𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇 》 LEO VALDEZ ¹

―thirty-seven. dibs on the genocidal maniac

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𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑
𝐆𝐈𝐑'𝐋𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊
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CHARLIE FELT LIKE SHE HAD HAD ONE OF THOSE BANANA SANDWHICHES SHOVED DOWN HER THROAT. The inner walls of her oesophagus were clammy, and they were gaping, trying to close of her throat off completely as she fought against the notion of it. Her tongue was stiff and she was too aware of it for her own good. It sat heavily and uncomfortably in her mouth. Somehow, it felt like a hologram. Like it wasn't really there.

Her cheeks were sticky, slimy, and wet. At some point around her mouth, the tears became snot and spit. But she wasn't sure where the border was, she didn't really care. Because it had happened again. She had let it happen again.

Charlie wasn't letting out any identifiable noise anymore, chocking on her own sobs. She wasn't wearing a shirt to clutch at, her sports bra made of too thick of a material to hold on to, instead her fingers had found purchase underneath her clothes, palms now pressed onto the patch of unnaturally smooth and tough skin. When it got too much, like right now, where the walls of her safety cupboard expanded outwards and the random cups and glasses began to blur until they resembled the boxes of the storage cupboard back at Camp Half-Blood, she'd press her nails into the scarring, grounding herself so that her vision would reshift.

Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Please. Not again. Not again.

She had done everything right. Everything.

So why did it have to happen again?

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Harder and harder to focus on breathing. Too fast, then too slow. Now it hurt. Everything hurt. Why did it have to hurt so bad? Weren't scars meant to make you tougher? So that it wouldn't happen again?

Questions, questions, so many questions. Questions with no answers, save for the same one as last time. Because she wasn't careful enough, because she was always so damn reckless, even when she was trying so hard not to be. Because it was her. Maybe she was a reincarnation of one of Hera's past victims, and now she was cursed to forever walk the earth and face countless betrayals. Maybe her heart was destined to break. Again. And again. Please. Not again.

Because this time it was truly was broken. The pain was too much. Overbearing. She was left to cradle the one anchor remaining, maybe it was an atrium, or a ventricle, perhaps it was just the septum; left to hang in her chests cavity, resting just beneath her scar. Forced to work overtime.

Charlie didn't see the point in that. Not anymore. She could still feel it pump, although she had to press down on her skin harder than most in order to, but she no longer appreciated its effort. Could it turn off? Please? Just for a little bit. She was tired, so tired...

All of a sudden, her sorrow was illuminated by light. A long creak alerting her before brightness had filled the cupboard, revealing that Charlie had clambered into it, sat amongst the designated glasses and cups that actually belonged in there. There was a confused pause, a sniffling and ruffling of clothes as Charlie winced, looking over to see who it was.

Poor Frank had just wanted a drink.

They stared at each other for a second, before Charlie turned to face the other direction, wiping her nose on the back of her hand before her fingers moved across her cheeks, giving them the same treatment. She bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut in hopes that she'd disappear, completely embarrassed. Despite that, her body wouldn't cooperate. She was still shaking and still choking on her own sobs.