Annabeth has had a terrible past, leaving her on the verge of insanity. She goes over the edge when her boyfriend leaves her without a warning; leaving from her life without a trace. What happens when a boy saves her from her suicide attempt? Will he help her see the light? Or will she just have one of those moments?


3. Chapter 3

      It's been a week since I've been removed from the hospital. I'm on a calming medication and an anti-depressant. Even though I take them, I still feel crazy, sad, hurt, and lost. More lost than ever before.

      Scars form from where I cut myself, and I wear long sleeved shirts to conceal them. The scars start at my inner elbow, and make a trail of ladder-rung-like cuts up to my wrist. They overlap past cuts and scars that have accumulated over the years. I stay with Liam and have a tracking device on at all times. Liam and I sit at the table, and he tries to coax me into eating soup, but I stare at him blankly.

      "Come on Annabeth, one bite. One bite and you can go." He says encouragingly. I just stare. Liam sighs and drops his spoon into his bowl. (A/N: I felt weird writing that bit... he's not afraid of spoons in this...) "Annabeth, don't do this. Don't hurt yourself. Please just, please. Take one bite." He pleads. I think, and something possesses me to hesitantly pock up the spoon. I pick up the spoonful of broth and put it into my mouth. Liam smiles, and I take one more bite, to make him happy, get up, and walk away.

      "She ate! She had two spoonfuls of soup today! Yeah- yeah I know it's not much, but it's the first time she's eaten since she was there!" Liam says over the phone. I sit behind his bedroom door and listen to the conversation. "Yeah. Yes, she's taking them. No, she's still not talking much. Uh-huh. Okay. Wait, no, I can't make her do that! But-!" He sighs, "fine, I'll try but no promises. She doesn't like me either you know." I hear him hang up and sigh in exasperation.

      "How will I get her to talk? Let alone about her past, just talk." I get up and walk in.

      "Why do they want me to talk about my past?" Liam stares at me, surprised. "Why?" I ask again.

      "They- they think it'll help with alleviating the depression if you talk about what's hurting you."He replies in wonder.

      " Okay." I say. His head snaps up.

      "Okay?" He asks. I confirm with a nod. "Okay!" He says excitedly. "Do you want to go to a psyciatrist or..?" 

      "No. I don't need a shrink. I'll just talk to you." I say. Liam pats the bed.

      "Well, then we can go ahead and get started." He says. I sit down on his bed cross-legged and lean my head on my hands.

      "So what's been bothering-"

      "It all started when my parents were murdered. they his me under the bed when burglars came in. They ended up killing my mom and dad. All I remember thinking is 'stay quiet, be brave, just like mommy said.' I was seven, so that was..." I count on my fingers. "Fourteen years ago." I say. "Then, when I was eleven, I was raped and abused by my foster parents. I wouldn't talk for, ten months." I remember every detail. Everything. 

      "Next, when I was thirteen, I was abused, tortured more like, by the people who had adopted me." I give a small laugh. "Funny how bad people who hate children want to adopt." My mind drifts elsewhere for a moment, and I'm done. "I don't want to talk anymore." I say. I get up and leave.

      I walk into my room and sit at the drawing table and pull out a piece of copy paper and a pencil. I start to draw smiley faces. All sorts of them, big-eyed, big mouthed, sadistic faces and empty eyes that hold untold stories of past regrets and demons. 

      Then, I stop drawing the smiley faces and get a new sheet of paper. I draw a face that comes to mind, a person I need to get out onto paper. The picture is captured on paper before I even know what I'm drawing. But as soon as I see it, I drop my pencil, but it's too late. I've drawn the picture, and it can't be taken back. A man with dark black hair and blue eyes stares back at me from where I sit, staring at the drawing. 

      I must accept it; Jason is the reason I'm dead inside. 

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