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You’re 17 and though nobody really believes it, you aren’t stupid. Your skull has had just about 5 more concussions than even you’d consider healthy, and sometimes when you fall down the wrong way you can’t see when you get up (you still throw the punch before your sight fully comes back) and maybe it’s easier to pitch a dumb idea when they’re received with the same groans or laughter as your actual strategy, but you, Clarisse LaRue, prided daughter of Ares, you aren’t fucking dumb. Even with your possible minor brain damage, you can still pick through your thoughts, find the ones on her, and come to the logical conclusion. You know you like her, at least a little, and you know that she's absolutely out of your league, and you know she’s disgusted with every inch of you.
You’re supposed to be the scary one. You’re bigger and stronger, besides have you seen
any
of the Aphrodite kids when they try to throw a punch? Even if she doesn’t rough you up physically you’re damn near
horrified
of her. When she smiles at you across the dining pavilion, the hand that grips your shoulder when she leans to grab her sword, the smirk she shoots you whenever she wins a spar. She’s making fun of you. She knows, she’s just waiting to tell everyone. After one particularly rough day she smiles at you. Something soft around the edges, something unknown in her eyes. You can’t read them. She knows she has some power over you. You go anywhere but back to your cabin so you can cry. Sitting behind the big house gripping your palms and biting your lips until they're both wet with the comfort of red, you realize you’re supposed to be the
thing
that makes girls like her cry. You know how to do that. So you do. You say the worst things you could think. You smile everytime you see her cry behind the big house. Sometimes you realize that smiles aren't this wet and the windchimes sound like sobs in your key, but you swear you smile when you see her cry behind the big house. Sometimes you forget yourself and smile whenever you see her. Sometimes your teeth feel too sharp in your mouth. You push her into the dirt with the back of your spear in training. She doesn’t look mad when she gets up but you notice that she has to tilt her chin up to look at you in your eyes. You panic and swipe her feet out again. You smile when she pouts up at you. The smile not as harsh as your other ones. They're more of a baring of your teeth. This has something playful, like a joke. The smile that's starting to become the Silena-smile. Your neck feels too hot. Your teeth feel too sharp in your mouth. She straightens out her pout and looks at you. Dirt is on her orange T-shirt, there's a spot on her arm that might be a bruise, there's hair in her mouth. It's not the first time you think she’s beautiful, but it’s the first time you know it this strongly. You help her up. You apologize. Your teeth are too sharp on your lip as it bleeds. It’s copper water when it creeps into your mouth.
You break the skin on your knuckles against a tree several times over that night. You call it training.
It falls into a routine.You make girls like her cry, you make her cry, you apologize in little ways, you bite your lip until it leaks, it becomes as scarred as the rest of you, your teeth are too sharp in your mouth. Sometimes she jokes with you or smiles, sometimes you think she's going to give you a black eye. You load into your bunk one day and hear the crinkle of paper underneath you. It's an invitation to some mortal party, not too far from camp. It smells like chocolate and something floral, maybe earthy? It’s written in pink pen. You fold it up and shove it between the boards of your bed. You don’t go to the party. Silena won’t look at you in activities the next day. You miss it more than you have any right to.
After months of the other year-rounds being the only kids you interact with, the first month of heat comes and the roves of demigods come with. You have some new siblings. No one could ever mistake you for soft but gods do you love your siblings. You watch them throw their first punch as you hold the pad up in training. You watch them over that first month excel past their new friends from other cabins and watch as they start to honor their father and understand him better than leaving. You watch them make their body their friend, their tool despite their awkward growing limbs. You watch some get angry. One of the younger, Sydney, just turned 10. She's one of the mad ones. She knew how to fight before she came in. One day she gets in a fight with an older brother. They roll around and you let them until they're done. She lost. You remember how it felt. You still feel it sometimes. The anger, knowing you deserve something you're not getting, strange kids claiming you as family and pretending like they understand. Part of what she’ll learn is how to pick her fights, you tell her this as you wipe off her wounds, brush sweat off her forehead. You bring her into the armory to bandage a scratch down her arm and a lash on her face. She gets mad, again. You stand there and let her pound against your chest let her scream. You can feel the bruises form against your chest and stomach. When she's panting and sweating and crying and the fight finally leaves you pull her against you and let her sob. You press her against you tightly no matter how much the fresh marks try to ache. You whisper to her, let her know that being a fighter means you can’t just be a winner. After minutes of just sitting with her clinging to you Silena walks into the armory and gasps. You pull your sister closer to your heart as she hardens.
