#but most of my dealings with doctors and hospitals do not encourage warm fuzzy feelings for them

[anythingandeverything1d]

Concussed

Harry was on stage, about halfway done with his concert for the night. You were in the bus, lounging and waiting for him to finish and come cuddle with you. You hadn’t felt great all day, and resorted to skipping the second half of the performance to lay down and rest. You weren't doing much, just watching tik toks on your phone but your phone was nearly dead. You rolled over, reaching for the charging chord and fell, tumbling out of the top bunk. It wasn’t a large fall, and normally it would've probably been okay, however you somehow managed to smack you head on the ladder on the way down and when you hit the floor, your vision was fuzzy and your head felt as if it were spinning in circles. You attempted to sit up, but doing so nearly made you puke. Tears clouded your vision and you tried to sit up. Instantly you felt insanely dizzy, almost enough that you were going to pass out. Using the last 5% battery life in your phone, you texted Harry for help. Then you closed your eyes and waited for the concert to end.

It seemed like hours, but when you checked the time, it had only been around 30 minutes. Harry was still dressed in his Gucci suit. He was kneeling by your side shaking you awake, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. “Babe....wake up...”  You blinked a few times and groaned. Harry sighed in relief and touched his head to yours. You whined in pain and he pulled away concerned. “Can you sit up?” he asked worriedly. 

You nodded and attempted to move. “Yeah....I think so.” you pulled yourself up and immediately felt ill. You gripped Harry’s arm for support and he shook his head.

“Stay down...I’m going to call paramedics.” He walked away and you whined, not wanting to be alone anymore. A few minutes later he returned with some water. “Want to try and take a sip?” he asked softly. You nodded and he brought the bottle to your lips. You took a few sips but still felt nauseous and didn’t want to risk anything coming out so pushed it away. Harry sighed and pulled your body into his lap. “What happened?”

“I was reaching for my phone cord and rolled out of bed.”

“Where did you hit your head?” Anxious green eyes were examining your head the best they could without moving you in any way.

“On the ladder.” you started crying. You didn't know why. You weren't really in pain, you felt dizzy and nauseous, and had a killer headache, but that was about it. Harry was wiping your tears and trying to comfort you when the paramedics came in. They moved Harry out of the way and went to work. Asking questions about the fall, having your eyes follow their fingers side to side, and asking you to answer all kinds of questions. They assisted you in standing and helped you out to the ambulance waiting in the parking lot. Harry followed, his hand gripping yours as the ambulance drove away, leaving the arena behind.

“How do you feel?” Harry asked, pressing a kiss to your hand.

“A little better, my head just really hurts.” He wiped a tear from your cheek and nodded. “How was the end of the show?”

Harry sighed. “I left early...when I got your text I knew that you were more important.”

“Harry!” you looked up at him and shook your head. “You shouldn’t have done that, clearly I’m fine...”

“Says the girl in the back of an ambulance.” Harry laughed softly and shook his head. “I knew where I needed to be, and the fans understood after I explained it..”

“Still...”

“Babe, youre the most important thing in my life...I’m not going to complain about not singing a song or two when you were nearly unconscious on the floor. Youre not something I would ever put performing ahead of.”

You were about to respond, but the motion of the ambulance had made you more nauseous than before. You rolled to the side and threw up. Harry grabbed your hair and rubbed circles in your back comforting you. Luckily the ambulance made it to the hospital and they wheeled you out and into a room. “Hello (y/n). My name is Dr. James, it seems you've had a mild head injury tonight. We want to double check and make sure everything is clear since you were nearly unconscious...it’s part of our concussion protocol. So we want to go ahead and do a quick MRI, just to make sure theres no concerns in the brain. After that, we will go over where to go. It does seem based on your symptoms that this is a concussion, we are hoping its a mild one, but will know a little more later. Right now, we’d like you to go ahead and change into this gown so that we can get everything set up for the scan“

“Okay..” you nodded anxiously. Harry nodded at the doctor as he walked out and gave you a small smile.

“I’ll be here waiting okay?” You nodded, wiping a tear from your eye. Harry pressed a gentle kiss to your lips and smiled. “Youre gonna be okay babe..”

“I know...” you were feeling nervous and scared about the MRI. It seemed like a big deal for just falling off the bunk. “I-I just...”

“It’s okay to be scared.” Harry helped you out of bed and handed you the gown to change into. “They just want to make sure everything is okay...you have nothing to worry about. Okay?” You nodded and walked to the bathroom quickly changing. When you walked out, Harry was talking to the doctor. He looked up and smiled. “Wow..” You looked at him confused but he just grinned, grabbed your hand and spun you in a circle. “Who knew you could make a hospital gown look good?”

