Warning: Contains abuse, self-harm, swearing, monsters, secret societies, death, memory loss, Hecate, twins, and a whole lot of stuff that PJO forgot to mention.

*Do Not Read If Easily Triggered To Self-Harm.*

Sam
Still 12 Years Old... Haven't Aged In a day or two..

Want to know something absolutely uninteresting about caves?

They're cold, and damp, and uncomfortable. I mean, anyone could say this, but I know very well that cold, damp, and uncomfortable is an understatement. It was always cold, and you could sense moisture in the air. And most of all, the darkness. That part I didn't mind but the hard, rocky floors threw me off balance. At some point, I almost fell into a dark abyss, but caught myself on a potruding stalagmite.

Yeah, it sucked.

After I limped away from the teenage kidnappers, I set out to... go somewhere. As I was walking, I asked myself. "Where do you want to go, Sam?"

But I couldn't think of one place. I didn't want to go home. They were always "arguing", there. And really, I didn't know of any other place I was welcome. So, into the cave I went. I didn't much care if I died.

I was tired, ready to drop dead. There were whispers in my head, You were never strong, Sam.
I know, I told my brain, I know I wasn't. I have the scars to prove it.

As soon as that thought flitted into my mind, I swatted it away. I couldn't let myself think like that.

More whispers shot words at me like bullets.

You thought this was normal? The weird hallucinations. The way no one noticed you in broad daylight. The way you can see something that isn't bound to happen for years-

"Argh!" In frustration, I slammed my hands over my ears.

I wasn't surprised to feel warm tears leaking from the corners of my gray eyes.
And then I was sobbing. In the darkness, so alone, so alone, in a place that kept me hidden and wrapped up like a blanket.

Yet.. I felt exposed, as if the whole world was watching me.

This wasn't the first time I'd felt vulnerable.

No. There were many times.

That time I was ten. The first time I actually did something to make myself feel in control.

They were arguing again.

"This is the fifth callin three months, Debbie! I'm getting tired of it. We need to send her away." He was agitated. He was my father, and he was agitated. A very bad combination. See, he didn't quite know how to control his anger. There was Father and there was Harold. Sometimes, Harold was Father, but when Harold was the only one there...

I heard my mother take a tentative step back. He was scaring her. He was always scaring her. She didn't feel at home in her own house anymore. But it was her duty to take care of her troubled offspring. With only one left, she'd protect me with her life. "No. No, you said you wouldn't. Harold, honey-"

"Don't." Even though I couldn't see him... I knew. I knew his hand was raised and read to strike. My heart cracked, and I was sure they could hear my uneven breathing. "Don't try to sweet talkme this time. I am this close. This close. She needs to go." His words were like the sharpst icicles.

"Haro-" My mother's voice broke, but she fought on. This wasn't the first time. She could take a punch for her daughter, but her daughter couldn't let her mother do that for her. I rushed in the door with a trembling battle cry.

For a moment, Harold was startled. I used his surprise to pick up a small kitchen knife. My hand was shaking, but we both knew I'd hurt him if I had too. I wasn't called crazy for nothing.

Ten seconds.

Harold put up his hands, feigning defeat. But his eyes. I could see them. Usually, they were mahogany. Warm, like a fireplace. Now, they were... they were copperish. Flaming and hot. Magical, hypnotizing, and uncontrollable. The color seemed to be seeping from his pupils, mixing and swirling with my father's brown eyes. His pupils.. they shrank as I stared.

Nine seconds.

"Honey, Sam. Put down the knife. We can talk this out.." His voice, alluring, so persuasive. Like maybe he was right.

Eight seconds.

Mother's hand curled around mine, she slipped the knife from my grip and set it on the table.

Five seconds.

I was vulnerable. I stared at Harold, tears in my eyes, but I couldn't just walk away. The front of my brain felt hot, like it was being steamed. I was so mad at him. How dare he speak to mother like that. How darehe lay a hand on her!

The heat moved slowly from my brain to my eyes. It started at the center. My hands flew up to my face.

Three seconds.

I moaned,"Nooo." Something raw and animal was crawling into my soul. My fists clenched. I knew I was dangerous. I was losing myself.

Two seconds.

Fear in Harold's eyes.

One second.

I lunged at Harold, confident I could take on a middle aged man, a full hundred pound heavier than me.

Boom.

He slapped me, hard. I turned to ice. The steam went away, my eyes shrank back to gray and my pupils grew.

He slapped me again.

And again.

And then he started to kick and punch. It went on.