“No, No, Silena is my friend, it’s ok,” You smile at Silena and your little one. You pick up her chin and sit by her side as Silena talks to her. Even her voice is gentler than you think a person could be. Whereas you were gruff and hard, Silena is the picture of soft. She is so quiet in her reassurance you can hardly hear. Your sister listens and stills, something leaks from her, she deflates. Slowly she rises and nods. There’s something light to her as she walks away. Something you hope keeps coming. You and Silena sit next to each other.
“Poor kid. I remember how angry I was when I first got to camp, scared too,” She leans forward and places her forearms on her knees. You watch the curve of her back.
“You, angry? What did you do, tell someone her shoes didn't match her outfit?” You don’t even register your own words until her nose wrinkles and a crease forms through her brows. (your head is mad, but not at her. Why do you always say the dumbest shit, gods, think for once, you idiot)
“Gods, I really don’t understand you. I think I do most of the time, but then you’re mean” (you are) “and then nice” (you guess) “and then you comfort your little sister” (what does that have to do with anything) “and then your back to mean,” She has a frown on her face and it makes you want to smile. (that's what this is, you feel good. I promise you feel good. Don’t pay attention to the pound of your head or the watering of your eyes. This is what a smile feels like)
“Ok, and. You don’t know me at all, I don’t have to act based on what bipolar bitch you think I am,” You bristle. You don't want to. (maybe you do? Your head has stopped talking to you. It’s off sulking somewhere)
“You’re right, I don't know you, but I don't think that’s my fault. I’m the last person fit to tell you how to act but don’t you get tired of being like this?” There's an accusation in there somewhere, you know it, even if you can’t hear it yet.
“I’m always fucking tired, what about it? What’s that even supposed to mean, ‘this’ I’m sorry my life isn’t lipstick and gossip and crushes but someone around here has to know we’re here to train,” You stand and turn.
“Bullshit!”
“Excuse me?” Her voice is loud in a way it’s never been before. You can’t help but get excited. You know how this part goes, you know how to argue.
“We aren’t even here to train, we’re here to learn. Some of us are just here for daycare, and others are here because they’re too scared to go out into the real world, let alone let themselves have anyone in this stupid bubble,” She takes a step toward you, aggressive in a way that makes you show your teeth.
“Yeah, as opposed to those who are so above it all huh?”
“I’m not asking you for omnipentince, I’m not even asking you for decency, just stop being such an asshole to me so I don't feel so bad for liking you!” Her voice raises. She waivers, as if she said too much, but the set of her jaw doesn’t disappear, the steel in her iris. She stares down at the floor.
“You don’t like me. You hate me,” There's something desperate in your voice as you take a step to her. She snaps your head to you. You’re trying to convince someone in this room, gods know who.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare tell me how I feel,” She marches forward. You rush backward and smile more.
“Why, it’s the truth isn’t it. You’re just some princess who needs a new project. Big bad Clarisse looks lonely, let me fix her.” Your teeth are too sharp in your mouth. They’re so bitter as you spit at her.
“You have no idea what’s going through my head. Maybe you’d know if you weren’t so stubborn and ‘tortured’ that no one can even smile at you without making themselves a target,” She takes another step toward you. Your back hits stone and you notice how close she is. Her eyes are burning.
It’s different from what you know. When yours burn it makes ash, when she does it’s just…bright.
“You. Hate. Me. You have every right to, if knowing that makes you feel better,” She looks up at the ceiling. You pray she leaves so you can finally collapse.
“Gods above, I told you. You. Don’t. Know. How. I. Feel. So stop guessing, stop telling me! You don’t know!” She takes another step. You can feel her breath, harsh, against your cheek.