You laughed and then looked over at the doctor and stopped. “Ready?” he asked giving you an encouraging smile. You climbed into the bed with a sigh and he nodded. Harry gave you a quick kiss for good luck and you were rolled out of sight. 

The MRI machine was narrow, enclosed, and loud. All of which you hated. “Is there any music you’d like to listen to while we get the scans?” A nurse asked setting you up. 

“Do you have any One Direction or Harry Styles?” you asked while nervously picking at your nails.

“We sure do.” she grinned. “So you we are going to take a few scans, but it’s very important that you stay very still. If you start to get nervous, let me know and we can pull you out and restart. It shouldn’t take more than 30 minutes. Can I get you a warm blanket before we start?”  You nodded and smiled, anything to delay this... She returned and asked you to lay down. She set the blanket on your lap and pushed the table into the machine. She then stepped out of sight. “Okay (y/n)...we are just going to start, your music will start playing in a minute as well, if you need anything just let us know. I’m right here.”

“Okay.” you answered laying on your back and looking up at the white machine. You closed your eyes and listened to Harry sing Watermelon Sugar. The clicks from the scan set you on edge and you wanted nothing more than to get out. Thankfully, after 20 minutes or so you were good to go. The nurse wheeled you back out and into the room where Harry was waiting. He walked over and gave you a tight hug after she had left. 

“How was it?”

“Terrible.” You answered with a frown. “But I did get to listen to you sing the whole time.”

“Then it couldn't have been too terrible...”

“I guess not.” You were feeling a little better, just exhausted. You yawned and snuggled into Harry as the doctor walked in.

“Good news.” He stood at the end of you bed with a smile. “Everything in the scan came back clear. You do have a concussion, most likely mild. Stay of electronics, and let your brain rest. No strenuous activity, and try not to fall out of bed anymore. Take over the counter pain medication for headaches. Don’t worry about sleeping, it will actually help give your brain time to heal. We do want to see you back here in a few weeks just to see how everything is going and reevaluate from there. Other than that, you are officially good to go unless you have other questions.”

You smiled and shook your head. “No, thank you though.”

Harry stood up and shook his hand. “I’ll make sure she rests.”

Dr. James laughed and nodded. “I’m sure you will Mr. Styles. Take care you two.”

Harry turned to you and grinned. “Ready to go back to the bus?”

You jumped up and nodded. “Just let me change into my clothes again.”

Harry scooted closer and kissed your lips. “You sure? I feel like this could be fun...” 

You laughed and pushed him back, “you heard what the doctor said H, no strenuous activity...”

“I can make it easy and quick...” He gently bit your ear and grinned. 

“Just take me home Haz...” you mumbled walking into his arms and hugging him tightly.

He smiled and kissed your head. “Get dressed then, I’m sure if there are paps out there they would have a field day with this look.”

“You mean you in your Gucci suit and me in my hospital gown isn't the look they are going for?”

“Oh, I’m sure you would make covers everywhere.” He laughed. 

---

Another request I’ve had for a while so here's a short blurb on another concussion piece!

xoxo

#one direction #directioners #one direction imagines #one direction fanfiction #Harry Styles #harrystyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurb

[maple-writes]

I don’t think I even want to know exactly how long it’s been since I posted chapter 19... Oof. But finally, here we are! The chapter that holds the record for giving me the most trouble in terms of how long it took to write!

###

Voices. They were focused and muffled. Someone was calling my name over and over, someone I didn’t recognize. I squinted up at her. A nurse? Her mouth moved, and she must have spoke, but I couldn’t make out the words before I closed my eyes again and fell back to the quiet.

#

More voices. Softer, less pointed, growing louder when I woke again. Ginger stood over me. She asked how I felt as if hundreds of miles away. She frowned when I didn’t respond, staring and staring and staring. Someone else came into view, but...

#

Even more voices. Even more blurred bodies and faces. They sounded worried, crowding closer and glancing at each other. I turned my head to try and see them all but the slight movement felt far larger than it should. I cringed against an overhead light. It was bright. So, so bright…

#

I opened my eyes slowly, blinking up at an unfamiliar white ceiling. For a moment I squinted, confused, until I noticed the hospital curtains pulled to one side and the IV line in my hand. Sitting on a chair against the wall, Ginger raised her head. She smiled when she noticed me watching, and slowly stood beside my bed.

           “Hey Asher,” she spoke gently, leaning her elbows against the railing alongside the bed. “You with me this time?”

           I nodded, though heavy eyelids and a head too fuzzy to put together enough words to answer. My eyes drifted from her face to the window behind her back. The sky outside was dark, blue and cold with the setting sun.

           Ginger settled back down on her plain little chair, scooting it closer to the bed side. “How are you feeling?” She asked casually, as if we were just chatting over coffee.

           I turned my head, resting my cheek against the pillow to face her. Everything was heavy, my arms, my legs, my chest… All just a little slower than it should have been, including my thoughts, my words.

