enough to distract me. Coupled with the heat and bubbles of the vent, they do. Even if the forgetting is intentional.