“I get that you think I’m stupid, but maybe don’t be so easy to read, princess-” You feel more than you see her dive towards you, the air rush against your cheek to part for her. You close your eyes bracing for the punch. It doesn’t come. Your back hovering just above the wall is pressed back as hands appear on your waist and push . You can feel the divots your own teeth have made against soft, smooth, velvet.
You are 17 and, though nobody really believes it, you are not stupid. You’re 17 and so confused. You are 17 and absolutely flooded with electricity. You’re 17 and might be crying? You are 17 and will never forget this for the rest of your life. You are 17 and you head has finally, finally , shut the fuck up. You’re 17 and Silena fucking Beauregard is kissing the shit out of you.
You respond in a movement so pliable you don’t recognize it as you. It's calming at first, her mouth against yours, hands just barely grazing at the edge of the skin on your waist. Your brain quiets, then races, then quiets again. You place your hand on her back so lightly you can’t even feel the skin through the fabric. You can feel the warmth though. It’s intoxicating, addicting, as you push off the wall and into her. That seems to be the trigger, the reminder that this started as a fight. And a fight comes again. Her tongue pokes at the edge of your lips and when you don’t invite it in, teeth replace. She bites quick and sharp against your dented bottom lip. When you gasp something breathless and incoherent she takes the opportunity and traces your blunt teeth with the pad of her tongue. You grin as she nips and bites at your mouth, your chin, your neck, something reassuring in the harsh movements. The beads on your camp necklace are pushed aside to make room. She meets you against every push you make. As she assaults your neck you raise your head up in more praise, in more worship, in more divinity than you have ever known, even with the poorly-concealed god in your veins. Compared to the holy in your arms your ichor might as well be water. You’re practically drowning in the rapids. When her teeth finally still, she does too. Making her way back to you she’s soft again, gentle presses of lips, soft curls of her tongue, before she pushes herself away, hand staying on the wall as she chases her breath. Your lungs heave in a way it hasn’t in years. She stares at you. You look back. Her pupils are wide and you know yours match. The idea of the two of you matching, a pair in some way, soothes something in your chest. She turns and starts to run. Years of battle training are the only reason you have the reflexes to reach out, grasp her wrist, and tug her against you. You press your lips against her lightly, a breath so short you blink and you’ve dropped her. Her footsteps are quiet as you turn to clean the equipment behind you.
Silena avoids you after that. You let her.
You don’t try to change all at once. You honestly don’t feel like you try to change at all. Your head still screams. You hate yourself most nights. It’s just, something about camp seems quieter. You’re just as mad as you’ve always been, maybe just as gruff, but you don’t go seeking anything out, don't grab for bait when it’s dangled right in front of you. You give advice to kids from other cabins when their position is off or they need a little help and maybe you're not as much of an asshole as you would’ve been. After the first week it’s easier. You aren’t undoing years of being a dick but at the very least you try to see the other campers as something not necessarily different but more than just your enemy. You even let out a laugh at one of the older campers dumb jokes during training. Your brothers look at you like you're insane. There's a fist on your hip though, and a grinning ten year old at the end of it. The bruise on her temple looks more like a shadow now then a mark. You wrap an arm around her shoulders and rustle her hair. You swear you feel eyes on you from the horde of Aphrodite kids standing just across the arena, but Sydney shoves your arm off and with the biggest smile you’ve had in public in years, you rumble with her in a half-hug half-bodylock. Your whole cabin erupts into a playful wrestling match. You hear your little sister laugh for the first time.
After three weeks Silena touches the inside of your wrist when Aphrodite gets put on Ares' team for capture the flag. She steps away and despite how many people are looking at you, you follow her. She smiles, surprised but pleased. You let her step away. You feel something warm in your chest smile, something prideful. You grin back. Somewhere in the woods Chiron blows the whistle. You scream and sprint into action. You play harder than you have in weeks. At some points you can hardly see past the light red tint just outside your eyes, so light it’s almost pink, and can hardy her past the pump of joy and blood in your ears. The rush of it like rapids, like a river, water in your ears. Your team wins (obviously) and everyone, even your cabin knows, it was you. Your chest puffs, your grin gets cocky. By the middle of dinner you’re downright unbearable, you smirk more than smile as your brothers crowd and jostle you. They're obnoxious, and proud, and annoying and you bask in it. You're more than content to sit and be adored but just in the corner of your vision, more out of luck than anything else, you spot her. Stepping away from the dining hall, into the woods, heading towards the cabins. You shake off your boys and rush after her.