           Finally, I took a breath to speak. “Tired.” Part of me thought it would be a good idea to sit up, to speak with her properly, but the other, more overwhelming part quickly crushed that idea. “What time is it?”

           Ginger glanced down at her watch. “About nine PM.” Her eyes flickered back to me. “You’ve been here about a day though.”

           My face scrunched. How? I tried to remember when I’d been admitted, but the last thing I could recall was leaving home as Striker took over my body.

           I gasped, head shooting up from the pillow. “Striker, is he?” I couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember what happened to him. “Did...”

           “Hey, hey,” Ginger cooed. “It’s alright, he’s okay. Dylan helped me find you, well both of you, when I went looking. He stayed put inside you until I brought you to his body, and he made the jump smoothly, albeit with a little coaxing.” She paused, laying a finger along the side of her jaw. “He was released late this afternoon, but I’m almost certain he hasn’t gone far with you here still. He wanted to be here, but we both agreed it was best he wait until you were a little more stable.”

           “Stable?”

           She nodded. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness, periods of heart arrythmia, and something attempted to posses you a few times. Probably wasn’t malicious, but in your state it took hold easily, and it took me a little longer than I’d hoped to exorcise it.” She dropped her hand, draping it over the edge of my bed. “I spoke with Charlotte, and she agreed it would be best if I stayed in order to make sure nothing else took advantage of your vulnerability.”

           She’d been here for hours then… I sighed and let my head fall back down against the pillow. “Thank you.” I said. “Sorry I dragged you into all of this.” She shouldn’t have had to deal with so much because of me.

           But all Ginger did was wave her hand and toss her head. “Asher,” She straightened her back. “Do you realise what you put yourself up against?”

           “He’s my father,” I blinked, frowning. She knew that didn’t she? “He was going to kill Striker.”

           Ginger shook her head. “I know that, but do you know how dangerous he is?” She leaned in. “If Cirrus hadn’t told me his name, I might not have been able to drive him off so cleanly. Maybe not at all by myself.” She reached to touch my arm, but stopped herself short of my skin. “I’m impressed you managed to hold out for that long, but if it happens again I want you to wait for me before engaging. I know you wanted to save your brother, as you should, but don’t go after Vena alone.”

           But what if he took Striker again? Or Cirrus, or Kyra? What if she couldn’t get there fast enough?

           “Asher,” Ginger warned. “Promise me you’ll wait for me next time.”

           Could I honestly promise not to do it again? I stole a glance at the disappointment on Ginger’s face. She was right, and I shouldn’t go after him by myself, but if it was that or watching someone die…

           “I’ll try.” Was the best I could give.

           Ginger’s mouth tightened, but then she sighed. “Fine.” She leaned back in her chair. “I just don’t want to have to find out something horrible has happened to you, understand?” She paused as I nodded. “But I’m glad you’re okay. When I finally got your call I was worried I would be too late.”

Her shoulder’s fell, seeming to think to herself with eyes cast empty towards the curtains. Quiet filled the little space and with every passing heartbeat her eyebrows seemed to furrow just a little bit deeper, creases folding at the corners of her eyes. Unease seeped through the still air from her skin. Slowly, she leaned forward again, apprehension darkening her features.

           “Asher,” she kept her voice low, private. “I have to be honest, I was concerned for you when I first got there. I almost didn’t recognize you until Cirrus filled me in.” She paused, eyes shifting side to side before she continued. “I was relieved that you reverted back to normal so quickly, but you scared me there. I was afraid I…”

           She was thinking about Wendy, wasn’t she? I turned and held her soft stare. There was grief behind her eyes, so subtle I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t known. Maybe she was right. I’d never been that bold before, that heated, but it all turned out okay this time, right?

           Ginger took a deep breath and stood, calm quickly returning to her face. “But anyway, we can talk more about this later if you’d like.” She smiled, small and warm. “Do you want to rest some more, or can I tell the others you’re awake? The doctor will likely want to take a look at you, but after that I’m almost certain no one’s gone home yet and they’d love to see you.”

           I nodded without thinking, a smile creeping across my face as much as my tired muscles would allow.

           “Right on then.” She pulled the curtains to the side and paused. “Be back soon.”

#

The doctor was quick, checking me over and suggesting I stay a bit longer just to be sure I was alright. With how heavy I felt, it was easy to agree.

           But then the doctor was gone, the curtains pulled back and the room quickly filled. In the blink of an eye I was surrounded. Striker, Cirrus, Dylan, Ginger, even Charlotte stood around me, waiting for someone else to speak first. Immediately I turned to Striker, staring wide eyed at the stiffness in his stance, the darkness under his eyes, and the bandages on the side of his face, the rest no doubt hidden under his hoodie. He looked awful.

