Under the Water(Fem. Percy)

Chapter 21

Even once I got back to my room--Dad did end up carrying me-- I couldn't relax. I twisted and turned in the shell, kicking fluffy blankets and pillows out, until I end up staring at the glowing ceiling. The glow brightens, stemming from the base near the roots, then spreads across the plants like a wave. It's soothing, but it's not enough to still my racing thoughts.

How many times have I thought Dad seems off? That his actions haven't been what they should be the entire time I've been here? And how many times have I learned not to dismiss stuff like that? If I'd--

If I hadn't taken that chance and snuck out, this wouldn't even be in my head as a possibility. I feel sick. It's enough that I have to haul myself upright and dig my nails into my knees. Everything I can do to feel safer is outside my grasp. A harsh laugh breaks from my lips.

What good is any of the power I have if I can't do anything with it?

In the living portion of my rooms, Cyreus's still frame lays in front of the door to the hallway. As I stand near the vent, I can barely see the rise and fall of his chest. It'd be easy enough to mistake him for being dead. Sometimes I wish he was.

Whenever that thought crosses my mind, I want to take it back. There's plenty of things I'm not allowed to do as a hero, but being upset that he survived after I saved him isn't one. It's not heroic. It's not noble or selfless or whatever shit the gods sell us. But as much as that could be the only reason, and as much as I wish it was, it's not.

The worst part is I don't understand why I feel like this. Why my chest burns and thrums, or why that pressure weighs my limbs like anchors, making every movement feel half-hearted and lethargic. It's stupid. Dumb.

Cyreus is a guard first and foremost. He's doing his job; he's in my way, and just like every other thing I've ever fought that should be enough to get him killed. My fingers brush over the large book Dad has me working out of. Tulia I'd knock out in an instant. Orthello's helping me. But why can't I bring myself to slam this against Cyreus's skull? Why can't I knock out a single man who's in my way?

What makes him special?

"Don't make me call your father," he says as I try to step over him. I smile down sheepishly. "I doubt he'd like it if you slipped past me twice in the span of a night."

"Technically, it's morning."

He grunts as he hauls himself up. His hair flows around his face like a mass of red algae. Gently, water prods at him. He looks at me, eyes seeming to glow in the dim lighting. My heart freezes in my chest. Why...why do they have to look like eidolons'?

"I'm quite fine if you're worried." The soft tones of his voice start my breathing again. "And I really do not require your worry, Percy. The healers here are very good at what they do."

"You shouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place."

"And you should be sleeping."

I fall back a step when he stands, and I stare at the wall, my jaw clenched. "Be glad I'm not. My nightmares would probably end up with you bashed against the walls. I don't want to wake up to an Atlantean meat bun filling."

Cyreus's face pinches. His hands drift to my arms. "Do you need me to--" He doesn't finish as I lean into him. I don't know why I do it: maybe because I want contact? Every physical sensation is muted and washed away by the constant currents. The touch of another living being--something hard and firm--isn't something so easily scrubbed out.

Dad's not a safe option. Not anymore. And maybe that's why I'm doing this. It's not any different than when Gabe got worse. All those previous moments of him being nice and good tainted with the stain of what he did. How many of these nice symbols and gestures of affection from Dad are really for him?