Chapter 37 - The Bruise
published: Wednesday, 1 July 2020

The door clicked in a telltale sign that Gabe was home. Percy suppressed the dread that never failed to settle in the pit of his stomach.

"Gabe?" he raised his voice tentatively. "I'm making lunch. Are you good with the usual dip?" His mother was at the candy store, covering a late shift for a coworker today. It was Saturday, but Gabe was supposed to be at work till evening today.

Percy glanced at the clock warily. Annabeth was supposed to come over any minute now so they could head to the station together.

When Gabe didn't reply, Percy forced himself to backtrack out of the kitchen, hanging up his apron in the process as he nervously peered out into the corridor.

Gabe stood in the doorway, hulking figure contrasting against the sunset that was outside. His silhouette towered high, shadow looming dangerously across the doormat.

But he was walking surely, steady footsteps, and there was no stench of alcohol; he was sober.

"Those bastards at work," Gabe growled, roughly tossing his shoes to the side. "He fired me. Fired me from my own appliance store."

Gabe owned a chain of appliance stores. He inherited it from his parents, and it was responsible for all his unfairly-given wealth. The co-owner, Jared, was one of his poker buddies whom Percy had met before, and was apparently responsible for his foul mood today.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Gabe muttered under his breath as he stomped into the house, shoving his jacket onto the coat rack. His fury was palpable in the air. "Said I had all these debts to repay." His eyes narrowed. "No word from Mortelli yet?"

Percy gulped. No, we're just trying to take down his entire operation. "No," he said instead, biting back the rest of his comment.

The moment Gabe stepped forward, Percy flinched instinctively, and the man paused in his tracks.

"I'm sorry," Percy blurted out. "He hasn't responded. I can try again — I'll go back, ask him—"

"Relax, kid," Gabe grunted, but his tone did nothing to relieve the tension. "Look, we all have our own sob stories. I won't ask you to explain yourself. And vice versa, you don't ask me. But," and something about the dull emotion in Gabe's eyes worried him, "I've got a hell of a lot of pent-up frustration."

Percy saw it coming this time.

The punch — the swing to his gut — came in the form of a balled up fist and an angry expression creasing Gabe's features. Of course, Percy's back hit the wall in a split second, his mind fracturing into jumbled thoughts and fears.

The blow was painful, more so than usual since Gabe was sober, and Percy wasn't used to it. He'd never had to look Gabe in the eye before, knowing that this man knew exactly what he was doing — knew that he was hurting a 17-year-old — and liked it. And it terrified him.

Intention and purpose were packed behind the punch, and Percy's knees almost buckled as the breath was knocked out of him.

Clutching his abdomen, a cough wracked his lungs and rubbed his throat raw.

Quick as lightning, Gabe's right hand came up and slammed him against the wall. Percy's head hit the concrete, his brain dizzy and feverish as black spots danced in his vision.

"Kid," Gabe's voice was low, menacing, and sent a shiver down his spine. "I don't blame you for this — despite it partly being your fault  for not securing the money — but hey, we're the men of the house, right? We gotta look out for one another. You do me a favour and don't tell your ma about this?"

Air.

Percy needed air.

With his throat closing up from panic, Percy could only manage a weak nod, every nerve in his body screaming for him to run.

Gabe's hand pinned him to the wall in a way that the heel of his palm dug into Percy's shoulder, and the spurt of agony was the only thing tanking him out of a daze.

"Good kid," Gabe said begrudgingly. He released his grip, and Percy promptly slumped against the wall, legs weak and a wary gaze angled up. Gave slapped him on the back like they were old buddies before ambling off, disappearing into the kitchen, probably to get a beer.

Before he could lie in a silent heap on the ground, Percy scrambled backwards, gripping the bannister of the stairwell like a lifeline as he stumbled up the carpeted steps to his room.

When he crossed the threshold, Percy staggered over to his bed, sliding helplessly to the floor as he pressed his back to it.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The sound of his heart was there. The sound his breathing was there; raspy and in short spurts. The movement of his chest telling him that he was, in fact, fine.

But his brain screamed at him that it wasn't. You're not breathing, it yelled. Breathe, Percy, breathe.

His next breath was not unlike a sob as Percy squeezed his eyes shut hard enough to see an array of coloured spots.

The sound of a dull thud and pattering footsteps as the door was flung open.

Someone grabbed his hand, knelt down beside him, fingers gently threading themselves between his.

Percy's eyes sprang open; golden hair, lemons — Annabeth.

Within a split second, her eyes raked over his crumpled form and her expression flashed from shocked, to downright murderous, to panicked.

He opened his mouth to tell her that he was fine, that Gabe had barely touched him, that he wasn't hurt — probably, maybe, he didn't know — but the words caught in his throat.

"I can't," Percy whispered, his voice strained and tight. "I don't think I'm breathing."

And it sounded ridiculous, he knew, because Annabeth was there, and a part of his brain knew that he was, but the other half lagged behind, shouting at him to fix this.

"Percy," came Annabeth' urgent, worried voice. "I think you're having a panic attack — hey, hey, look at me." She leaned down, gaze imploring but serious, determination drawing her eyebrows together.