“Hey!”
Her back faces you, she turns, smiles.
“Hey, champ. What did I do to earn some of the hero’s time?”
She smirks at you as if the last time you talked didn't crumble the absolute foundation of your life. Like you didn’t try to speedrun years of healing so she would brush against you again.
“What makes you think you have my time?” She says looking away, trying to summon something similar to being cool. “Maybe I just wanted to head back to the cabins,” Silena's smile switched from teasing to downright smug as she raised a hand and points.
“Well, for one, the cabins are that way. And I’m walking this way. And you’re following,”
“Hmm, I’m just going for a walk, fame gets tiring, you just happened to be here,” You grin at her. She smiles, then frowns, then it levels out into something blank.
“What are you doing? Like, actually?” Your smile melts.
“Oh? Um,” You freeze a little bit. You don't harden, not yet, but in a feeling quite unfamiliar you want to run.
“I don’t know, what do you mean?”
“What are you doing? What are you doing here? Why have you spent the last 6 years I’ve known you being a, no offense, dickbag, and then I kiss you and now you act like an angel?”
“I literally just sent 6 different kids from 3 different cabins to the infirmary”
“You know what I mean!”
“I don’t know, does it matter?”
“Yes! Oh Gods! Of course it matters! If this is just to get in my pants then Jesus Christ-”
“OH GODS NO! WHAT? Silena what the hell are you even going on about?”
The first time felt angry. It was something surprising, sudden. This one could’ve been too but you know how to watch your opponent, you can already see it in the flip of her eyes, you catch it in the curve of her throat as she swallows. You hardly have the time to close your eyes as her mouth latches onto yours. The first one was different. This one doesn’t feel as mad, or as desperate. There's something firm in the press of her lips against yours, but you can feel the toy of her fingers against your shirt. One fiddling with the cloth the other sliding over your hip. It brushes against a bruise and you can’t tell if it aches or not. The rush of water in your ears becomes familiar. This feels like learning to swim. You can't help but feel worried about how rough your hands are as you drag a dry, calloused finger along her jaw. You cup her face as you press in. SIlena pushes into you as she breathes out something high-pitched right into your mouth. It echoes around before settling right into your center, pounding with your heart. You push against her, and keep pushing. She rocks in. You release yourself to take a breath and laugh right into her collarbone. The river slows down.
You don’t get to your cabin until after dark. Your lips are swollen and you haven’t felt lighter in years.
You and Silena become friends. She can be seen at the Ares table from time to time. She’ll sit and tell you gossip as you clean your weapons. You insist you don’t want to hear but you laugh and smile at her all the same. Sometimes when she says something particularly annoying you bracket your hands on either side of her and kiss her until she forgets what she was saying. The rest of camp notices your friendship, someone has taken to labeling you two as “beauty and the beast” you rough them up and scowl, but something inside of you melts when Silena laughs about it and starts leaving roses around camp for you. After a week they’re still fresh as day 1. You ask her about it that night. She's pinned to the wall by her hips, your hands keeping her in place. The hunger in her pupils flips as you ask and she’s laughing. Shes laughing and you don’t feel dumb for asking a dumb question. She's laughing and you're laughing.
“Aphrodite Kid love magic,” She winks at you. Something about her saying the word ‘love’ that close to your face makes your blood rush to meet the hand on your cheek.
“Cool,” you say. You smile, she laughs, you catch it in your mouth. She laughs even harder.
You steal kisses from her whenever you can. The mid-summer heat becomes unbearable. She starts getting bolder. One of your jobs is teaching the younger kids how to spar. She always offers to help, but one day she gets closer than she should. You can see an opening in her as she moves in to whisper to you as you're demonstrating, you put her in the dirt, she hooks a leg against yours in a move you’ve never been taught and as she's falling down, pulls you under her. Her cocky, perfect smirk is inches away from your open mouth shock. Her hair curtains you and her from the laughing and gasping kids. You peek over and most are wide-eyed horrified waiting for you to hurt her. You laugh from the bottom of your stomach and she lowers herself down onto your chest, flopping with her whole weight. The younger kids who didn’t know the old you laugh and rush forward, covering the two of you in sweaty pre-teens and younger campers, eventually even the distant 13/14 yr olds drop their attitudes and roll around with the rest, giggling. Silena looks at you soft and adoring.
