Rachel recoiled up from her bed, air trapped in her lungs. She coughed into her arm to try and alleviate the pressure in her chest, but something was stuck in her airway. She pounded on her chest, spat on the ground, swished some water in her mouth, and she forced herself to nearly vomit but to no success. Finally, just as she was about to faint from hypoxia, her throat gave a low chuckle and reflux filled her palate.
Placing a hand upon her forehead, Rachel stumbled into her bathroom, only half-awake. She spit out the acid in her sink and washed away the nauseating taste with mint mouthwash. When she met her gaze in the mirror, she was taken aback by her reflection.
Puffy eyes, frizzy restless curls, dry lips, maybe a pimple there.
Annabeth has no acne.
The thought crushed her like a tidal wave, making her dizzy. What a stupid thought to have. What an immature thought.
Rachel pinched her hand (to discourage her mind from forming similar ideas) and tried to pin back her hair. She pouted a little, stuck out her bottom lip, and made her eyes wider, but she still looked like a hot f*cking mess.
No wonder he likes her better.
f*ck.
She let her hair drop and turned on her heels, but a flash of red caught her eye.
She peered closer into the sink and saw a teensy tiny flower petal, glued to the porcelain. How did that get there, she wondered. It must have flown in from the window. Or maybe from another room.
Avoiding the mirror once more, Rachel went back into her room to try and force some sleep into her system.
But once her eyes closed, the same thoughts, same images spiraled around her mind like an endless whirlpool.
During the day it was easy to shut them off, to ignore them, to replace them. But they were extremely persistent at night, when she was cold and lonely, and without a damn soul to talk to. Thinking about those sea green pools or flashy smile, made her heart ache, her cells wither.
She clamped one hand around her mouth to stifle a sob, and another on her chest to soothe the pain away.
After rolling around and shifting in her covers for hours, Rachel forced herself to get up and grab Inky–-the stuffed octopus she couldn’t sleep without when she was a kid. She wrapped her arms around him, and inhaled the nostalgic smell. Her father had found it quite strange that she was so deeply attached to an invertebrate and not a cow, or a bear like the other kids. Tiny Rachel had snapped back, freckles and all, that she liked the sea.
The memory seeped into her current pain, pouring salt into the already bleeding wound.
f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
Standing there on the beach, Rachel saw tiny glimpses of her future dancing in front of her. Dangling like tiny gold threads, close enough to see, to yearn for, but too far to grasp. She saw sprinklers, and transparent rainbows, and tiny kids fighting with fake swords. She saw her hand holding his, saw his warm comforting smile, felt him peck her cheek.
The thought made her throat close up. She rubbed her chest, trying to clear the pressure building up, a motion she was quite familiar with these days.
“You okay?” He asked, his loose posture betrayed by his knitted eyebrows. She couldn’t bare to look up at him, at those eyes, at that smile, at that tiny curl that brushed his forehead. She wanted to smooth it away, kiss his worry away. But the words got muddled in her brain, stuck in her throat, lost in her vocal cords somewhere.
He is not yours to have.
So, Rachel tried for a relaxed nod, no, a shrug, actually. She settled for a small ‘yep’.
He stared at the sea, mind troubled from the storm that was coming.
How was it that Rachel always wanted to be near him, but when she was, her vision turned blurry, her heart sank into a place so dark she couldn’t even seek it?
How was it that he ruined her and brightened her at the same time?
She could not live without him (or that’s how it felt at the moment). But at the same time, he was slowly killing her from the inside out, like salt would burn flower buds. Equal part of her wanted to kiss him until she floated away into another world, and carve out his skin slowly, making him feel the pain she was feeling.
“Come with me.” She blurted out, without second thought.
He couldn’t. She knew he couldn’t but she had to try.
Please.
She was drowning and he was the only one that could save her.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
He couldn’t.
Of course not.
He had to go on his stupid f*cking quest with perfect little blondie Annabeth. They’d spend the next month together, probably. Sharing food, sleeping bags, bonding over near-death experiences, slaying monsters. Rachel spent the next few hours crying in her bathroom.
Why couldn’t I be a demigod?
f*cking Annabeth.
Oh, how Rachel wished she could hit her with a pan. Kill her maybe. That’d be nice.
f*ck.