I cried, trying to block out the pain. Such a weakling. I was weak.
After he was done, he called the school.

"We're thinking about homeschooling. Yes. Mm hmm. Our address, yes..."

Mother crawled to me, her thin face taught with worry. I was still trembling on the floor, eyes glazed over. I couldn't bring myself to move.
She held my head in her lap and whispered to me, "I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry."

Harold hung up, and his shoulders slumped, becoming Father again.

"Get out, please." His voice heavy with guilt.

Mother obeyed and carried me to my bedroom. After she set me down and left, closing the door, I stood up. I sat down in front of my full length mirror with the clean, shiny pocket knife I found in father's office when I was nine. Slowly, I unfolded the sharpest and longest of the blades.

There were no emotions in my eyes.

My face was blank. I rolled up my sleeve hungrily. This was the first time, but it wouldn't be the last.

I was a neat freak with everything, including self-harm. With precision, I dragged the knife across my wrist, eyes flicking back and forth between the mirror and the bluest vein I'd ever seen, begging for attention.

The pain was quick and sharp when I broke skin. Not too deep, but deep enough. I dragged it across my skin, and even when my nerves were on fire, I continued.

Ten cuts for how many times he hit me.
Cuts for me, because I didn't have any guts. I couldn't fight back.

For months, the cutting continued, even if I wasn't beaten that day. I could hear my mother's cries as she was slapped by Harold.

Those cuts were the deepest.

Weak. Selfish. You should've known what they were, his eyes, his eyes. You're not special, and you failed to save your own mother.

You denied everything, you deserved the punishment you got and you-

Suddenly, I was yanked out of my thoughts by faint footsteps.

I waited.

They got louder, and I rose to my feet. I was tired. I couldn't fight, so I leaned against the wall. Two hours before, I'd found three water bottles, a little baggie, a canteen, a cloth and another bottle of that same liquid that seemed to have struck me unconscience before. The cloth smelled funny, too. I took my chances with the water, but it hadn't helped my energy much.

The person stopped walking in front of me. A girls voice said, "Hey."

Me: "You kidnapped me." I recognized her as the girl who kept calling that guy a freak.

Girl: "My name's Gillian. And we didn't kidnap you. We were saving you."

Me: I scoffed. "From what?"

Gillian: She was quiet for a moment. "I think you know." I didn't answer. "You took the bag. Are you still tired?"

Me: "How did you..?"

Gillian: "How'd I know you were tired? It's kind of obvious." She laughed a little.

Me: "No. How did you.. you find me?"

Gillian: She hesitated. She cocked her head, listening.. for something deeper in the cave. I could almost hear it. A low hiss. "I can't tell you, not here. We need to get out. Now."

Me: "You go. I can't.. Go another mile."

Gillian: She snatched the bag from my arms and unzipped it. The girl whipped out the canteen, and said "Drink."

Me: "Uh..."

Gillian: "Just do it. It'll help. And hurry, we have to go."

I drank it. The stuff tasted like tacos to me, which is really weird, because drinks aren't supposed to taste crunchy. I was flooded with warmth and strength. It was like I could do anything.

Me: "What the fuck is this?!"

Gillian: "Shhh! Now, c'mon."

She walked away, and I followed the sound of her footsteps.
As we walked in the direction I'd come without speaking, I absentmindedly stroked a scar on my wrist, from the year before, after one of my therapists went missing.

"You okay?" Said Gillian, and I nodded But then, I remembered she couldn't see me.
I started to say yes, but Gillian said, "Good." And turned away.

I wondered how she could see me.

"Faster." She urged, and so I sped up.

It was strange. In an hour or two, we could see daylight coming through the entrance to the cave. I had felt like, originally, it'd taken me something like six hours to get to the point I was. Maybe it was just because I'd been tired.

Suddenly, Gillian stopped. "Vlacas" she said. It sounded like a completely different language... No, I knew it was a completely different language.

Part of my brain translated it. Idiot. I ignored that my mind, pushing it down, shutting it up.

"Ugh, I'm so stupid!" said Gillian, she continued muttering curses to herself in the mysterious language.

"How?" I asked. I didn't see anything wrong with a way out of this place. Usually, a place that dark would've comforted me, but for some reason, the cave gave me the creeps.

Gillian swore,"Fuck. You'll see. Let's go."

Somehow, I wasn't surprised to find out what she found so unpleasant: It was the secretary at Mr. Patski's office. I'd only ever seen him behind a desk yet... I had never imagined that below his waist, he'd be a white stallion.