           But I couldn’t help but smile just a little. “How are you?”

           Striker blinked stunned, then leaned over the bed, gingerly bracing himself on the railing. “Me?” He let his head fall forward, shoulders rounding. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” He paused, but when I didn’t say anything he sighed and lowered his voice. “Okay, to be honest I feel like shit, but that doesn’t matter.” He raised his head just enough to see me. “What about you?”

           I wanted to argue, but before I could even draw a breath I thought against it, too exhausted and slow-minded to fathom what I would even say. I half shrugged. “I’m tired.”

           Striker smiled and gently pushed my hair back away from my face. “That’s nothing we can’t fix. I’m glad you’re alright.” He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, but quickly closed it again, instead watching with tired, softened eyes.

           At the foot of the bed, Charlotte took a deep breath and clasped her hands together. “Just so all of you know,” She paused as heads turned. “Due to the fairly public nature of this incident, you may find yourself contacted by media wishing to know more. If so, please direct them to me. None of you deserve to be bothered especially while recovering.” She paused again as we nodded, face breaking with an encouraging smile. “Don’t hesitate to reach out to me or Ginger if you find yourself needing help as well.” She nodded. “Alright? Take care.”

           She dipped out, Ginger on her heels and the curtain shivering in their wake. I watched it quiver, until Cirrus leaned right into my field of vision.

           “Open your hand.”

           I did as he asked, holding my hand palm up. He carefully placed something heavy in my hand: a smooth, flat rock. I ran my thumb over it’s surface, feeling it warm under my touch. He’d probably found this within a block of the hospital, but still, he’d thought of me.

           I smiled up at him. “Thanks Cirrus.”

           He nodded, folding his arms on the railing of the bed and resting his head on top. “Are you comfortable?” He averted his eyes, voice squirrely. “We could go get stuff from home if you like, or something, if you want it.”

           “Maybe, I mean,” I gave a half shrug. “They don’t seem to want to keep me long…” I trailed off, watching the concern behind his eyes, and unfamiliar softness. “Maybe a phone charger, and some socks?”

           “Got it.” Cirrus stood with a firm nod. “I’ll be back.”

           He slipped through the curtains, chased down by Dylan shouting something about taking his car. Then it was quiet, just me and Striker. He slowly sat on a chair beside my bed, resting his arms against his thighs and leaning all the way forward. His shoulders bunched and he sighed, long and deep.

           I turned towards him. “Hey.”

           He raised his head, curious but silent with blank eyes and a face of worn-down stone.

           “Are you alright?”

           He leaned back, legs stretched all the way forward and arms limp at his sides. A deep sigh swept his chest, head falling back and eyes sliding closed. “No one will tell me what I did.” His voice pulled tight, like a cord about to snap. “I can’t remember anything past…” He swallowed. “Past Kyra’s.”

           Maybe it was for the best. I hadn’t been there to see the most of it but the blood on the playground, the dead dog… It’d been enough to piece together. I’d seen him with blood up to his elbows; he didn’t need to know.

           “I want to pretend none of this happened, but it did,” Striker continued. “Everyone I’ve talked to tells me not to blame myself, but how can I not? Like, maybe if I’d been stronger, more resilient, maybe he wouldn’t have been able to get a hold of me so easily…”

           “Vena, he’s…” I paused, thinking for the words that I should have been able to find so easily. “You held on as long as you could. It’s not your fault.” Ember’s caution echoed through my mind and guilt rose in my chest. “I should have warned you.”

           Striker raised his head. “What do you mean?”

           It was my turn to lower my eyes, staring down at the once sterile sheets bunched around my side. “A little while ago, Ember, she told me…” I quieted voice, so low he could probably barely hear me. “She told me Vena might have been planning to hurt you.”

           “Ember told you this?”

           I nodded. “She did. I should have told you too, but, I don’t know…” He’d already seemed so worried, so stressed, after all that had happened to me. It was a poor excuse, but would anything have been any different if he’d known?

           If he was upset, Striker didn’t show it, leaning back in his chair again and staring up at the ceiling. At this point, he may just not have the energy to be angry. Part of me wished he wasn’t so far away, close enough that I could reach out and touch the back of his hand, to have even a little bit of what he might be feeling. Maybe even what he might be thinking. He’d hate that though, me knowing how he felt. He always did.

           “Hey,” I whispered in the still hospital air. “You should get some rest.” I didn’t think I wanted to know how long it had been since he’d slept. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

           “I’m not leaving you here Asher.”

           For a second I opened my mouth to argue but thought better of it. There was nothing I could say that would change his mind, was there? Instead, I yawned, soft and quiet, making my body fuzzy with sleepiness. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Striker do the same.

He stretched his legs out again, sinking down in the chair with half closed eyes. “Don’t let me keep you up.” He gave a small smile, probably forced, but kind all the same. “I can wake you up when Cirrus gets back if you like.”