Had she gone completely mad? Had she lost all sane thought?
Yes.
She was certainly mad. He was drawing all intelligence out of her, sucking out her common knowledge, leaving her standing there like a goddamn fool! She was fooled and she was blindsided because she couldn’t see anything but him.
Suddenly, Rachel’s vision went red and her stomach emptied out its mostly empty contents. (I bet Annabeth doesn't starve herself to look like that.)
When her vision cleared, Rachel noticed that her floor had been sprinkled with maybe 5 flower petals. The same ones as the one glued to her sink–a memory that had been washed out from her consciousness, replaced with sorrow.
Rachel wiped her mouth dumbly. Then she stuck a finger in her mouth.
Nothing.
Had those petals come out of her? Her brain spun, recalling her old biology textbooks but her memory was blank. Before she could come to a conclusion, there was a knock on her door.
Rachel scrambled to pick up the sticky petals and shove them in the back of her paint-stained jeans. She’d hide this, she realized. She’d have to until she knew more.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
For the next few days, Rachel avoided the truth, chilling her bones, filling her lungs. She convinced herself she was delusional, she was a maniac, she was just extremely hungover him and had started making up illusions to deal with the fact that he would never love her back. She stopped the petals from coming up, nearly choked to death on one of them.
But no, she was alright. It would pass, like everything else, it would pass. The calm would come.
It was only when Rachel threw up a dozen petals, all stained with her blood that she accepted the truth.
In the last year, she had learned that greek gods were alive, that monsters chased after her friends, that they might die in the next few months. So, she decided that spitting out petals was really not the hardest truth to face.
But it was the scariest, because for once, she was the one in danger.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚
She hid and hid and hid and hid and hid.
She dumped the flaking petals out of the window, refusing to look at them. They scattered in the wind.
She took iron pills because her face was as pale as snow.
Her "friends" got worried, she blamed her allergies.
Her parents got worried, she told them New York City was too polluted.
(This was really a part of her on-going scheme to get to Camp. Maybe she’d get some answers there. She could ask around. This had to be mythology-related: human science couldn’t explain it, didn’t even know of it. The only way to get some answers would be to ask around, maybe him. Especially him. But he had bigger things to deal with, so she’d survive.)
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At Half-Blood camp, her condition simply deteriorated. What? She'd given up a private island, forwhat?
Pity the fool. Pity her.
What had she been thinking?
Being surrounded by him and Annabeth crushed her more so than the flowers growing in her.
Seeing every laugh, every glance, every single f*cking exchange between them was like a knife twisting her heart, eroding it, turning it pitch black.
She couldn’t bare to look at them. She loved him.
sh*t.
She really did. (Such a shame. Him loving her would really kill her this time.)
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She remembered a time where it had been okay to love him. To endlessly sketch his features canvas on canvas, paper on paper. She spent hours trying to get his eyes correctly, his face as bold as it really was. She had been young, sure, but also a goddamn idiot!
Now, she had to hide even her thoughts of him.
She had to tape her mouth in her sleep so that she wouldn’t call for him.
She had to blindfold herself to stop seeing him at every corner (but it was really too late for that, he followed her even into the darkest corners of her mind).
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She finally got into Chiron’s good graces and he allowed her to use the infirmary's library.
Her excuse was always the same, “I wanna be a doctor!” Yeah, to save her heart from stopping entirely, her lungs from breathing entirely. Or so she assumed. She had no idea how the petals worked. Why they grew. (Though, she knew they were related to Percy, somehow. She couldfeel it.)
There were too many books though. Too many manuscripts. She knew, at the very least, that she didn't have that much time left.
Will Solace found her one night, drooling on a crackling piece of antique paper. He took out his gum and threw it in the trash, but he saw her petals there too.
He woke her up, frowning, shaking her as hard as physically possible.
“Are these yours!? ” He asked, gesturing wildly to the red consequences of her love.
Rachel nodded silently, and cried into his arms.
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Will explained it all to her.
She was cursed.
Rachel Elizabeth Dare had been cursed by Eros.
She had stepped in between two fated lovers’ path. She had nearly ruined their future together. Just by being her. And to get her out of the picture, Eros had cursed her.
