SANITY; heroes of olympus

04.1

[act four; chapter one     -     literal hell]

Sometimes the hardest part of life was living. Breathing. Feeling. Thinking.

There were days where all she could do was lay there and contemplate everything—every achievement, every mistake, every laugh and every sob, every last thing. Of course this only sparked tears that never seemed to stop, followed by the stinging ache in her chest that came from trying to push it all away, to shove it down until it seemed like nothing, till she no longer felt it. Till it was nothing but a speck of dust on a forgotten bookshelf.

Today was one of those days, one of the days where all Andromeda did was lay there in her bed, still in her pyjamas, and just stare at the wall. Her hair was messy and greasy and knotted on her head, yet she couldn't find it in herself to care. Her skin was just as gross, unwashed and caked in tears, yet there was absolutely no motivation to get up, there was nothing but the indescribable nothingness.

Sally had been kind enough to give her space, as she always did, and always knew how to interpret her silence as a yes or a no. Paul would come and go from her room, but most of the time he would sit in her favourite chair that sat in the corner of her room—her book nook, as she called it—and be there in silence. He never asked if she was okay because they all knew the answer, all knew it was no. But he would tell her that she would be okay again someday, that the ache would lessen.

That was something she loved about the Jackson household: there was never a rush for the darkness to go away. Never a reason to lie and say that you weren't alright, because to them it was okay to not be okay. They all had that belief—Percy, Sally, and Paul—that if someone was not okay, that they would be at some point. No timelines, no need to pretend, no reason to feel anything other than what you were truly feeling, even if it could be described as nothing.