“Thanks,” my face softened. “I’d like that.”

           Striker nodded resting his head against the chair and closing his eyes. I watched him a moment longer before placing Cirrus’ rock out of the way and curling up on my side as best I could on the awkward bed, and IV in my hand. Muffled footsteps and conversations drifted in from out in the hallways, soft enough to start lulling me to sleep. Not that I needed lulling.

#the city of eventide #chapter twenty #chapter 20 #my writing #writeblr #original fiction #amwriting #damn this took forever #I'm just glad it's done #rip me

[jflashandclash]

Tales from Mount Othrys

Luke: Uncomfortable Beginnings IV

 “Did you kill them? Who are you and what are you trying to recruit me for? Us for,” Fēi Lín asked.

Luke knew he didn’t need to hide the answers to those questions, but his mind still raced. What if she asked about something else? Something about Kronos that he wasn’t willing to share?

         “I’m ashamed to say I hadn’t even heard of Jackie boy before today. Again, embarrassing considering that someone must have written about his healing, even if a wack journalist,” Phil said, putting his hands up in a surrender position. Either that or showing off the ligaments that he might be about to lose. “Though, if he only sings in choir or hospitals, they could have attributed it to God or doctors.”

         “Same,” Luke said, his mouth working before he could plan the words. “About not knowing Jack or his family. I don’t read wack journals. We’re recruiting you to help destroy the Olympic gods because I’m mad at my dad.”

         Hatred burned in Luke’s chest. He did not like disclosing that last part so casually to strangers. That made it sound so simple; it undermined what he wanted to do to the Olympians and the pain he went through. What Thalia had suffered.  

         “Smooth, kid,” Phil said.

         Fēi Lín tapped the driver wheel, glaring at the satyr. “And you? Why do you want to recruit me?”

         “Hey, I’m good at my job, lady, and I’m proud of dredging through your records. People that get in your way, they do things that they wouldn’t normally do to hurt themselves. Recruiting you will put a shiny spot on my record and I’ll get all the fuzzy feels about helping a kid, since I feel like you’ll do way better at Camp Othrys than Camp Half-Blood. And as to why I’m doing this job—do you think all satyrs like being Dionysus’ slaves?” Phil spat out the window. “I don’t even care if we win the coming war and I don’t really care about our boss. I just wanna be a thorn in that bastard’s toe.”

         Luke made a mental note about how Phil didn’t care if they won. That could be detrimental later.

         Fēi Lín tapped her steering wheel again. “Everybody out,” she said.

         Luke jumped out of the car. Phil was half a second behind him. Luke bit his lip. He wasn’t entirely sure if she’d forced him out of the car or if he’d hopped out on instinct.

         Jack slowly slid out of his seat, hugging himself.

         “Where are we?” Luke finally asked.

         “Somewhere you will act respectfully and ask a minimal number of questions,” Fēi Lín said. She jumped out of the car and flicked her keys around one finger, leading them towards a side door that looked more like an entrance to a scene from Scream.

         In a small town like this, Luke had an uncomfortable feeling that this girl would know exactly where to hide their bodies.

         “The Dǒng residence,” Phil said, “Kid, I know you’re dyslexic and all, but, uh, you can read the files that I slaved over making you, right? They’re in Greek.”

         Luke scowled. With the Kronos dreams at night, directing Cabin Eleven during the day, and then sneaking out during his off hours to set up Camp Othrys and gather an army, he thought he deserved some slack. He couldn’t exactly read files on potential campers at the pavilion with all the tiny Hermes hands hoping for some blackmail on each other. “You could also tell me about them on the way over here,” Luke spat back.

         Fēi Lín led them through the door and down a hallway that’s carpet might have been cleaner if it came from a dumpster. Lights flickered and water stains seeped down the once-white walls. Each door was a faded color, perhaps originally bright greens and reds. There was a piece of trash here and there and, to Luke’s disgust, a used condom.

         This really did look like somewhere she would strap them into a chair and start a very different kind of interrogation.

         She stopped at a bend in the hallway, in front of the single freshly painted red door.

         Jack perked up and rushed to stand beside her.

         Once Fēi Lín finished unlocking the door, Jack reached for the handle.

         She paused and examined him. Her stern expression broke. “Jack…” she said in the best we talked about this voice.

         Jack gave her the world’s weakest smile. He cleared his throat and his tears. “After you, Ms. Davidson,” he said, his voice shaking as he opened the door for her and gestured the three of them inside.

         Fēi Lín’s discolored cheeks lit up. It took Luke a moment to process that she was blushing and to realize Jack and Fēi Lín might not just be friends, or, at least Jack wanted them to be more.

         Fēi Lín briskly entered.

