Red Skies at Morning | Clarisse La Rue x OC | Percy Jackson AU

Part 1: Meeting Clifford's Ugly Cousin

But the most trouble came with the arson and domestic terrorism.

Lightbulbs, computers, radios, cell phones, toasters; if it's got wires, I've probably seen it short circuit or blow up at least twice. And I'm sure you're beginning to notice a pattern because every time something blew up I was the closest to it. Which, of course, meant that it had to be my fault, and the teachers would accept any made-up story over the logical explanation.

What really hurt was that even kids I considered my friends would tell the teachers I'd somehow sabotaged a computer, or blown up a lightbulb.

It was so obvious that they were lying too! Their stories rarely matched up and they'd change details every time they repeated it. Not to mention I was 5, how would I have known enough about wiring and electricity to make stuff blow up? I couldn't even tie my shoes yet!

Growing up that way was confusing, I didn't understand how I could make a whole class of kids hate me enough to lie about me within the first week of school. We moved too often and too far away from one place to another for kids to spread rumors before I arrived. At some point, I started to think that maybe I was just so terrible that people could figure that out without even talking to me.

Eventually, after reports of my wrongdoings became more frequent and outlandish, my parents decided that it was time to take me to a doctor. They told me Dr. Barlowe was going to see if there was something "special" about my brain, but I'm pretty sure he was just a behavioral psychologist.

He did diagnose me with ADHD, which a lot of teachers and PTA members believed to be the root of my problems, but even after I started receiving treatment the only change was a slight improvement in my grades. I was still seeing things and causing terror everywhere I went, so Dr. Barlowe recommended that my parents take me to some other doctor who specialized in a different field. And "a doctor" soon turned into several doctors.

After lots of tests conducted, lots of doctors seen, and lots of money spent, the only other condition they found was dyslexia. Other than my testimony, there was no evidence that I was seeing monsters. There was nothing in my brain that would be causing hallucinations and no signs that a physical condition was messing with my head. They couldn't even diagnose me as a compulsive liar, which my stepmom was really betting on.

The conclusion: I was lying– and not because I had a compulsion– just because I wanted to. Just because that's the kind of kid I was.

That "diagnosis" was the last straw, and broke the trust that my dad still had in me. I was still adamant that I genuinely saw monsters, even if it wasn't real or true. That's when my stepmom started saying I "lied so much that I believed my own lies."

The worst part was my dad's sympathy. I'd tell him what really happened to that projector at school, or that I was missing because I was hiding from a giant scorpion. My dad would sigh and then tell me that it was okay, that he forgave me and I'd grow out of my "phase" soon.

I hated the resignation in his voice, and every day was a struggle; I just wanted to regain his trust. I wanted to tell the truth, and for him to comfort me, I wanted him to look at me and tell me that he believed me and I wasn't crazy, that he saw the weird and scary things too and he'd protect me from them. But he didn't trust me, and he couldn't protect me from things that weren't there.

I didn't want to lie to him, but he wouldn't believe me if I told him that we shouldn't go to the lake anymore because I'd seen a shirtless man with a moving, breathing face on his chest. I couldn't tell him that I was scared to go back to school because one of the cheerleaders in the next building had a pair of bat wings and a blazing fire instead of hair.