Why is Everything so Loud?! (Fem. Percy)

Right, Not Right, Wrong, Right?

It was dark outside, rain coming down in sheets thick enough that even the street lights had flicked on. I hadn't had a rain coat or an umbrella on me, so I bit my lip hard as the water soaked through my clothes. If I ran into the neighbors in the hall, I did not want to explain how I was perfectly dry down to my shoes. 

Or the bag for that matter. No matter how much you tried to keep a bag dry in the rain, it always managed to not be that--except for me, of course. 

I let out a shuddering breath and walked in. Our apartment wasn't the greatest. It was all Mom could afford with the money she got from Gabe's statue, and I thought there was some godly interference there as well. An unknown artist isn't going to make that kind of money. An apartment like this would've been snatched up at the listing price. 

There were some things I could be grateful to the gods for. 

At least things would be normal here. I exhaled and, after staring at the door for too long, knocked. Within thirty seconds, it opened. 

Mom pulled me into a tight, clutching hug. Her fingers ran through my hair as she pressed kisses against my temple. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mom." I leaned into the hug, trying to plaster an easy smile on my face before she pulled away.  I was dragged into the living room. My thoughts were moving too fast to protest. Why did Dad send me back? It was a heavy, recurrent thing I couldn't shake. And it was weird too. I thought I'd outgrown the needy "Why doesn't my dad like me" phase demigods go through years ago, once Dad said I was a mistake and truly his child all at once. 

Now, the only coherency came in the form of 'what did I do wrong?'

"Dad let me visit his palace," I said. 

"Was it nice?" She didn't pull away. I was content to stay. 

"I have my own room?" 

Paul's hand dropped onto my shoulder. "That's nice of him to do." His thumb rubbed soft circles. Oh, that felt good. Love that. So soft, so loving. This was what I missed every day I was at Camp. There was more Paul was saying, some he wasn't, but he didn't move either. The three of us stood in the living room like that, and I wouldn't trade it. 

I hadn't been home in so long. The realization hit like Mrs. O'Leary. My breath caught in my chest; my hands clutched hard at Mom. What day even was it? What month? Time had passed at a weird rate in Dad's palace, and I was never quite sure how long he dragged me under the surface of awareness. Then I was gone for at least a week when I was trapped in the--Don't think about that. Dad wasn't here to calm me down. I couldn't afford to freak out. 

Yet I was trying to reach for Dad anyway, stretching my awareness as far as it could go, trying to pick up any sliver of his attention in the area. There were no gods here. Not even the odd feeling of being watched that demigods learned to pick up early. 

"Baby." Mom pulled away with a soft frown. I hated it when she looked at me like that but craved it all the same. "You're shaking."

"Missed you." 

"What happened to your hand?" Paul asked. I blinked slowly and looked at it. The bandages were clean, tightly wrapped, but not too much. Dad did good at that. 

"I did something dumb." Yawning, I leaned more fully into Mom. All thoughts of monsters and gods slipped away. Would Dad keep them away from me; I had a feeling he would. And wasn't that something?

All at once, I felt horrible, a deep ache in the center of my chest I wanted to claw at because I was home. With Mom and Paul, but all I could think about was Dad. Why was he sucking up so much of my attention when I didn't want him to? I'd spent days avoiding him. I wanted nothing to do with the gods. 

He'd keep the others away from me because I was his, and being his meant he'd clutch at me with warm possessiveness, even if I told him to stop. Didn't he say that himself? More time than I have for him to ever stop wanting to take care of me. I could fight and scream, but he'd only coo at me and drag me under until nothing that made me me remained. 

Frankly, it was horrifying. 

Horrifying. Definitely not appealing. 

Later that night, after scarfing down the lasagna Paul made for dinner, I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling. It was too warm. Too cold. I tossed and turned, never truly able to get comfy. My nerves were electrified. My mouth, dry. Something was wrong. 

Something was going to go wrong, or was wrong, or was going to be and--- 

I dug my nails into my cheeks, forcing a breath into my lungs. 

This was fine.

Hello i am not in fact dead
though i feel like it sometimes

I hope you enjoy this chapter