         Luke swallowed, glancing over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t walking into some kind of trap. Not that she needed to trap him considering what she did to the cops.

         He could hear running water and music. The room was brightly lit, nothing like the terror he’d been expecting from the earlier hallway.

         Jack continued to hold the door and motioned them forward, that shaky smile probably the least encouraging thing Luke had seen.

         Phil walked in without hesitation. Luke followed and also made a mental note to talk to Phil about his willingness to walk into situations that had “death” written all over them.

         “Shoes off,” Fēi Lín said, already setting hers onto a floor matt beside the door. She slipped on some smiling bunny slippers. Not what Luke was expecting. “Zài jiā! Zǎo shang hǎo, Nǎinai,” she said, louder. “Jack hé wǒ de liǎng gè péngyǒu yě zài zhèlǐ.”[1]

         Phil frowned down at his hooves. He’d already kicked off his boots when he assaulted the cops. “Anyone got some plastic wrap that I can slap over these suckers?”

         Fēi Lín shot him a glare.

         Jack took off his neon orange converses and slipped on a pair of dragon slippers that must have been there for him. Luke followed Jack and Fēi Lín’s lead and put his shoes on the floor mat.

         The apartment was small and minimalist. There wasn’t a hint of clutter. On the right, there was a small kitchen with plants hanging and nesting in every open space. The windows beside the counter were open and showed off the apartment building’s modest garden. On the left, there was a table with four chairs and a small box TV that looked like it was from the 80’s.

         A massive framed mirror lined the left wall, reflecting the window’s view. A tiny fountain gurgled beside the doorway.

         There were two closed doorways in front of them, one Luke guessed was a bathroom and the other he assumed was a bedroom. Opera music came from under one of the doors.

         Fēi Lín walked to the door with the music and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her without a word to them.

         Walking into the apartment seemed to calm Jack. He stepped over to the kitchen and set a kettle on the stove. He hesitated, looking at Phil and Luke. “Um, do either of you want anything to drink? Flynn says that Mrs. Davidson, her grandma, doesn’t really like me drinking soda, since it’s bad for my voice, but…” Jack leaned forward a little bit, his weak grin becoming goofy. “I hide some Coke behind the extra trash bags in the cabinet if you’d like one. It’ll be our secret.”

         Phil snorted. “Jeeze kid, the Coca-Cola scandal. How did a goodie church boy like you end up with Ms. Pleather Pants? And coke for the kid. I’ll take a mug if you’re making a pot of tea.”

         Jack’s freckled face went bright red. For a split second, it was like nothing had happened to his family. “I—I don’t know. Flynn can have anyone she wants, and does when it suits her fancy.”

         Luke stomach twisted at the way Jack said it, though the younger guy didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Something about that felt very wrong. Luke realized it would be dumb to point out how Fēi Lín’s facial scars might limit her partner choices, especially to someone sweet on her.

         One part stuck. “We could have been saying Flynn this whole time?” Luke asked, glaring at Phil.

         Phil shrugged, smirking. “I thought a little enculturation would be good for you.”

         Jack pulled two mugs down from a cabinet and withdrew two Cokes. He brought the Cokes over to the table. He motioned for them to sit down.

         Luke took a Coke from him and collapsed in a chair. Phil sat beside him.

This was proving to be a complicated day. Even though the drink was warm, it felt refreshing after how tense he’d been. Just having a break from Fēi Lín—Flynn?—was nice. How much time had they spent out though? He needed to make sure Mr. D wouldn’t get suspicious. The Stolls, two of his most promising campers, could only cause organized chaos to cover for him for so long.

         At least Jack would talk, even if he did seem a little absent. Luke imagined finding your family dead would do that to you. “So, you and Flynn?” he asked, unsure if they could uncover anything else about Jack’s family and nervous Flynn would storm out the moment he asked where she went.

         Jack’s blush grew redder. “Yea. Her family was new to town. Everyone around here knows each other, so—uh—she was cool. She saved me from a monster attack. She—she’s so awesome.” His eyes turned wistful as he glanced at the closed door.

         The kettle began to whistle. Jack robotically walked back to fill the two mugs. “She told me that I wasn’t broken in the head, that I really could help people. Like…” Jack brought the two mugs over. Again, he conspiratorially leaned closer to Phil and Luke as he set the cups down. “She said her grandmother hadn’t acknowledged anyone since Flynn moved in with her. Sometimes, after I sing for them, Mrs. Davidson will even smile at me.”

         Jack giggled in delight, grinning from ear to ear.

         “Uh—huh,” Phil said, glancing at Luke. “Kid, you can definitely heal people. I guess I’m just wondering… with Flynn’s record, I take it your parents didn’t like you spending time with her or her grandma?”

