Concrete Angel

AN: I don't know where I'm going with this. I was listening to the song 'Concrete Angel' and it just came to mind and I thought it was different and decided to upload and see what you all thought.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Percy Jackson stories.

WARNING: Rated T/M because of abuse, swearing/bad language and maybe sexual abuse. I haven't planned much but it could involve mentions of rape. I know this might effect/upset some of you and I'm sorry but not all stories are fairytales.

I've set the rating as a T but as soon as anyone suggests that I turn it to M then I'll change it. If there is any sexual scenes then I'll warn you in an AN at the start of the chapter but I doubt that there will be sex scenes.

Sorry about any spelling/grammar mistakes.

Enjoy and review…


Rated T/M. I hear the whispers when I walk past. I see the pitiful looks on their faces when they notice the bruises that I try to cover up. I know they're wondering why I don't leave or call the cops. They would understand if they were in my shoes, if they had to hear the threats and feel the hits, but I would never wish for someone else to live like me, to live with an abusive uncle that treats me like a slave and hits me like I'm a punch bag. But no one ever questioned me. And then he came along. That green-eyed boy who moved in next door and for some reason wanted to be my friend. He was the first one that dared to ask…


I push through the double doors and walk straight ahead, not daring to glance at the faces that I know are looking at me. You'd think I'd be used to everyone looking and whispering but truthfully it was as uncomfortable and awkward as it was the first time I had to do this.

No matter how much make-up I put on it never hides the bruises completely.

All I've ever wanted to be is a normal teenager that can go to school without a worry in the world. But I guess I'm not normal because all I do is about someone asking. Worry about my uncle coming to the school and dragging me home or yelling at me in front of everyone.

He wouldn't dare hit me here, I don't think. Everyone would know for sure then and they'd definitely call the cops.

It's the same routine every morning on a school day; get up, make my uncle breakfast, have a quick shower when he leaves the house to do whatever he does, try covering the bruises with make-up and long t-shirts, then I come to school and ignore the whispers and stares.

It's not the best life but it could be worse. I could be living on the streets, which, I must admit, would probably be better than staying with my uncle.

I've lived with my uncle Ben since I was twelve and my dad was killed in a plane crash. My mom had left me on my dads' doorstep when I was a newborn and I've never seen or heard from her since.

The only person left to take care of me was uncle Ben, who lived in New York. So I moved from San Francisco to Manhattan so my uncle could take care of me. I'd never met him before but since he was my dads' stepbrother I figured he would be nice. How wrong I was.

I was so happy I hadn't been put in care that I ignored how he treated me. When he asked for something I gave it to him. I thought it was the least I could do after he put a roof over my head. The first time he hit me was three months after my dad died.

I had been asleep and he must've been calling for something and when I didn't get it for him he stormed up the stairs to find me asleep and dragged me out of bed. I was barely awake and thought I was dreaming. It was only when I felt a sting on my cheek did I come to life. I didn't cry. I just stood there in shock and terror, realising he had hit me.

It happened a lot after that. All he did was yell and throw threats my way. He'd hit me with belts; sometimes cut me with a knife, and even held me underwater a few times.

After he was finished he would always scream, "Tell anyone and I'll kill you!" Since he was so violent I always believed that he could do it if he wanted. Kill me, I mean. The one thing he has never done is sexually abuse me.

I was too scared to tell anyone about the abuse, though I knew the teachers wondered. One even asked if everything was okay at home and I'd nearly died on the spot in terror. "Yes, miss," I had quickly said and ran out of school. That was when I was thirteen. No one has mentioned anything since.

And now here I am, Annabeth Chase, a seventeen-year-old girl who gets abused by her uncle and stared at and whispered about in school. I'm not popular, actually I don't have any friends but that's my own fault, I guess. I don't talk in school except for when a teacher asks me something in class. Otherwise I don't say anything in fear I'll give myself away and everyone will know the truth and someone will call the cops.

I know if the cops went after Ben that he'd kill me and then run. He may be drunk nearly every moment of every day but he does have a sneaky brain. He's clever and sly and can sure throw good punches. I know from experience, of course.

The school day passes as it usually does- me sitting at the back of the class, quietly doing my work in hope that if I get good grades I'll be able to do something with my life and get the guts to run away. Before, when both my parents were alive, I was strong and brave and now I'm weak and terrified though I try my best not to show it.

When it's finally the end of school I slowly leave the building, knowing Ben won't be home so I can be as long as I want on my short journey home. He's a cop, which is another reason why I can't go to the cops for help. None of Ben's cop friends will believe that the 'best cop in New York' would abuse his niece.

After work he usually goes to the pub and drinks until he can barely walk. That must be where he picks up the women because he's always bringing some woman home that reeks of cheap perfume and thinks that he's such a gentlemen. Whenever he brings a girl home he acts like the best uncle ever until she leaves and he tells me to clean his bed sheets.

Sometimes, on my walks home, I have a sudden urge to run away. I've come close to doing it several times but I've always changed my mind and went back to my so called 'home', knowing that if I went as soon as Ben realised I was gone he'd be after me and I'll be dead seconds after he would find me. He'd hide the evidence and tell his cop friends that I must have been murdered. He'd act like the distraught uncle that everyone would expect him to be.