This wasn’t new information though. Not really. Rachel had always been the human imposter. She had always known that it would never be her. That’s why she had spent the last few weeks moping and hurting. The diagnosis was just the confirmation she had dreaded.(stop lying to yourself, Rachel. tell them how much you cried, tell them how much your heart broke, tell them how many petals you coughed up that night.)
It wasn’t uncommon through history, Will assured, wiping her tears away even though he was a few years younger, there was a way to heal from it.
Forget or confess. Forget or confess. Forget or confess. Forget or confess.
(Though, one option, really, since Will told her that the cure had been lost during a fire sometime in the Antique period...just her luck.)
“No. I’m not confessing.” She choked, clutching his orange shirt. “There's no way he loves me back. No matter what I do. I could look like her and he’d still wouldn’t choose me.”
“He might. You never know.”
“No.” She chewed her already puffy lips. “I’m not going to humiliate myself like that.”
“But if he knew you were dying…”
“He’s not going to know.” She shook her head, feeling herself grab the tiny bits of selflessness she had left. “If he knew, he’d find a way to save me. And I can’t…I can’t ruin his happiness. I can’t.” (not when he was literally meant to be with Annabeth.)
Rachel grabbed Will’s shirt and threatened him, making him swear not to tell another being, not while she was still alive. She’d choke to death for him if it assured his well-being.
The best sacrifices are the ones no one knows about.
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She used to be mad at him. Used to hate him, absolutely despise everything about him.
She used to see him run off on quests, slaying that monster, bargain with that god, and would want to bash him head through a brick wall.
Knowing him, he’d probably just smile back at her.
And what she would have never wanted to hear was that hate stemmed from love. That this much soar in her heart could end up in a rapid plummet.
She never wanted it to end, the highs, the lows. She’d watch him get married, start a family…all if it meant that she’d never leave his side. That he’d never stop smiling at her.
I died for you and you didn’t even notice.
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Rachel soon started avoiding him. She couldn’t face him, couldn’t look him in his beautiful eyes and lie straight into his vulnerable soul.
She felt like screaming at him.
How could he not love her back? How could he not see that he was killing her? How could he not look at her and know instantly she was dying? How could he not choose her?
Because that’s all she really wanted to hear at the end of the day. I want you, I choose you.
Was there something wrong with her? If there was, she’d jump off a cliff, she'd end it right here.
She longed to be near him, hated herself for it.
She longed to tell him, confess everything, the flowers, the petals, but she couldn’t let herself be that selfish.
Annabeth continued to bitch at her, snapping whenever Rachel allowed herself to look at him for even a mere second, soak him up while she still could. Rachel didn’t feel that old fire in her veins anymore, she couldn’t spit an insult right back when all she felt like was digging her love-sick heart out out out of her chest.
You have him. He’s yours. Rachel wanted to tell Annabeth, while grabbing the girl’s arms, sinking her bloody nails in, and shaking her as fiercely as she could. Don’t make me hurt like that. Don’t rub it in my face when the petals blooming from my mouth are a constant reminder.
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Rachel couldn’t sleep anymore.
She spent her nights in the bathroom clutching a plastic bag.
Petals had started growing into flowers. Full red bloody flowers that scratched her throat from the inside out.
She had looked through a discarded botanical book the other day and saw that they were called nerium oleander. They grew in bushes, hundreds of them, usually near the ocean.
Her mouth always tasted like salt, which was absolutely heart-wrenching because that’s what he tasted like. The memory blinded her, leaving her senseless. Her hands ruffling his hair, his hands on her neck, weighing her down to reality.
f*ck.
On the bright side, on the rare occasion that she ate, Rachel didn’t need to season her food anymore. (Will always told her to think positively.)
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"Rache!" He yelled at her, waving from the water. "Come in! It's really not that cold."
She wrapped her towel tighter around herself, staring at Annabeth's halo splashing him. The girl was tanned and muscled after having spent so many days training in the boiling summer sun. Rachel's limbs were pale, translucent even, covered in strawberry spots. Her own bones were brittle and empty. This wasn't to say that Rachel never exercised. No. She threw off her covers every dawn to run across the hills, the forests. She ran until she vomited petals, until she forced them out of her.
"I don't know." Rachel said, remembering Will's words. You stepped in between two fated lover's path. Who knew what else could happen to her if she even dared to like him, to be near him? "You guys go ahead."