         It was Luke’s turn to kick Phil’s hoof. This guy had just lost his family. Luke remembered how unstable he was before he found Thalia, when he ran from his mother, and how quick he’d come to tear people down if they criticized Thalia’s clothing after they got close.

         Jack frowned. He sat down beside them, his posture rigid. He stared at his untouched bottle of Coke. “Aston told them the stupid rumors going around the school about her.”

         Phil leaned back. “Is that what you guys argued about last night?”

         Jack fiddled with the bottle. His eyes were so red-rimmed and sunken. “I…. I asked Flynn to prom yesterday, when I was carrying her books to her English class. She gets so mad when I fuss over her.” He cracked a small smile. “But, I like, asked-asked her, not just as a friend.”

Luke took another swig of his Coke. He had to wonder if Thalia would have hit him for asking her to a dance. He suspected she’d secretly be thrilled. He hoped, with everything they planned with Kronos, he’d get to find out one day.

         It sucked that Jack asked Flynn the night before his family died. Ways to bum out an occasion.

“I’d been planning how to ask her for weeks—I mean, I didn’t think she would actually say yes with how stupid she thinks that stuff is and—I mean—I’m just a junior,” Jack continued. His bashfulness died with the next comment. “Mom and Steve already don’t like me going out because of my condition, but the idea of me dating Flynn… especially since they don’t like her telling me I’m not crazy…” Jack’s hand shook as he peeled the label off the bottle. “They’re wrong about her.”

         For a moment, only the fountain gurgled.

         That was a motive for murder, but Luke still didn’t buy it.

         Jack set the bottle down, eyes wide. “B—but you can’t tell her that’s what we argued about. I don’t want her to think—”

         “Jack.”

         Jack’s lips pressed shut and he ducked his head down.

         Flynn stepped out of the room, giving them a critical look. There was a duffle bag over her shoulder. She walked over to Jack and held a hand out to him. “Mr. Sunny?” she asked.

         Jack exhaled in relief. He fumbled around in his pockets and withdrew a—a weekly pill organizer? Luke blinked. They’d named it?

         She snatched it and went to fumble in the cabinets. “This place you want to recruit us to, do they have access to Clozapine, Olanzapine, or Aripiprazole?”

         Phil snorted. “Those aren’t exactly interchangeable, but, yea, I can get them for you.” He scowled.

         Luke’s stomach took a sharper turn as he visualized the inside of his closet, where lights flickered and his mother’s scream tore into his hiding spot. The glow of her green eyes would still perforate through the cracks of the closet door.

         She took pills like that. They didn’t help his mother’s “condition.”

         Extra saliva had built up in Luke’s mouth. He swallowed it away. “Do you… see prophecies? Vision of the future” he asked carefully. He never wanted to be near someone that could do that again.

         Jack blinked, looking confused. “No. I see monsters,” he said.

         “And your parents had you medicated for that?” Phil asked, anger making his voice shake.

          “Well, yea. I see monsters,” Jack said.

         “Di Immortales,” Phil muttered. “This is why kids should never tell their parents anything.”

         Luke’s fingers began to shake around his Coke bottle. This was just like his mother. This is why the gods needed someone to put them in their place. “And your dad just let that happen? Let you think you’d lost your mind and didn’t claim you or send any help?”

         Like Hermes did to Luke and his mother.

When May Castellan did take pills and didn’t have a fit, she was practically brain-dead: lethargic, drooling, and dizzy. Luke tried not to picture Jack like that. He wondered how recently the guy had taken his medication.

         Jack stared at the table, the red-rims around his eyes growing more pronounced. “Steve was the one who drove me to the doctor. He said a boy my age shouldn’t be afraid of silly things like monsters.”

         That must have been his stepdad.

         “That’s not who he means,” Flynn said. She brought Jack’s pill box back over. Her duffle bag rattled with his extra pill bottles. “We can’t go back to Jack’s house and this is the first place the cops will look for him.”

         For the first time since Flynn had opened her mouth to talk that day, Luke felt back in control. He knew how to do this pitch and now he knew, for sure, that he wanted these two at camp. He’d have to talk to Kronos to make sure Flynn couldn’t usurp control, but Luke guessed that Kronos could easily read through her parlor trick. “The cops won’t find Jack or you with us. We’re small right now, but we’re expanding. There’s food and shelter. We’re working to take down the gods so this—” He gestured to Jack. “—doesn’t happen again.”

         Flynn nodded. She glanced around the small apartment. “I’ll need to come back once a week and bring Jack.” She stated it as a nonnegotiatiable fact.  

         Luke wasn’t used to demigods wanting to see their family. He, Annabeth, and Thalia had run away from neglect and abuse. If neither of Flynn nor Jack had run away yet, and Jack was this at-home with Flynn’s Nainai—whatever that was, grandmother?—then she must have been alright. Flynn and Jack would have to worry about private investigators and the cops early on, but he didn’t see why they couldn’t orchestrate their return. “We’ll make it work.”

