Ship in a Bottle (𝓘𝓷 𝓔𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰!)

What Better Than Paranoia

(Edited)

The hospital treated three students that day, only one surviving. The shooter had been drunk and on cocaine, which caused the deaths in the first place. Annabeth had been extremely lucky to not have followed suit.

Frederick's car pulled into the school parking lot, windows rolled down. The school nurse stood by his daughter's side, her hand clamping her shoulder for protection. Since the shooting, tears hadn't stopped flowing down her cheeks. Annabeth was just too scared to think straight.

He opened his mouth partially. "Thank you for taking good care of my daughter, Ms. Tofer. I can take it from here."

"Don't worry about me," She whimpered to the nurse. "Thanks for helping."

"No worries, dear," Ms. Tofer waved goodbye as Annabeth climbed into his car, worry furrowed in his brows.

The car drove away, wind blowing through her hair until he rolled the window back up. "Annabeth, how are you feeling?"

Annabeth eyed her father, who was still looking straight in front of him. A burning glare exited her eyes. "How do you think I'm feeling? I was just held at fucking gunpoint."

"Let's not use that kind of language in the car." He frowned. "The police gave me a short call, but I want to hear your point of view in all this. What did the man do to you?"

"Since when do you want to listen to me?" She scowled, tilting her head away from him.

"Annabeth-"

"Alright, alright," Annabeth rolled her eyes, exhaling sharply. Blood stained her vision, although metaphorical. "We all shuffled into the closet, but he found us. Pulling me out, he held the gun against my arm. Sure, he never shot me, and I didn't bleed, but he...touched me."

"Where?" His voice was laced in poison.

"My chest, my hips," She listed, a shiver running down her spine while the feeling of his hands lingered on her hips. "Legally, it's classified as sexual abuse, but-"

"I'm going to fucking kill him." Frederick's knuckles turned white from his intense grip on the steering wheel, literal steam seemingly poking out of his ears. "How dare he touch my daughter!"

"What happened to not using bad language?" She muttered, leaning her head against the window. "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

"No," He answered gruffly. "But that means you'll have to watch the boys after school."

"I'm still mentally recovering from the shooting," Annabeth remarked, her voice no higher than a whisper. "I don't want to get back into the swing of things anytime soon."

"Helen would tell you to suck it up and get over it, if she were here," He sighed deeply, lightly refraining himself from breaking the steering wheel with pressure. "Thankfully, Helen's not here right now. I want to talk to you, one-on-one. Just like when your mom was still here."

"Woah, where did you take my father?" Annabeth sniffled, a droplet of snot wiggling back into her nose. "My real father would never mention mom, or say anything against Helen. Who are you right now?"

"I'm trying to understand who you are," He responded automatically. "You haven't been yourself lately, and I want to get to the bottom of it."

"I don't know, maybe it's because Helen abuses the fuck out of me, but you never listen to me when I try and tell you. That's just an estimate, though."

Dad rolled his eyes, pursing his lips. "You and I both know you hate Helen with a burning passion. You've lied about her in the past, so why should I believe you know?"

"Nope, I'm out." She shoved myself away from his grace, another tear sliding down her cheek. "This is why I don't bond with you anymore. Helen turned you into a monster."

He scoffed. "What do you mean by that?"

"My real father would believe me," Annabeth whimpered, raising her shirt sleeve to wipe away her tears. "You're not him anymore. My father's spirit died when he did."

He. When Annabeth was younger, she had an older brother. Her parents loved the two of us to bits, and she only looked up to him. Malcolm was his name, the most influential role model in Annabeth's life. That was until they all suffered in a car accident, which only killed one of them. After that, the Chase family died out, separating the bits and pieces he left behind.

His lips zipped shut, his expression tightening along with the mood. The entire drive back home was strained as they refused to talk about anything further, leaving the embarrassment to kick in instead.

As the two arrived home, the sight of Helen's disgusted expression sent a rush of panic down Annabeth's spine as she gazed out the window. "Annabeth, I want you to rest for the entirety of the afternoon," Frederick commanded, pulling the car to a stop. "Helen can make you chicken soup, but I need to get back to work. Be on your best behavior."

"I'm not five," Annabeth deadpanned, sliding her backpack onto her shoulder. "But thanks for caring."

He let out a sigh, still audible as his daughter stepped out of the running vehicle. "Ugh, teenagers."

With her phone in hand, she shuffled into the kitchen. The ugly rat stood beside the counter-top, a creepy smile crossing her cheeks. "So, tell me what happened today, will you? Why did you have to come home so urgently?"

Annabeth swallowed hard, bile settling in the depths of her throat. Reluctantly, she seated myself in the stool a few feet from her as much as she wanted to stay far away.

"Alright," Helen breathed, rubbing her forehead. "Explain."

"An armed man entered the school and threatened to shoot me," Annabeth sputtered, all her courage suddenly spilling out as she spoke those few meek words. Helen's deadly glare stared deep into her soul, ridding her of her fortitude within seconds.

"And?" Her words were laced in poison, heavy amounts dripping with her speech. "That can't possibly be it."

"He held a gun against my arm and touched me," Annabeth continued, anxiety bubbling in her stomach. "He touched my chest and my hips, calling me names-"

"You're so weak," Helen scowled, throwing her hands in the air. "An old man said a few things to you and you're crying your eyes out and demanding to be brought home? When I was younger, nobody gave a fuck whether us kids were alright. Suck it up!"

"Now you know how I feel!" Annabeth roared, cracking her knuckles absentmindedly. "I've endured your torture for years and years now, but nobody wants to know where my scars are from. Dad just assumes all those boys at school have been hurting me. They think my friends don't acknowledge me, but they do! You and him are the same!"

"What are we, huh?" Helen barked. "Spit it out."

"You're a monster!" She shrieked, backing away from her. "Both of you!"

Helen merely stared back, her expression tightening. "You're obviously just a little girl. Life sucks. Everyone goes through the same shit."

"Last time I checked, my friends have parents who don't beat the fuck out of them!" I retorted. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going upstairs. Disrupt me and I'll cut off your fucking neck in your sleep."

Annabeth had never defied her like that before. The newfound sense of dominance had been clearly strained across her shoulders, the weight of partial guilt beginning to fade. Helen had been temporarily defeated, but Annabeth still reigned undefended when it came to age.

She slammed the door shut behind her, sinking down beside the wood. Her fingers trailed the lines running down the sides of the door, the same thought stuck in her head. No matter how hard she tried, it just wouldn't go away.

"You're worthless."

Maybe she wasn't the champion after all.