Goddess of War

Goddess of War | 1

Athena POV

Frozen. Standing in front of my bathroom mirror with the lights dimmed thats how I stood and felt. Frozen, and better yet stuck. In the moment, and in this life. It was Monday. The last Monday of my Junior year of high school at Westwood High.

Westwood was a public school for the riffraff. On one side of town, there was Westwood Private. An academy for the parents who wanted to flaunt their money, and allow their kids to make it big. The rich and spoiled. On the other side of town was Westwood High. Where I attended. To say it was for the riffraff was me being nice.

It was a public school for kids who could give two shits about the future. Small local drug dealers roamed the halls, honesty making me laugh a little when they tried to brag about it, and violence was not uncommon. The teachers were just trying to get by, barely teaching us, always turning a blind eye to the bullying and mayhem students caused. I tried my best with what was offered there, but knew I was not making it far once I graduated.

Looking in the mirror I gave myself one last look, pulling myself out of whatever daze I was in. Smoothing down my short blonde hair I went to grab my lip gloss on the sink, but quickly halting my action and wincing slightly as I felt a sharp pain on my side.

Yesterday was weird to say the least. During the weekends, I usually make a few hundreds by fighting in the underground club that was popular. Typically, I'm set up with people around my size or slightly bigger, but instead, had to fight someone almost twice my size. To say it was difficult is an understatement. I luckily was able to take him down right before the bell rung, but the injuries I sustained are not pretty.

My makeup was able to cover the bruises on my face, but not the split lip or cut eyebrow. My black long sleeve and baggy straight blue jeans covered the injuries on my body. Having these sorts of injuries was not uncommon, but they were a pain in the ass. I didn't mind the pain though, I was used to it. It was nothing Jameses pain killers couldn't take care of.

James and I got into a car accident when I was around two, he once told me. I ended up with a few cuts and bruises, along with a broken arm. James however got the worst of it. He was admitted to the hospital for around 2 weeks. Oxycodone was prescribed for the pain considering the extent of his injuries, but he never finished the bottle. It sat in our kitchen cupboard for years. One day, around a year ago, I swiped it to use when my injuries were serious.

With the underground fighting and his drunk antics, I constantly had cuts and bruises all over. He's never noticed it was gone considering the man is drunk most of the time, and I think he forgot we even had them in the first place. I only take them when I really need to. Since this is my last week of junior year, and I want it to be a good one, I grab the bottle from my medicine cabinet and quickly throw one back, chasing it with some water from the sink.

I walk out of the bathroom, into my room to slide on my converse. Suddenly I hear James call my name from downstairs, indicating that he's sober this morning.  

"Attie! You're gonna be late bunny!" He yelled up the stairs. Bunny. The nickname both him and apparently my mother called me. I had bright blueish-green eyes, a pale skin tone and blonde hair that looked almost silver at times. That was how bunny came about. They said because of my features and my puffy cheeks as a kid that I sometimes looked like a bunny. I lost the puffy cheeks as I got older and eventually the slender figure as well. Now having more muscles and curves, but the nickname still stuck. It annoyed me at times when he called me it and acted like a father.

I grabbed my bag from my bed, shoving a few books in as I passed my desk in the corner of my room and left, heading towards the stairs. As I walked down and passed the kitchen I saw James making a pot of coffee.