Percy

Jackson

*

"Miss Amelia, might you care for a dance?" Those few words mentioned as the stranger tapped my back were all it took to make me fall down on the floor, bawling until my eyes fell out. I don't know who this man even was, and suddenly I'm breaking down like a cheese over a grater right in front of him. An idiot, that's what I was. 100% pure idiot.

"I'm... I'm sorry, love, did I say something? Was it my breath? Do I smell? Oh, oh, please don't cry, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean anything..." The man frantically looked around, probably hoping someone would come round and take care of the awkward situation for him. He clearly looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but there.

"G... g-g-g-go." Was the only word I could manage, my voice now raspy and husky as I tried to force words to tumble out from my tear stained lips. I knew for certain I had sounded rude, but at the moment I wasn't sure what was up nor what came falling back down; therefore, what I had said didn't matter just yet. The only thing I knew for certain was that I would never live through this. I would never be able to forgive myself for not being with him that night.

"Oh, Amelia, I know how hurt you must be feeling. I am here for you and you know it. I swear I'd never leave you. I love you, and even though he's gone, you can't blame yourself. It just wasn't meant to be, that's all." I barely heard my mother's soothing voice as she sat down on the floor next to me, holding her arms out until she was cradling me like a child. As could only be expected, I stood there crying and shaking for rather a long time.

A week and a day from today was the day I was meant to be married. I had plans set out, money was spent, love was counted upon, and so was my fiancée. Everyone expected him to be there because, well, it was our wedding- so he couldn't just not. I couldn't have a wedding without the male counterpart because that's not really how they worked. And the fact that he had just got caught in a nasty house fire wasn't how weddings were supposed to work, either.

That moment when first you hear that someone has died is like no other horror in the world. Worse than stealing, worse than crime, worse than finding someone close to you is being beaten. When somebody tells you that someone you love has died, there are stages. First, you feel almost like laughing. That's when the adrenaline starts working, and your first reaction is that it's a joke.

The second stage is denial. All traces of joking are gone from your face, and you shake your head almost as if mentally saying 'no' would make it not true. You simply don't believe it, because a part of you thinks that death is impossible. That it doesn't work; doesn't count.

The third stage is when the water starts working. The tear ducts take action, and your eyes begin to water. They collect so much moisture that before long, tears are running down from your eyes. You can stare at absolutely nothing, and you don't move an inch. The only thing moving about you is your tears and your mind.

Stage four is the moment when your heart drops into your stomach, making a resounding splash inside so that acid flies to every space in your body and you feel like you are burning. You feel like it's eating away at every little cell inside your very being, and nothing will support you.

Stage five is a direct effect of stage four. Because you have nothing left inside you and you've been thoroughly eaten by yourself, you have nothing for support- and you fall. You fall tumbling to the ground, because there isn't one reason you feel to keep you held up. There isn't a single reason, in fact, you may ever want to come back up.

Stage six is the last and final stage. This step is optional. It's the guilt stage- the one where you feel like you should have died as well. The one where you even may wish you had died, too, just because it hurts so much. Your throat is tight and your body is numb, so why not? Why not wish you had been thee one in their place, or the only one with that person in their last final, glorious moments? This stage is in nearly direct correlation with Stage Two, the denial stage.

I think stage six happened to apply to me that night, at the annual Christmas party my parents always held at the grand old house. They seemed to shoot for the frivolous things only to fix them up their suitable way and show them off. They liked to consider Christmas Parties their 'show and tell days.'

But I never complained about them; in fact, I liked them. But I now had a very, very strong feeling that perhaps I would never enjoy them again. Not after hearing that my fiancée had died in his own home. His own home- where he was meant to be getting ready to come to the party and see me, so we could laugh and love and eat snacks until we had to pretend to loosen our belts. Home was meant to be a safe haven- not the place that you die underage. Not the place where you live your wife-to-be for all of eternity. Not like that.

But if it hurt so much, why couldn't I feel?