They didn't look back.
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Even while dying, Rachel still fell in love (platonically, of course).
Will stayed up with her during the darkest hours at night, rubbed her back, and exhausted himself trying to find a cure. He never gave up, he wouldn’t give up because this was his first dying patient. Rachel tried to live a little longer for him even though she knew what he was thinking.
Why do you love him? Just stop loving him please. Please don’t let him kill you.
Why did she love him?
That question was always a good reminder of her failure.
He’s brave, he’s caring, he’s kind, he doesn’t give up, he’s marvolous, he’s funny, he’s loyal, he sees the good in people, he would never give up on you, he’s the one person who can joke in hell, he forgives, he mends wounds, he’s beautiful inside and out, he’s not yours he’s not yours he’s not yours.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
The days muddled into hours, the seconds melted into weeks, and all Rachel wanted to go back in time. Go back to the Hoover Dam.
Knowing what you know now, would you still make the same mistakes? Would you still fall in love with him even though he’s your fatal flaw?
Always.
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Rachel lost all concept of life at one point. She was like an orbit clinging around a star that wouldn’t rotate, a dead star.
She was mad at all, pissed at all. Snappy, angry. (Oh she’s such a bitch! Why is she even here?)
She had a full notebook filled with ways on how to slaughter herself, Annabeth, and him even.
She painfully vomited flower after flower, stem after stem, and grinned madly at Will.
Dry these and give the whole basket to him when I’m dead. Give him all of them. Make him feel so bad that he never forgets me. Don't let him forget me. Ever.
And then: I’m sorry Will. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Will, please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me by myself. Please. Please. Please. I can’t breathe. Please. Please. Will! Will!
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
She got used to the nerium, the salty spray in her mouth, the weird look everyone gave her when she ran to the bathroom three times per hour, her gray teeth, the parasitic pressure in her lungs always always always taking up more space, never letting some go, the erratic beating of what she thought was her long-dead heart.
She got used to Will’s pleas (please tell him, please ask the gods for help), her unsent letters to her parents explaining the situation (my fault. my fault. my fault.), the douleur exquise, her maddened brain’s rattled poems (thinking of you is a poison I drink often, no, wait, that wasn’t hers, was it?).
Time healed everything but her pain, her sickness.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
On Mount Olympus, she ran into Aphrodite.
sh*t.
sh*t.
She swallowed the flower back down, she picked the blood off her hands, because he’s right there, he’s right there and so is she.
Hasn't she been broken down enough times?
“You poor child.” Aphrodite stroked Rachel’s unearthly curls. “You let a worm in your heart and he never really did leave, did he?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rachel said, swimming in make-belief. She wished she could plug her ears like a toddler and scream out incoherence.
Aphrodite smiled with pity, eyes dancing on the border of horror. “I wish I could heal you, my nerium. What you’re feeling is the worst side of love known to humanity, I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, let alone…”
“What are you talking about?” He snapped, drawing his arm in front of Rachel. Although she was no distressed damsel, she nearly blacked out from love.
Aphrodite kept her gaze locked on Rachel. “He doesn’t know?”
“Know what?” He insisted, hand gripping the edge of his pen.
“No,” Aphrodite mused. “I presume you haven’t told him. Foolish or brave, I cannot say.”
“Rachel?” He turned towards her, heart on his sleeve just like always. Rachel felt like giggling at the thought, he was so transparent and yet, here she was fading away silently.
“You don’t have long, my little nerium.” Aphrodite gripped Rachel’s chin. "Be careful. Do not let yourself rot in vain."
Of course that conversation made her heart pound for the rest of their trip. He asked her once, twice, maybe, what that was all about and she just said that it wasn’t a big deal, Aphrodite was just delusional.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
It’s only when I started dying that I started to see, hear.
Stems are petals.
Petals are stems.
Flowers come with thorns.
Or maybe thorns come with flowers.
Either way, my throat is raw and bloody.
I never thought that flowers could be such a monstrosity.
You know what would really be a thrill: being a botanic in my next life.
It’s funny, you think being infatuated with the sea god’s son would save you from drowning. Because it doesn’t matter if you’re being swallowed up by water or plants, the consequences are the same.
