𝐂œ𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬é𝐬 [Percy Jackson]

2

Three years later 

The graveyard watched him again, this time he stared right back.

He traced the path he had twice before. Two types of flowers clutched in his desperate hands. White chrysanthemums and sunflowers. chrysanthèmes blancs et tournesols.

1st November. 

La toussaint. All saints day. He had moved away from France at a young age, but some traditions stuck. His mother used to tell him stories about his grandfather, but he'd never met the man. It felt wrong to mourn someone he never loved, never knew.

This time he had two family members to mourn.

The chrysanthemums scattered on Juliet Allaire's grave. He didn't even bother trying to read her gravestone. It was useless, all he could do was make out a few words.

One chrysanthemum fell on the grave next to Juliet Allaire's.

Hadrian bent down to pick it up and place it on his mother's grave. Then he took the sunflowers with shaking hands and laid them by the other gravestone.

Usually, his dyslexia didn't bother him much, but now he wanted to punch someone, kick something.

He knew what the stone said, rather who's name it said. But the words weren't making sense.

Fuck.

He clenched his teeth, thankful that he had set the flowers down, otherwise he would've crushed them in his hands. His best friend was dead and he couldn't even read her gravestone. How fucked up was that?

If thirteen year old Hadrian thought he was angry, it was nothing compared to sixteen year old him. He wanted to raise fissures and cracks in the earth, create storms so deadly they swallowed up entire ships and planes, a tsunami, leaving only destruction in its wake. He wanted his anger to be visible, he wanted the gods to watch, see how angry he was. 

It was the kind of anger that made you stupid. He crouched to his knees and touched the stone. Would they call this stone ugly too?

"Please" He begged, "Please"

He wasn't sure what he was begging- no praying for. He'd never prayed in his life, never bowed in front of the gods. But he would for her.

Under all of it, he felt quite silly. Sobbing in front of a grave, wishing for a miracle that would never happen. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the graveyard and for a moment, it seemed like he was teleported somewhere else. It looked magical, golden and glowing. He wished Kira had been there to see it

It had been two and  a half months since the battle of Manhattan. And still Hadrian refused to believe, well he tried. He tried to repeat the sentence in his head.

They're dead.

They're dead.

They're dead.

They're gone.

She's not coming back.

But none of it made sense. How could the world still turn when his world had been wiped from existence? How did the sun still shine when his had gone out?

Sometimes when he thought about it, he cried until he threw up, until he was sure he had died as well. His heart would lurch in his chest and there was no reason to be alive.

It wasn't fair, none of it was fair.

The memories that followed were impossible to escape. Mid battle, drenched in blood, theirs or someone else's, Hadrian couldn't tell.