Oh, how I hate him…

It doesn't take me long to get home and when I get there I'm surprised to see a large white van parked outside the house next to mine. It has been up for sale for several months and I can only guess my screams were the reason my neighbours moved. I wonder why they didn't call the cops. Maybe my uncle threatened them or they just didn't care.

I shake my head, bringing myself out of my thoughts and start to walk past the van to get to my house. I'm too busy digging through my bag for my key to notice the guy carrying a cardboard box stepping onto the pavement from behind the van and we crash into each other.

I stumble backwards, tripping over my feet and falling on my ass. The 'thump' of a box being dropped makes me realise that whomever bumped into me is also on the ground.

"Shit," the guy says and jumps to his feet. I have to squint to see him as the sun is directly in my eyes. I put a hand over my eyes as the tall boy walks over, apologising. His hair is as black as coal and falls over his forehead. He's tall, about a head taller than me and is thin.

"I'm sorry. The box was blocking my view of you. Are you okay?"

I nod and flinch when he holds a hand out to me, thinking that he was going to hit me. Instead of taking his hand I jump to my feet and grab my bag off the floor before quickly walking to the house.

Once inside I close the door and lean against it. Gods, he probably thinks I'm crazy, flinching like that when he was only helping me. I squeeze my eyes shut before opening them and taking in the trashed house. The sight of beer bottles in the living room and a matching set of woman's lacy underwear let's me know that Ben brought a woman home last night and obviously left it to me to clean everything up. No surprise there…

I dump my bag on the floor before collecting the beer bottles and throwing them in the trash. I pick the underwear up and hold them at arms length before also dumping them in the trash. I nearly gag as I see the white stains on the couch and I grab a wet cloth to wash it clean.

From outside, passers-by probably think that inside is spotless and it is… when I get home from school and clean it. The house from the outside is clean and pretty with its flowers that I water and plant. Every morning I wake up to find the living room trashed and dirty dishes in the sink. I'm Ben's personal slave and all I get from it is hits.

After cleaning the living room I vacuum the floors both upstairs and downstairs before washing the dishes that lie in the sink and putting them away. I wash down the kitchen islands' before starting to make a meal for both Ben and I. As soon as Ben realised I could cook he made sure that I was the one to cook his meals. My dad was a chef and had often taught me how to cook before he died.

The memory brings tears to my eyes and I go to blink them away, knowing that if Ben was here then he'd call me a baby and probably throw a punch my way. It's when I remember that he isn't here that I stop trying to hold them in and let them fall.

I drop onto a chair and lean my head against the wooden table as I sob. I sob because I miss my dad. I sob because I have to live with Ben and his violence. I sob because I have no one to tell and to help me. I sob because my mom abandoned me and if she were here then I wouldn't be living like this.

I can't help but think that this is her fault.

I must've cried myself to sleep at the table because it's when I hear a door slam do I realise how long I must've been asleep if Ben is home. He always comes home to eat and change before going to the pub. I jump out of my seat at the table and resume cutting up the raw chicken I had been preparing before crying.

I tense as I hear his footsteps come closer.

"I'm hungry," Ben's deep voice snaps as he comes into the room.

I gulp before biting my lip as I say, "I'm making curry."

"Where is it?" he growls, coming closer to me.

"I just said that I was making it," I reply.

I can feel his eyes on me as he says, "All I ask of you is to clean the house and make my food so it's ready for when I get home after working a long shift. Is that too much to fucking ask for?" He tugs on my hair harshly, twisting it so I have to turn and face him all it will rip out.

"I'm sorry," I mutter. "I-I was busy."

"Busy? Doing what? Trying to make friends? Who would want to make friends with an ugly bitch like you?" he yells, slapping my cheek. "Or was you slutting around with some guy?"

"I was cleaning up your mess," I say, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the blow.

"You cheeky bitch! Don't talk to me like that!" He punches me in the ribs causing me to bend over with pain while clutching my stomach, making him pull my hair harder. I scream.

"Shut the fuck up! I hear we have new neighbours. I don't want to have to threaten 'em like I had to with the last ones. Though even if the last bitches did tell no one would believe them," he laughs.

"Ben, please," I beg, tears in my eyes.

"Oh, is little Annie going to cwy?" he asks and pretends to weep before laughing. "I'm going out. I'd rather eat in the pub than the shit you make. Make sure there are condoms waiting on my bedside table for me."

He let's me go with a push and storms out of the room. I lean against the kitchen island for support as I try to hold in the tears. I don't let them fall until the front door slams shut, letting me know that he's gone to find a woman who will be willing to spend the night with him.

I sink to the floor, leaning against island and burying my head in my knees that are tucked up to my chest. I sob so hard I start gagging and I stand abruptly and reach the sink just in time before the bile rises.

Forgetting the food, I slowly walk upstairs and to my room. It's an okay room, I guess. Ben used to use it for guests when he had partied but let me have it since it's the smallest guest room.

I close the door behind me and sink onto the bed, weeping into pillow.

All I can think is how I wish my dad was here…

AN: First chapter… what did you think? I know it's a little dark and all but with Percy there it will start to look up. Review!