I don’t get why all love metaphors include hearts. If I could go back in time, I’d find the person who said that hearts feel the emotion because that’s a lie. The nerium isn’t growing out of my heart, is it? No! It’s growing in my f*cking lungs. Why are they so underrated anyway? Everyone says oh my heart, oh my brain. What about your f*cking lungs, Annabeth? You think you’d be able to live without them? Because I sure as f*ck cannot.
Do you think lungs are like soulmates because they work in pairs? Maybe when I lost my soulmate, one of them stopped working and so the other gave up too? He let me go, he gave up on me.
Or maybe he’s the oxygen and I’m the lungs.
Maybe he’s the flowers and I’m the pain.
If he’s the flowers, then I don’t hate them so much.
If I’m the flowers, I will rip my ribcage open to tear them out of the tissue they’re growing in.
Will says soon the flowers will grow roots and make themselves at home. I find that thought funny. I guess I can’t sing that one song anymore. I've got no roots.
I’ve talked to a few dryads, they notice it right away. Bitches.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
They sat by the crackling fire, sharing one felt blanket draped over their shoulders.
He was so near, she could see his smile lines. He looked back at her, eyes slightly raised. She cupped his chin and pulled him closer.
f*ck the disease. f*ck Annabeth. One last time.
She closed her eyes and kissed him. It took him a few seconds to melt into it, but he did. He tangled his hands into her hair, she drew him closer closer closer with his shirt. He was so soft, there was no trace of the dark twisted version of him that ran around sword fighting. He was completely hers.
“Hey,” He pulled back, finger stroking her cheek. His eyes were reflecting the shining constellations above. All were stories that ended too soon. How long will it take you to forget me? How long will I remain a constellation in your mind? How long will it take for the city lights to blind me away? “You’re crying. Rachel, are you okay? Why are you crying?”
She tried to kiss him again (forget, forget, forget) but he made her focus on him. As if she wasn’t always. She followed him with her peripheral vision, she looked at him, studied him, painted him, pictured him always. “I don't want to leave. I don't want you to leave me."
“I’m not. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
She snarled and yanked off the stupid blanket, threw it on the ground. She was filled with so much fury, she nearly spat on him. “Because this isn’t f*cking real, okay! It’s not real, Percy.”
Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
She used to think fuckwhen she looked at him.
f*ck because she knew she was in too deep. f*ck because she knew he would never choose her. f*ck because he was too gorgeous, too perfect, too Percy to be real. f*ck because in all honesty, she didn't know how to behave around him. f*ck because he made her hurt like no one ever had before.
Now...she stays quiet. Because she has no oxygen left to speak.
You stole my breath away. But keep it.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
One day, Rachel saw Nico staring at him.
She recognized the look because she had mastered it. How long it had taken her to see.
Well, sure, she was obsessed about Annabeth, but she had...been blind to Nico.
He had the same glaze in his eyes, same nervous tick, same shattered confidence.
He loved him too. Everyone did these days apparently. (You're not special, Rache)
But she knew that Nico wasn't vomiting petals, at least not quite yet. He could be saved. He could be loved. He could love again. It would fade, it might leave some scars but it would leave him eventually.
Too bad it had become a part of her.
Run, Nico, run while you still can. If you stand in one place too long, the plants will start to grow. They'll see you as stable, dependable, attached. Don't get attached to a soil that has no minerals. Run.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
The battle started. It seemed to be going well for him, so Rachel was happy.
Really.
But, the whole thing hadn't really inspired any feelings in her. She so numb these days, that the other day she stubbed her toe and shrugged.
She cared about him though. After everything, she still had wanted him to survive and win the day.
Ironic, wasn't it?
Her parents could die in a car accident right this second and she wouldn't bat an eyelash.
But if he talked to her, if he gave her attention, she would smile so much her jaw would hurt.
Ironic that he survived for Annabeth.
f*ck my lungs. f*ck. f*ck. They hurt Will. They hurt so bad, I can't breathe. They're tightening. This isn't a panic attack. I'm going to die. Now. Right now.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
She got her first vision lost in the blackout streets of Manhattan.
It yanked her and every cell shook inside her body.
For the first time, since she coughed up her first petal, Rachel felt alive.
