νεκρός || Annabeth Chase x Fem!OC

Vol. 2.5-8: Imaginary friend

TEMPEST

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It's really hard to be in love with someone, and every single minute spent with them, you have that nagging voice in the back of your head telling you; This is wrong.

I hold her hand. This is wrong.

I buy her coffee. This is wrong.

I protect her from being haunted. This is wrong.

It doesn't matter what I do. The action- no matter how grand or minute- is wrong if it is done with her happiness in mind. And it doesn't matter how much it makes her smile or the way she picks her head up a little more when she walks. It doesn't matter. Because it is wrong.

Girls don't like other girls. What about the dead loving the living? How fucked up is that? It's bad enough I'm a girl in love with another girl. It's worse that I'm a ghost in love with someone whose heart still beats.

I swiped a quick glance at Annabeth, watching the faintest smile splay on her lips as I held her hand. She looked down, trying to hide herself from my view, but failing miserably.

I turned away, irritated as I forced myself to walk calmly. Holding her warm hand just reminds me what can never happen. It wouldn't matter if Annabeth liked me the way I liked her. It wouldn't matter if society didn't hate girls who like girls. I could never take it a step further with Annabeth. One day, she will get her driver's license. After that, she will start college. Buy her own car. Start a career. Get married. Have kids. Grow up. In fifteen years, Annabeth will have all of that.

In fifteen years, I will still be fifteen. I will still be the sad, immature, lonely person that I was born as, because without the ability to die, I am burdened with the inability to grow.

I wonder if the gods ever feel like that. We're two ends of the same spectrum- everlasting, and free from death. The difference is a god is so full of vitality, they are free from death. Me? I am free from death because Death claimed me long ago. I wonder if the gods ever hate losing the ones they loves- those that are burdened with death- and wish it on themselves.

But then I remembered the difference between me and the gods. The gods cannot hate themselves. They are so full of vitality, they worship it, and with it, themselves. There is no such thing as a god hating themselves. But I, on the other hand, hate myself more than anyone I have ever met.

For years, I didn't think I was able to love. I didn't think I was able to feel, really. But being with Annabeth makes me realize how numb I had been for over eighty years. Being around her almost makes me think I'm alive again. I cry because of her. I smile. I laugh. I feel jealousy over other people, and not because they're living, which is usually what I envy them for. I envy them for the fact that they might be more attractive than me. That Annabeth will prefer them over me. And I've never felt like that- even when I was alive.

Just holding her hand is almost enough to make me think I could have something with her. It's so easy to imagine I'm alive when I walk with her on the San Francisco streets, which are still coming alive on this grey morning. It's easy to imagine I'm breathing in the fog around us. It's easy to imagine I really was born fifteen years ago, and that I might be able to kiss her without consequence.