Uncontrollable{COMPLETED}

Chapter 9

Percy woke up feeling horrible and cranky. His mood from last night hadn't dissipated. After laying on his bed for a few minutes, dreading facing the camp, Percy decided to just not leave his cabin. What was the point of doing anything, going out in public, when he was a danger to innocent people who should be his friends? Especially when they treated him like a rabid animal. He was a cancer, a disease, and no one needed him. Or wanted to be around him, even if he was being himself, and not possessed, as they probably thought he was. Really, it was a miracle he was even allowed to continue to stay at the camp. Percy tried to untangle himself from his sheets, but after five minutes of struggling, he just gave up and rolled onto the floor. His body produced a small thud as he landed on the cold floor, ignoring the slight discomfort that he had caused himself. He lay there for a bit before managing to wriggle out of his blankets. He crossed the cabin, ignoring the icy floor, and locked the door and closed the curtains. He was not going to let anyone in. It's for the best, he tried to tell himself, but a tiny thought nagged at him. He was basically throwing a temper tantrum. But I'm not a child, he thought angrily, and it's so that I won't hurt other people. As Percy sat in his cabin, he realized that, unfortunately, he hadn't though about his ADHD. After the first hour, he was bored straight out of his mind. It seemed as though night would never arrive. Or even lunch, for gods' sakes. After the second hour, he was slightly hungry, and this idea seemed dumber and dumber. It took the third hour for his stomach to start rumbling. At least that entertained him a bit. It kinda made patterns, almost like music. Or at least drumbeats. He laughed dryly at himself. 

"Nice to know I'm still a five year old at heart." His voice scared him, cracking into the silence and fading out all too quickly.

Percy looked at the photos on his walls he had put up awhile ago. They were curled and blotched from yesterday's fiasco, but Percy could still the see the images they contained just fine. The pictures were all of him and his mom, or his friends, or Annabeth. Mostly, they were of Annabeth. Instead of feeling better, though, he felt as though a chasm had opened in chest, taking his happiness with it. He would never be normal. He'd never be able to talk to his friends and family again. He couldn't be trusted to follow civilization's basic rules, and that disgusted him. He hated himself. He shouldn't even be at camp if he was this big of a problem. He suddenly remembered the conversation he'd had with Chiron. He wondered if the centaur had Iris-messaged the gods. He wondered what they'd said. They probably had told Chiron they'd think about his problem, and then forgot about him. Like everyone at camp was trying to do. Just talk to the gods. They'll teach you how to do it, Percy thought venomously. His angry mood took too much energy to sustain, so he let the anger go. Now he just felt washed out and gray.

This is what I've come to, he thought, looking around at the dark cabin, surveying the total mess. I've become a homicidal maniac. 

"Just what I always wanted," he said out loud. Maybe if he stayed in here long enough without talking to another person, he'd forget his name. He'd forget everything, if he stayed here in the semi-dark, the twilight, long enough. The thought depressed him. He didn't exactly want to experience amnesia again. Thanks but no thanks, Hera. Percy's mind was blank for awhile, and he stared at the wall whilst tapping his fingers against his thigh. Then he started tapping his foot against the floor. It drove him crazy. He stopped. He sighed, leaning his head against his hand. He drifted off in an exhausted, hunger-induced sleep. 

He was in Tartarus again. He shuddered as he lost his balance on the bumpy, blister-ridden ground. He looked up into the infinite dark red sky and hopelessness filled him. He looked over and saw Annabeth next to him. The dream changed, and he saw himself yelling at Annabeth, telling her that she was weak, hurting her. Betraying her. He recoiled from the image of himself, seeing that his eyes were a dull gray, the color of the river Cocytus. He watched himself hurt Annabeth over and over again. It wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop. It would never stop.