She saw hope beyond a sea green filter. She saw a life, a future, for her where darkness had previously been.
The voices drew her back into reality like multiple pinches on her arm.I never thought I'd be so happy to feel pain again. To feelsomethingagain.
She wanted to bathe in the visions, taste them over and over again, praise their healing properties.
She belonged to them now, and she would do as they wished.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
She ran to tell Percy, warn him.
The coughs were so bad, she had to pause for a minute between each word.
But f*ck, as long as Rachel Elizabeth Dare lived, she would care about Perseus Jackson.
He looked at her in fear. He was covered in dust and blood, but he was worried about her.
How are you still here, how are you still awake, Rachel?
Never mind that, she warned him again, but he wasn't listening. He was watching Annabeth from a distance.
He was never yours to keep. Okay, shut up, maybe?
He waved her away, please don't. He sent her to go talk to Chiron with a look that broke her heart in two.
You're insane. No I'm not. I wish I could be Annabeth. No, my child, my nerium. That is not your fate.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
They consumed her.
She turned mad, true to Percy's word.
She had blurred memories of seeing Nico and telling him she needed to get to Camp, right now, right now. She vomited in his arms, his eyes grew wide.Surprise.
"Rachel, why did you just….flowers!? Rachel!"
"Ask f*cking Percy." And she whistled for a pegasus and rode away.
The voices were controlling her now.
Rachel Dare was no more than wind-blown petals and drowned lungs.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
Fate was moving around her.
She was bending the future, with a mere flick of her hand.
Destiny listened to her.
She had thought her life was ending, but all ends were beginnings, weren't they? Percy Jackson hadn't killed her, he'd just shown her the way.
I accept. This was how it had always meant to be.
The flowers, the pain, the blood had all led her here. She couldn't even hear him anymore.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
In the end, the voices saved her.
It wasn't a difficult choice to make.
Sure, being a creepy oracle for the rest of her life didn't sound too appealing either, but it was kill or be killed.
Apollo had also promised her that taking on the role would wipe out the flowers in her. Her blood would become toxic to them, somehow.
Nico trembled when he approached her. There's more to life than him, she mouthed, gripping his arm.Let him go. Find someone else. Percy's poisonous. He belongs to someone else.
Will spun her around and laughed, relieved tears streaming down his cheeks. "You did it. You're alive,Rachel!"
Rachel tried her best to laugh with him.
Her mouth didn't taste like salt water anymore. (the thought made her press her fingers against her chest, back to old habits, are we?)
She wasn't Rachel anymore, not exactly.
She doubted she'd be that wide-eyed, freckled, lovesick girl ever again. She doubted she could love anymore. Flowers can't grow without care, and her flowers were all gone.
Ironic.
༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝
They sat near the lake, legs swinging down. For once, he was the one studying her, making sure she was okay.
She stared straight ahead, exhausted and terrified, thinking of the lonely life that awaited her. No, not lonely, the voices would always stay, the spirit would keep her company.
"Hey, Rache." She turned towards him, certain that she would always love him, always watch him as he grew older and older. "Nico told me that you…I don't know, vomited flowers…or something, and he said that you told him to ask me about it? I don't…what?"
Rachel smiled and felt the odd urge to lace his hand through hers. Lover or not, they were friends. Always been. Percy had been the first one to look past her father's money, her sore temperament, and her paint-covered clothes. He'd been her first real friend. First person to really care aboutRachel.
She grabbed his hand, needing something to cling onto. The curse had left her lungs but she still struggled to breathe around him. Maybehewas the curse.
"I think you know that I…really liked you, Percy."
He turned red, scratched his neck, and looked around–for Annabeth, presumably. "Um, liked?"
She allowed herself to look at him one last time. Her eyes danced around his freckles, calloused hands, sea-swept black unruly waves, bloody bandages wrapped around his arms, the weight on his shoulders.
She stopped when she met his concerned eyes, those damn eyes that had ruined her. What good would it be making him feel sh*tty now? What good would it be saying you almost killed me because you didn't look at me the way I looked at you? She boldly kissed him on the cheek.
"Yeah. It was a silly crush. Anyways, what are you doing here with me, you weirdo? Go find Annabeth and declare your love."
And he grinned at her, and left as he poured corroding water into her burnt-out lungs one last time.
