Dealing with Drama

Prologue: Part 1

But gradually, the blonde replaced Sally as his beacon of hope. His mother had never been happier than when he confessed.

Nihilists said all dead turned to bones, to ashes, to dust. After death, all, mothers, brothers, sisters, are nothing but a distant memory, and a burden. Percy agreed with them from personal experience, knowing that mourning never got anybody any good.

But now, after seeing her gone, he couldn't bring himself not to care.

She had been there one moment, and the next thing he remembered was staring hard at an empty patch of land. There was nothing that remained of her, no flesh or bones to cremate. Maybe some of the blood that pooled around his feet was hers, mixing with those of other loved ones to create a sick, twisted tribute to love and life.

The thought made him sick.

Pain, pleasure, all the bodily sensations that made him feel alive.... glorified by Satanists, metalheads, and embraced by sadists and masochists alike.

Percy briefly wondered if that is why he was so into Bondage and BDSM, or why he liked heavy metal so much.

He remembered the two of them tentatively experimenting after Jason's untimely death. Alcohol had helped a lot.

Their first time had been... awkward.

It never felt... right, having loving, slow sex with her.

That is, until, he discovered her masochistic desires, and was only too eager to reciprocate. He still felt the pain and pleasure, the soft and the hard, all the mundane feelings assaulting his senses, overwhelming his mind.

Percy laughed to himself. He was sick. His mind was twisted. After her death, this is what he could think of.

How well her moans sounded to his ears as he worshipped her body with his lips, her stormy eyes behind a blindfold, her strong, mischievous hands and feet tied to the bedposts. How deliciously it hurt when she bit down hard on his neck, drunk on lust, high on pleasure.

Unconsciously, his hand raised up to his collarbone, where he placed it almost reverently on a purple love bite peeking out from underneath his orange shirt. It had been last night, where they had fun for the last night, in case one of them did not return from the final battle. The last time he would ever tie her up and ravage her.

How much would Percy give to have himself in her place, if only she would breathe again.

She was still on his mind.

Her last moments of life.

She seemed so full of life and hope.

Now she was.... just gone.

Her curly blonde hair shining bright even in the darkness, her grey eyes dancing with mirth as her soft, pink lips parted in the middle of a snide remark. Her Yankees cap askew on her head, her orange shirt identical to his, her shorts showing off her long, smooth legs.

The next moment, nothing was there. No shirt, no cap, no Annabeth. All that remained was blood and shrapnel from a cannonball.

Annabeth. Percy breathed out slowly, trying to control his raging emotions. She shouldn't have had to go through that. Nobody should have had to go through what they went through.

"Dude!" Someone cried out, rudely jolting him out of his serene thoughts.

Percy turned around, just in time to see a Roman dispatch another monster. All that remained was golden dust gently floating to the ground. He wore the standard purple SPQR shirt. His words were lost to him, mixing in with the ringing, the haunting sounds of the battle that raged around him. He was just another face he would forget the next day.