Ordinary (A Percy Jackson Story)

Chapter 11

DAY FIVE HERE WE ARE. (For those who don't understand, this is the fifth day of my twelve day updating spree.) AND JUST LOOK AT THAT PICTURE. THANK YOU TO WHOEVER IS SPREADING AROUND ETHAN PICTURES. I LOVE THEM.

Bianca, Ethan thought. Instantly he fluttered open his eyes. He wasn't sure where the though came from but it was urgent. A deep feeling in his gut rolled over, darkly sinking into the depths of his pain.

Awareness was a cruel enforcer. Ethan swam in a world of blurry pain. His fingers and his toes were frozen, too cold to even think about moving. His neck was stiff hanging forward, his bangs plastered to his forehead with cool sweat. His clothes seemed to tear into his own skin spreading discomfort in his body.

And then there was the knife wounds. Ethan couldn't even think about them without a bubble of pain forming over his thoughts.

He must have blacked out again. How pathetic. Ethan, despite his growing urge to throw up the emptiness in his stomach, merely hung his head forward. He could feel the stiffness in his clothes, the scabbing pain when his chest moved of the dried blood ripping up.

He hated being mortal. He hated that being a mortal left him feeling weak and vulnerable. So many years of his pathetic life spent living on edge, fighting day by day as to not die anymore horribly than the next guy over. All for what? He died in the end.

And then he thought maybe, just maybe things might have gotten better. Demigods weren't going to die before they were ten, the gods promised. There was a cabin at camp HalfBlood for his siblings now. Ethan had paid for it with his eye and his life and his future.

Next time someone gave him a second life, Ethan was going to read the fine print. How could he just leave his past of balancing scales behind? He didn't know if he could do a normal life, an sedentary life. He barely knew the definition of Ordinary; much less accomplish such a thing with the Shit that he'd seen.

Ethan wheezed out a breath, trying to cheat his head from anything and everything. The pain made it tempting to sink back into that comforting blackness. It reminded him of Bianca again, and the soft silk of her hair.

Matt had left him tired to the chair, stuck in that brutally awkward position. Most of the wounds had stopped bleeding, but Ethan considered the fact he didn't know how many he had to be a bigger concern.

He'd probably fainted somewhere after the seventh slice. He remembered the feel of the metal blade tracing down his arm, the cool feeling mixed with the burn of agony. The quick flashes of light gathered on the edge right before he brought it down again and again and again. Ethan had flinched at every movement, even the ones where Matt had barely touched him. It gave the Son of a Hydra way too much of a thrill.

"Where's that spine, Nakamura?" Matt had brought the blade right up to Ethan's chin, the to dotted with scarlet color.

Ethan screamed into his gag as the jagged edge flew across his torso.

Ethan couldn't make himself stop.

He couldn't make Matt Sloan stop.

But he swore he'd get revenge. He'd get so much revenge his mother wouldn't know what to do with it.

The noise was what woke him up again. He hadn't realized he'd drifted off. He'd perfected his breathing to a moment where he only slightly felt his own death every time he inhaled.

Footsteps, Ethan realized. Someone was walking. Towards him. His shoulders tensed ready for the ugly bite of Matt's blade. But it didn't come.

There was a movement a touch. It was light and gentle of Ethan's body reeled away. His snarl cut off when he finally saw who was with him.