Percy Jackson One-Shots

Solangelo:Don't Go Yet

Trigger warning! Mentions of self harm and suicide. If you're easily triggered, or triggered at all, please don't risk reading this.
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         It kind of sucked, you know? The handicapped hotel room had a hallway that turned into a room with two beds, one which occupied Nico's parents, the other was empty. Nico sat in the corner of the hallway, listening to Fall Out Boy, listening to make sure his partners were still asleep, and as quietly as possible, falling apart.
         Nico, to be quite honest, didn't want to be here at all. He hadn't wanted to come to Williamsburg, Virginia with his parents, (It had been his mother's idea.) He hated the lack of privacy the hotel room had, and he hated how he was falling apart on the cold tile of the hallway, not even caring to hide in the bathroom, he'd already done that tonight. It was 12:36 AM and Nico had cried as quietly as he could four times in the past hour.
         The sad thing was, he didn't know why he was crying. Yeah, he'd just gotten away with ripping up his thighs again, but because of his lack of privacy, he hadn't cut deep. (He didn't have the time to clean them up properly.) He'd cried in the shower too; he didn't have to be too quiet with that one. The rough spray of the water and the sound of the hairdryer supplying heat like a bathroom heater would, was enough to drown out any sounds he let escape.
         He tried to figure out his emotions for the hundredth time tonight. Why was he sitting in the corner of a hallway in a hotel room crying his heart out? Why had he felt the need to make his thighs bloody again? He decided, after a lot of thinking, that he felt many emotions all at once. The main one, that Nico felt all too often was hopelessness.
           That was the easiest to identify. He always felt, even if it was a small part in his subconscious, hopeless. Maybe it was the way his parents ignored his emotions. Maybe it was that he hated his friends to worry about him. Maybe it was that he stopped telling his parents anything, and that he was now more comfortable spilling his secrets to strangers rather than the friends he had known for years.
         But hopelessness wasn't all. He also felt guilt, sadness, and now, the sudden rush of anger. Angry at who or what, Nico wasn't completely sure, but he knew it was there, and he knew it was big. He was always angry at himself, that was nothing new, that was normal. But for the past hour and a half, Nico had thought about his parents a lot. He had thought about how they pushed away his emotions and feelings when they got the very rare privilege to listen about his personal thoughts and feelings. They certainly took it for granted. He relived the time his father had laughed at Nico when he had stated his opinion on the presidential election. His father had laughed at him, for saying something Nico had researched at thought about for a long time. He had laughed at him for making an intelligent statement. And because of that, Nico had stopped participating in conversation most times. Nico had recalled just earlier that night at dinner when his mother had asked him about school, and Nico had made the rash decision to be honest.
          He had blantantly stated about his hatred for the kids there, his hatred for the sports and the cramped classrooms and close minded teachers. He hated it. His parents had looked so disappointed, his mother, especially his mother, looked angry. She was angry at him. That was because Nico had decided to share his feelings. Nico was naturally a blunt person, it was a family characteristic. But so was anger. Nico, however, was able to control his anger much better than the rest of his family.
         So now he was letting it out. Instead of his anger coming out in silent screams and punching the walls, he cried for the fifth time in two hours. He pulled his hair and brought his knees closer to his chest. He needed to get out of that hotel room. Badly. It was physically hurting him to stay there in th open of the hallway while his mother snored and his father rolled restlessly in the bed.
        So Nico made the rash decision to, as quietly as possible, get up out of the corner, and tiptoe to the door, and flinching as it creaked open, Nico stepped out of the hotel room. He shut it a bit too loudly but decided to run to the other end where the staircase was. He was only in his Pierce the Veil shirt and sweatpants. He was barefoot as he entered the stairwell, making his was quickly down four flights of stairs.
        It was quiet when he exited on the first floor. Nico still hadn't dried his cheeks even though the tears had stopped coming. He wasn't worried about tomorrow morning, he didn't know if he'd be there tomorrow.
         Nico was now calm as he entered the main lobby, no one was there except for the attendant lady and a tall blonde man sitting in the corner reading. The man had glanced up at Nico and had quickly studied his condition before letting his eyes drop back to his book. Nico saw hot chocolate was still out, so he made himself a cup. He mentally counted how many he'd had throughout the day. If he hadn't missed any, he'd had six cups. So this was his seventh. He shook his head in disaproval at himself. Seven cups. The woman at the desk looked up and saw his condition.
          "You okay, dear?" She asked him, and he thought her tone of voice sounded sincere.
          "Would you like an honest answer ma'am?" Nico asked as he stirred his hot chocolate mix into the hot water.
           She seemed to ponder his question for a moment, and then nodded her head and said a small "yes."
          "Well, ma'am,"Nico began." I suppose you could say I was, but that wouldn't be completely true. I'm still alive, but I can't seem to figure out if that's good or not."
          He was rambling, maybe he was freaking her out, but Nico didn't really care at the moment. He finally wiped his cheeks, which had long since dried, so the stains would stay for a while. He figured he looked terrible. He was in oversized sweatpants, he hadn't brushed his hair and he had cried over and over again. And thinking always took a toll on him.
           "Sir, may I ask your name?"was the attendants's response.
            "Nico,"he said, putting the lid on the coffee cup.