You are 17 and you hate Beckendorf. Ok, well, you don’t like ACTUALLY hate him, but gods, you’re almost there. It’s more like you hate yourself through him. He’s quiet and soft and looks at Silena like she hung every single star. He gives her the buildup to some sweet summer love. He offers up everything to her on a gold platter, things she would have to pull and rip and beg to get from you. Even though Silena apologizes to you profusely, something bitter settles in and you find yourself cleaning your armor without the steady babble of her excitement more and more often. She always comes to you an hour or two later, sweaty and complaining about how hot the forge is and how she “honestly doesn’t know how Charlie does it! The heat on top of how hard it is to plan every strike, and gods, how strong would you have to be-” You stop listening for your own sake at that point; if she's lucky she gets a nod or a laugh. You don’t touch her for weeks. The next time she says his name you almost shove her against the nearest platform. You kiss her with something wild and she squeaks, honest to the gods, squeaks as you push her against the tree. There's something mad, some show of force as you bunch your hands in the curve of her hip and drink her in. Logically you know that you’re probably sloppy and your mouth is too open and your hands are moving too quickly but the second you pull away Silena is there. She is there and solid and warm underneath you no matter how far you pull back. You smile and rest your forehead against hers. She doesn’t say anything. You don't look at her when you turn and walk away.
She starts dating Charlie two weeks after you stop
really
talking to her. You still say hi or throw a joke in class. One week after you stop
talking
you almost lean in despite yourself. She frowns but doesn’t move farther away. You turn and run.
The rest of summer passes in a weird haze of not-quite-friendship. God knows why you thought this would be any different.
She stops helping you with the little ones' training. You miss her more than you deserve to.
She breaks up with Charlie a week before summer’s over. Neither of them looks too sad. They still spend every spare second with each other. You’re a little confused, not like that’s any different than anything else surrounding her.
She comes up to you 3 days later. She smiles, expectant, hopeful, maybe a little hungry, and comes up to you during a workout. You run away from her, like a full-on pathetic sprint. Your father would be ashamed.
You could never really change. You’re 17 and you're a fucking idiot.
Two days before the summer kids are set to head home it happens.
You’re 17 when your home is under attack. You are 17 and your little sister is crying. You are 17 and your left arm throbs with pain. You are 17 and you can’t tell if this is a training exercise or not. You are 17 when you watch Silena drop.
Everything was normal. Most demigods knew war was coming, the older ones at least, but gods you know battle more than anyone and you thought you had years before real danger. But here you were in the heart of your home, with the heart of your brothers and sisters screaming in your ears. There's not an unreasonable amount of monsters for the number of campers fighting, but what shakes you to your core are the kids that look like you, the kids who have trained with you, the kids you have bled with, kids you know, the children you’ve grown up with that dot the attacker's ranks. Chiron is there and eventually, you can see those who aren't dust on the ground turn and flee, but not before you notice her thin frame freeze and fall.
You are 17 and you know you’ve changed. At least a little bit. because when
her
blood is the one spilling over the rocks you hold her. Not like you grip the handle of your spear, not like you cling to the hilt of a sword, you hold her, cradle her as water pours over your hands, pounds in your veins too. You swear you can feel it rush over your fingertips. Or maybe not, It’s only water, god you idiot, you should’ve known. You watch it flow further away from you. As it rushes to be done with you. You feel like you’re going crazy. Press your hands against her stomach, act like pushing water causes anything but a splash and some wet hands. Feel the calm you only ever feel around spilled blood. Almost smile despite yourself when you see the red. Know that even if you didn't throw the punch or swing the sword or level the spear you caused this all the same. If you had just been two feet to the left if you had seen the kid with the sword. Know the only thing you'll ever be truly good at is getting blood on the rocks. Hate yourself for it. Or don't, it’s just fucking water anyways.