[2] 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘 , p. jackson , j. grace

v. a flasher and a prostitute

CHAPTER FIVE ───────────
✧₊˚｡({ A FLASHER AND A PROSTITUTE })

"  devil's advocate     THE NEIGHBOURHOOD  "

{ ROMA }
JULY 11TH,  2010
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PERCY JACKSON IS A TOUCHY motherfucker. She notices this as they quietly follow Kelli and her deformed vampire friends along the shore of the River of Fire. He never stops holding her hand or tugging at her wrist or brushing his fingers across the small of her back━that had her stomach tumbling around in crazy ass knots . . . Well, not that she didn't feel weirdly lightheaded whenever he held her hand but that's not the point. The point is he's clingy as hell. Roma doesn't mind. Touch deprivation is probably what causes her to get so awkward with hugs and such anyway. She never initiates anything, though. Because sometimes she accidentally brushes against him and he does this involuntary flinch that he doesn't seem to be aware of. She doesn't want to make him uncomfortable.

          The hand that clings to hers is warm and sweaty but it's the only thing that keeps her from properly freaking out about their situation. Well, that and the liquid fire they're forced to drink every now and then to prevent them from burning up in the toxic air. Their lungs are not going to be the same after this.

          She glances at Percy beside her and decides he looks annoyingly good for someone who'd just died and come back to life. His dark hair is plastered across his forehead, lips chapped, face drenched in sweat and dirt and dried blood. Despite all this, he's still extremely godsdamned attractive. Like seriously, how? She probably looks like she's just crawled out of a dumpster. And the stupid boy had freakin' taken his shirt off. Why did he do that? She only found it funny when she did it because she could feel him staring and getting totally flustered. But now, it's the opposite way around.

          He's also got fucking abs, what the hell? He's such an annoying prick. A hot annoying prick, but still an annoying prick all the same.

          And did she mention his arms? Those shirts he's been wearing have not been doing him justice because holy Juno his biceps and shoulders . . . She has to pretend she doesn't want to drop the Celestial Bronze knife and instead run her hands all over his arms like a fucking weirdo. She keeps her eyes trained on the empousai ahead of them in the shadows.

          Every time she tries it, though, she ends up thinking of their kiss again which only makes her want to do it more.

          It's hard to tell time and discern it from everything else. It feels like they're walking in a loop. Everything looks the same, sounds the same, smells the same. It's maddening.