Shattered to Pieces |Percabeth Story |

1

Annabeth's pov

      I was shattered. My heart felt like a glass cup that was just shattered. Nothing can fix it, not glue, no even stiches. Well that's me.

I push through the double doors and walk straight ahead, not daring to glance at the eyes that I know are looking my way. You'd think I'd be used to everyone looking and whispering but, truthfully, it is as uncomfortable and awkward as it was the first time I had to do this.

No matter how much makeup I put on, it never hides the bruises completely.

All I've ever wanted to be is a normal teenager that can go to school without a worry in the world. But all I have is an endless list of worries; what my uncle will yell at me for today, how hard he will hit me, and if anyone will question the bruises.

It's the same routine every morning on a school day; get up, make my uncle breakfast, shower as soon as he leaves, attempt to cover the bruises with makeup and clothing, then come to school and ignore the whispers and stares.

I've lived with my uncle Ben since I was twelve, when my dad was killed in a plane crash. My mother had left me on my father's doorstep when I was a newborn and I've never seen or heard from her since.

The only person left to take care of me was uncle Ben. I was moved from one city to another so my uncle could take care of me. I had never met him before but, since he was my dad's stepbrother, I figured he would be nice. How wrong I was.

I was so happy I hadn't been put in care that I ignored how he treated me. When he asked for something, I gave it to him. I thought it was the least I could do after he put a roof over my head. The first time he hit me was three months after my dad died.

I had been asleep and he must've been calling for something and when I didn't get it for him he stormed up the stairs to find me asleep and dragged me out of bed. I was barely awake and thought I was dreaming. It was only when I felt a sting on my cheek that I came to life. I didn't cry. I just stood there in shock and terror, realising he had hit me.

It happened a lot after that. All he did was yell and throw threats my way. He'd hit me with his own hands or with a belt and even held me underwater a few times.

After each episode he would threaten me into silence. "Tell anyone and I'll kill you!" Since he was so violent I always believed that he could do it if he wanted to. Sometimes I wish he would do it already so I would be put out of my misery.

I was too scared to tell anyone about the abuse, though I knew the teachers wondered. One even asked if everything was okay at home and I'd nearly died on the spot in terror. "Yes, miss," I had quickly said and ran out of school. That was when I was thirteen. No one has mentioned anything since.

And now here I am, Annabeth Chase, a seventeen-year-old girl who gets abused by her uncle and stared at and whispered about in school. I'm not popular, actually I don't have any friends. I do not socialise with other students. I don't talk in school except for when a teacher asks me something in class.

The school day passes as it usually does - me sitting at the back of the class, quietly doing my work in the hope that if I get good grades I'll be able to do something with my life and get the guts to run away. Before, when my dad was alive, I was strong and brave and now I'm weak and terrified, though I try my best not to show it.

When it's finally the end of school, I slowly leave the building, knowing Ben won't be home so I can be as long as I want on my short journey home. He's a police officer, which is the main reason why I am not willing to call the police for help. Why would any of his colleagues believe that 'big, old Ben' would abuse his niece?