Percy's fingers slid over her hand to her wrist. Her pulse thrummed under his fingertips. Steady. Reassuring.

He waited, and Annabeth waited with him. Kneeling down beside him, hands entwined and head angled towards his. Waited until his heartbeat slowed down to match hers. And he could hear again now that the blood wasn't pounding in his ears.

And the irrational sense of anxiety was no longer a crushing weight on his chest.

Annabeth didn't move, didn't speak, but after some time passed, she shifted to his left side, wordlessly curling up beside him. Percy shut his eyes and leaned his head into her shoulder.

In the privacy and comfort of his own mind, Percy didn't have to worry about anything.

+++++

Annabeth's hands were pressed flat against the steering wheel as she trained her eyes ahead. If she didn't focus on something else, she was inevitably going to turn this car around at a lightning pace — screw speed limits — and land Gabe Ugliano with the worst uppercut of his life.

Percy had given her a brief explanation, whatever he could manage, and despite her reluctance to follow their earlier plans, he'd insisted on going to the police station anyway; they had an appointment with Detective Hart about Mortelli.

It absolutely killed her to see him like this. Every time Annabeth thought that at least, if all else failed, Percy had her, and maybe that was enough or something, in the least, she was reminded that Percy went through things she could only ever imagine.

What was it like not to feel safe in his own home? What was it like to be terrified every single time Gabe was around?

Annabeth knew that it had been the foundation of their friendship — the entire reason she'd been so intent on helping him — but he never talked about it in as much detail. Maybe whatever she needed to know to determine how to treat his injuries, but Percy had never talked about it actually made him feel.

Her gaze flickered to the overhead mirror. Percy sat in the passenger's seat, silent as he stared out the window, eyes following the passing trees.

Something was different this time.

Compared to other incidents — namely one involving a glass bottle — he didn't have much visible evidence of whatever had just conspired.

"He was sober."

Annabeth glanced over at him in surprise as they pulled into the police station. Percy hadn't said a word since they got into the car. He still wouldn't look at her, eyes focused instead on his hands folded in his lap.

"He's never," Percy's voice cracked. "I always assumed it was the alcohol. I figured, no one could hate me that much, right? At least, not when they were thinking straight." He swallowed. "You know he was a good guy at first. Well, not good, but he didn't—he would give me chips if I came down in the middle of one of his poker games. The days he came home in a good mood were okay."

"I guess I thought that, if he ever quit drinking, one day, it could go back to that. Or to something bearable." He looked over at Annabeth, expression so painful it made her heart ache. "That's not—it's not gonna happen now. I know that. I don't know why he did that earlier — frustration or a threat or just for kicks — but I've never been that afraid. He was in the army, before, and I know what he's capable of, and that I should hate him, but, God, the things he said..."

He shook his head. "It made so much sense. He said it was my fault, and that he's just looking out for me — maybe trying to toughen me up, in a way—"

"No," Annabeth interrupted. "No." The one word was charged with more conviction than she'd ever felt for anything in her entire life.

Annabeth pulled into one of the free lots and put the car in park, the engine quickly sputtering out. Twisting so that she was facing him, she urged, "Percy, never think that. There is not a single reason — not childhood trauma, not a bad day at work — that can excuse what he has done to you. Gabe has a twisted, sick sense of judgement, and the fact that he thinks what he does to you is right already vouches for what a terrible person he is.

"You are never responsible for any of this — none of this is your fault. This is the result of a man who deserves to be in jail for his crimes. Someone I would give an arm and a leg to kick out of your life forever." Annabeth hesitantly reached out to take his hand, and Percy let her. "You do not deserve to feel lost and alone — he shouldn't get to make you feel that way. Never, ever think that."

Percy didn't look like he'd fully regained his usual composure, but the way his shoulders sagged and his eyes were no longer clouded with an internal battle told Annabeth that, hopefully, her words had made a difference.

She gave his hand a comforting squeeze. "You ready to go in?"

Percy nodded and they climbed out of the car. Annabeth hovered protectively by his side — she knew Gabe was faraway, but it didn't dispel the nagging concern in her mind.

Annabeth's gaze raked their surroundings as they entered the bullpen, waiting for James or Sabrina to fetch them. Now that she knew Percy aspired to be here in the future, she looked at the place differently.

She didn't know how aware of it Percy was, but Annabeth suspected that he was so determined to protect his mother and his friends that he wanted to become a cop to do the same for others.

"Ah, there are my two favourite teenagers," James declared as he walked up to them. "Sorry, I know that sounded really creepy, just ignore me. I've been working this uncrackable case for days—" The detective broke off as a frown slid over his expression. It looked foreign and strange on the usually upbeat man.

Annabeth followed his gaze and felt dread start to pool in her chest. She hadn't noticed it earlier, too occupied with thoughts about Percy. There was a bruise on Percy's right shoulder, having quickly blossomed into a nasty discolouration of purple that peeked out from under his t-shirt, just stretching over his collarbone.

James' brow scrunched as he eyed them both suspiciously. "What's that?"

Annabeth's gaze flickered to Percy. She saw his jaw clench as alarm momentarily flashed across his face.

Uh oh.