Shattered to Pieces |Percabeth Story |

4

Annabeth pov

I stare wide-eyed, my breathing slowing down as I realise it's not the guard. It's Percy.

"Percy! You scared me."

"What are you doing?" he asks, even though it is kind of obvious. He saw what I did. How can I come up with an excuse?

"N-nothing. I-I have to go," I quickly say, closing my bag and throwing it around my shoulder.

"Is all that for you?" he asks.

"Maybe," I say, challenging him with my eyes.

"You can tell me. I won't say anything to anyone... But Annabeth, stealing is a crime. You could get in serious trouble if you were caught," he whispers.

"Don't you think I know that?" I snap.

"Well, why would you even do it?" he asks, following me as I head for the door.

"Why do you care?" I say under my breath while flashing the guard a smile before walking out the door.

"Who wouldn't care?" he asks.

"A lot of people."

"I'm really good at reading people, you know," he says. "You are different than other girls."

"Exactly. I'm different. You shouldn't be around me," I growl.

"I said that you're different, not dangerous. I've been here nearly two days and I already know something is up. It's kind of weird when I hear people say you get abused by your uncle the day after I hear a scream from next door."

"I already told you. I was watching a horror movie," I reply.

"Sure. Whatever. But you don't have to go through this alone," he says.

"You don't know what you're talking about. Those rumours having been going around for years and they are just that - rumours. Maybe I self harm."

He looks me up and down. "Do you?."

I sigh. "No." I move my bag to the other shoulder, the bottles weighing me down.

"Here," Percy says, taking the bag off me.

"I got it," I snap, trying to snatch it back. He keeps a tight grip on it and we both stop walking, staring into each other's eyes. I feel like he can see right through me and I force myself to look away as I let go of the bag and let him hold it.

"The walls are thin. I can hear everything from my room," he whispers. "You should talk to someone."

I'm getting annoyed. "There's nothing to talk about," I say, going to walk ahead but remembering that he has my bag. "What makes you so sure, anyway? You've been here two days and you're acting like you know everything, when you don't."

"Maybe I recognise the signs," he says, making me stop walking again. What does he mean? He turns to face me, his eyes sad. "My step-dad, Gabe, would hit my mother. I didn't know. She made excuses all the time and I believed her, until he beat her in front of my eyes. I called the police, but Gabe got away. We moved here for a fresh start."

I swallow hard, not knowing what to say. So I don't say anything. I just stare at him. He's heard the excuses before. He knows I'm lying. I should be scared about him telling, but I'm not. I'm relieved. Maybe I won't have to lie to him. Maybe I can have a friend.

"I-" I start but stop. "We can't be friends."

"We can," he insists.

"Please, don't make this harder than it already is for me. If he finds out I have a friend then he'll threaten you into leaving," I reply.