Life Won't Go One (Percabeth One Shot)

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People say "Life Goes On”. I used to think that too. I used to think that when everyday I’d see his face, smiling at me with those sea green eyes that could sooth any doubts I had. “Life Goes On”. I’m to tell you that it doesn’t…not for me…not for him…

All I remember is that we were trapped. It was dark. He held his hand in mine and we both ignored the clamminess that we felt, the rushing pulse that confronted us just like it does before battle. Except this wasn’t a battle. This wasn’t fair.

I heard something and I slashed– pulling away from him for just a second. But a second is all it takes.

And then I heard the cruelest laughter, like a demon straight from the depths of Tartarus itself. And I would know. I grasped for his hand, scared, more scared then I had ever been, not even when the Cyclops had taken Thalia, Luke, and Grover…not even then.

His hand wasn’t there. A surge went through my throat, my grip tightening on my dagger.

“P-Percy?” I asked, searching for him in the dark. I heard a gasp and saw the outline of him on the floor, clutching his gut. I knew…I knew then. But that doesn’t mean I ever excepted it.

“Percy!” I cried, falling on my knees next to him. The tears came in waves as lively as he used to be, in gulps like the lapping sea swallowing it’s breathe back in again.

He gasped again. He fell into my lap, my dagger clattering on the ground besides us. I cradled his head as he choked up blood, the gurgling sound killing me more than anything else had before.

Blood from his wound collected all over my hands, all over my clothes, in my hair from where I swiped it away from my face. It felt like I was crying his blood, the droplets warm against my cheek and screaming for him, screaming for him to come back.

I felt his faltered heartbeat beneath my arms, beneath my hands and I began to sob into his shoulders, not caring that his blood was beginning to stain me. I was already stained, already scarred. I knew I would never recover.

I had always been a step away from the edge without him.  And even with him, he would go with me off the edge. With him, I could finally live fearless of the fact that I would ever be alone, that I would ever be left behind and forgotten by my mother, hunted by anyone and everyone.

I died right there with him. And since I’m only half-here, I know what I must do. Don’t tell me to be rational. My rationalism died with us. I won’t kill myself. I’ll let myself be killed. He’s the only one who would understand. He’s the only one I'll ever truly understand. I’m sorry. 

By the time you find this, it will be too late. I’ll be with him. I’ll be happy. I’m doing this for the best.

Anything…to be with him.

Because without him, life. Will. Not. Go. On. 

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