Hearing words in the silence

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I am not a middle age man that teaches and writes books. That also means I'm not Rick Riordan. Therefore, I don't own Percy Jackson and his friends. Enjoy

Chapter 3

When Percy gets home, he's not surprised that his stepfather does not say a word, instead preferring to ignore his stepson. The ever-present glass of scotch is at his fingertips as he leans against the kitchen counter, and Percy wishes that he could pour every drop of the damned liquid down the fucking sink. He knows it's a stupid idea from a previous experience, however. Last time Percy tried something like that , he ended up with his arm in a sling and bruises littering his skin. It's something he has to accept, he supposes. His stepfather will not stop drinking. Not for his wife, his family, anyone.

So why should Percy care?

Instead, he continues up to his room without a word, to where he can disappear, if only just for a little while.

Percy doesn't understand why his classmates despise school, really. It's as if it's in the description of a teenager that they must despise school at all costs. There's no such thing as even indifference. It's all hatred until they've graduated, and, just like everything else, it's only once they're free of the prison, do they wish to go back.

Percy supposes it's just another thing that makes him irregular.

He doesn't mind school, not really. He doesn't particularly like it either. It's just that its so routine, that Percy finds it hard to think of life without the dull hours he spends inside those walls. The minutes might creep by slowly, painfully even, but at least he's doing something. At least, he's preoccupied, rather than left to fester inside his own mind until he drives himself insane.

That's his worst fear: thinking.

It's a stupid thing to be afraid of really, but he can't help it. Percy hates his own mind, hates the way it tells him constantly that he is a failure, that it's his own fault his parents can't stand him, that he's abnormal. And Percy supposes that in a way that's true - if he would just put aside his own damn ideals then maybe he wouldn't be so different, but Percy knows it's just not that simple. He wishes it were, really, he does.

It's not so much that Percy hates who he is; it's that he hates what society makes of him.

Percy himself, is content with himself as any teenage could hope to be. Sure, every now and then he'll stand in front of his own reflection and despises every inch of what he sees, but what teenager doesn't? It's just another thing that's in the job description, and this time, Percy is playing by the rules.

It's just that they're all so goddamn judgmental. Percy knows he's different; he doesn't need to be told. And yet, they'll continue to label him, sneer, whisper, words they think he can't hear. It's cold, harsh really, and Percy hates every minute of it.

He drifts through the school halls in a daze, or something close to it. The time is passing generously quickly today, and Percy's glad for it, going about his work as a distraction and nothing more. Because at least he's at school, he's away from his parents, and if he's doing something, that's even better because now, he's away from himself.

The shock that registers on his face when his mother picks him up from school might be comical had Percy not been worried for her mental health. His mother had not picked him up since he was ten - why should she start back now? But there's her car, sitting patiently in the parking lot, her eyes peeled for the sight of her son. Percy walks over warily. He's unsure as to whether he's dreamt the entire thing and it seems deciding more likely than the fact that she's actually here.

He's wrong.

She's there alright, waving at him enthusiastically to make sure he sees her, and Percy, just like any other teenager, winces a little before glancing around, his cheeks beginning to flush. It's pointless really, and he doesn't understand why he still feels embarrassed about anything because after all, no one's ever there to see.

His mother's eyes are far too fidgety. They flicker around the car aimlessly, looking at anything except for Percy. He leaves her to her vices for a moment, opening the door and shifting in his seat a little bit, staring at her pointedly, and she's somehow forced to look at him.

Even though he doesn't speak, she is his mother and is in tune with him more than he could ever hope to realize.

"I thought we could go for some ice cream... we haven't done that in a while you know and I-"

Percy blinks and stares at her with a disbelieving look on his face.

She sighs long and hard.

"Alright, alright. I'm, uh... I want you to go back to see that woman again... what was her name?"

Percy shrugs his shoulders just barely enough so that she can see. Fuck if he knows

"Well... yes, her... I think she could really... she really seems to know what she is doing Perseus and I just... I want you to be happy."

It's a lie, Percy knows. It's a lie to keep them both normal, to keep playing the charade that they're mother-and-son, just as much as anybody else and their kid. Percy doesn't mind too much that she's lying-she's been doing it for so long he knows it must be hard for her to stop.

He considers storming out of the car right then and there, to show her he doesn't want help... doesn't need help.

But then she's looking at him, practically groveling at his feet, and he can't bring himself to refuse.

He really hates these therapists with a fiery passion, but she's his mother, and if he's being honest, Percy really does love her. He just finds it difficult to show her when she is shoving him in every direction that is away from her.

And so slowly, Percy nods-just a slight inclination of the head, the faintest agreement, and the tiniest way to show her that he still cares.

She smiles, and for a second, they are mother-and-son just the same as everybody else.