           "Well, Nico, come here."
            So he did. He walked over to her the other side of her desk and rested his elbows in the counter, wrapping both hands around the steaming cup. She looked him in the eye, then broke eye contact to look at the rest of his face. I must certainly look like a ghost Nico thought she is making the strangest expression. The attendant lady straightened herself and look at him.
         "Why were you crying?"she asked, and even if she didn't really care, Nico was going to pretend like she did.
         "I don't know exactly," was his honest answer. "A lot of reasons mixed together, I guess."
         "Hm, and why did you come down here to this lobby at one in the morning?" She asked, raising one eyebrow, which Nico found impressive, seeing he couldn't.
         "I had to get out of that room. I couldn't stand it."
          She nodded. And then she leaned forward slowly.
          "Nico,"she asked slowly."Is there anything I can get you to make you feel better?"
          "Alcohol would be nice,"he said without thinking, and then immediately regretted it, as she looked at him in surprise, mouth slightly open, fingers pressed tightly together, shoulders very tense. It must have been uncomfortable for her.
          "Nico, how old are you?"
           "Fourteen," he answered truthfully. There was no reaso to lie, there was no reason to not say what he wanted to either.
           "And you've had alcohol before?" She asked slowly, her shoulders relaxing slowly, probably to try and calm herself down.
            "Yes."
            "And how much did you have?"
            "Not enough to get drunk, ma'am. It just tasted good, and it made me feel better. My sister gave me some when I had a meltdown  last summer. I miss her."
            She nodded. She didn't know that Nico didn't know where his sister was. He didn't even know if she was alive. He missed her more then anything, though. He loved her. His parents never spoke about her, at least never in front of him.
            "Nico, you know I can't give you alcohol. It's against the law," she said, almost apologetically.
            "Yeah I know, and I understand," he gave her a small ghost of a smile as he said that.
             "Anything else dear?" She questioned.
             "I could really use a cigarette," he said staring at a painting behind her. It was or a small girl with a bouquet of flowers, but she had a sad expression on her face, and the flowers were faded. They weren't dead, but the weren't pretty. Nico wanted to laugh as he compared himself to those flowers. What a sad comparison.
             The attendant lady sighed, and then she reached under her desk and brought out a cigarette and a lighter. Nico looked at her in surprise, he hadn't expected her to give him one, though he had suspected she had some. She smelled of smoke. He felt the stare of the man behind him, but he ignored it. Nico didn't care anymore.
          "Now I'm only giving you this because I know how these stupid things help. I will not give you another one. You'll have to go outside and smoke if, and I want that lighter back."she said sternly, then handed him both things over the counter.
          "Thank you ma'am," Nico said, but he didn't move. "I- uh- I don't know your name ma'am. And you know mine, and I feel inconsiderate if I don't ask yours."
          She chuckled at that, shaking ehe head and looked up at him with a small smile.
           "Violet."
            "That's a very pretty name, Violet," Nico said, repeating it over and over, getting the feel of it on his tongue.
             He smiled at her and began to turn around, but her voice stopped him again.
            "Nico?" She asked, and he turned back around to her. "I would like to know if you plan on coming back here tonight."
            "Honestly Violet, I might just cross the street without looking, but I'm not sure yet. I don't want to worry you, but I have nothing to live for."
            She nodded sadly, but made no attempt to talk him out of it. She seemed to understand. All she said as he made his way out of the sliding door was a simple please don't leave us so soon.
           So Nico sat out on a bench in for the of the parking lot and watched the cars go by as he enjoyed the addicting substance that was nicotine. Of course he knew that there were many other addictive chemicals that was slowly killing him, but summing them all up into the word 'nicotine' made him feel better.
             And as Nico sat, he felt at ease, and he was welcoming the thought of leaving this stupid chunk of rock with every minute. So he decided to get up. He walked to the sidewalk. And began to step out on the road.
            But all too quickly, strong arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him back on to the sidewalk. The same arms turned his around and hands gripped his bony shoulders as he came face to face with the blonde man he had seen in the lobby.
          "No," was all the man said before pulling him back onto the bench.
          Nico was confused. Why was a random stranger keeping him from his all too welcoming end? But before he could get a word out the man spoke again.
        "Listen, you are not going to end your life that quickly, or that easily. You are not a waste of air, and you deserve to live a happy life. I know- I know it's hard now, but it will, it will get better. Not instantly, but it will. I promise."
         And that was it. Nico broke down and cried for the sixth time that night. Except this time he want alone, and he was crying into the chest of a stranger. All he could get out was a simple thank you as the man rubbed his back comfortably.
        He got up and they walked back to the hotel.
       "What is your name?" He asked the man as they sat in two chairs in the lobby. Violet looked much happier to see Nico come back in. She looked relieved to be exact.
        "Will," said Will. And that's how it started. They talked until morning, Nico making several trips back to the hot chocolate, but always coming back to sit with Will and continue their conversation.
        Nico's parents found him in the morning, sitting in the lobby with Will, extremely mad, especially his mom, and extremely worried. But Nico was okay, and now, because of Will, he knew he would be.
       And of course, Nico didn't heal immediately. He still relapsed multiple times, and he still smoked to help the emotional pain. But he was certain things would get better.