         Flynn gripped the strap of her duffle bag so tightly, her knuckles turned white. “So, we join your squad to kill our godly parents. Do we need to wear jackets or something that’ll make us targets to monsters?” She glanced down at his bright orange sweatshirt.

         Luke wanted to punch Chiron in the face. “No. We work with monsters that are under a truce. You just need to swear loyalty to Kronos and forsake the Greek gods.”

         Jack’s lip trembled. “Swear loyalty to a false god to work with demons?”

         Luke wanted to laugh. That sounded like a pitch that Thalia would have signed up for in a heartbeat.

         “Technically he’s a Titan.” Phil blew on his tea. “And they don’t really like being called ‘demons.’”

         “If you’re swearing yourself to him, what happens to your soul after you die?” Jack asked.

         Luke opened his mouth. He paused and glanced at Phil.

         “Huh,” Phil said, “I mean, I turn into a daisy no matter how this shit goes down.”

         “You swore fealty to a deity without asking what it would do to your soul?” Flynn asked skeptically.

         “Once we take over, it’ll all be fine,” Luke said, shaking the thought off. He didn’t know why they were so worried. They were talking about vengeance: here and now. Sorting out the Underworld could come once they had disposed of Hades and his crew.

         Jack set his Cola down and hugged himself again. They would definitely need to come back to the whole religion thing later.

         Flynn stared at Luke.

         “Who do you think is my godly parent?” she asked slowly.

         “Oh, with the power in your voice and that physique?” Phil snorted and took a sip of his tea. “Definitely Aphrodite.”

         Jack glared at him.

         Luke had to agree.

On the wall, Luke had been trying not to look at a picture of a fifth grade girl. Although the distortion of features made it hard to tell, Luke was fairly certain that girl was a younger Flynn. Even at age ten, she looked beautiful and had facial features that would probably have matured to make her gorgeous.

It took Luke every ounce of self-control not to ask her if a hydra had spit acid in her face before she went to middle school.        

         Flynn frowned. She glanced back towards the door with the opera music, her expression blank and eyes hollow. “The goddess of sex and beauty, right?”

         “Yea. Love, beauty, pleasure,” Luke said, remembering how Silena scolded the boys and reminded them to leave the last one out when talking to younger campers.

         Flynn released a laugh, one that contained no mirth and had no smile. Luke felt like he’d missed out on a joke that he didn’t want to hear. His curiosity about her scars vanished.

         “Yea,” she said, “I’ll help you kill my mom.”

         The conviction in her voice made Luke grin.  He stood and held out a hand. “Let’s restart this. I’m Luke Castellan.”

         Flynn gripped his hand tight enough to make him wince. “Flynn Davidson.”

         Jack swallowed. Uncertainly, he stood. He started to reach his hand out, flinched, then fully extended it. Luke took it. Jack had a gentle, comforting handshake, especially when compared to Flynn’s. “Jack Flash.”

         Phil stood up and pinched his shirt like he was wearing overalls. “And I’m Phil: the trainer of fucking heroes.”

         Flynn scoffed and nodded to the exit. She made no indication of needing to say goodbye when she said, “Let’s get out of here and fuck up our parents.”

And, with that, Luke formed a partnership that would last their entire (very short) lives. He just didn’t realize how soon after things would start to go wrong.

 ***

Thank you for the read! I hope you enjoyed the introduction to Luke’s elite squad! Stay tuned next week for The Versatility of a Guitar String, where you get to see what happened at Camp Half-Blood when Percy was looking for the Master Bolt. Follow Luke and Jack as they go undercover to recruit more half-bloods and Phil gets to juggle a corpse—wait—Phil, that’s unsanitary. Please wear gloves!

  Footnote:

[1] I’m home! Good morning, grandmother. Jack is here, along with two of my friends.

#Tales from Mount Othrys #TFMO #PJO #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #HOO #Heroes of Olympus #fanfiction #Take off your shoes or death by angry grandmother #luke castellan #phil #Flynn #jack #The fellowship has formed!

[hottmessexpresss]

**Trigger Warning** Those who are sensitive to topics such as: drug-use, over-dose, and language/descriptions/scenarios involving drugs and drug activity, please do not continue reading, or read at your own risk**

I remember I was in the parking lot of a 24 hour fitness in Bakersfield, Ca. I remember distinctly feeling like I was wrapped in a warm, weighted blanket. My breathing was shallow, but it felt "nice". I felt as if some large fluffy llama was sitting directly on my chest. Oddly enough, I felt at peace...and I felt very, very, sleepy. I didn't feel scared. I felt "whole" for the first time- I felt...happy.

Unknown time had lapsed and I woke up with vomit all over my shirt. I was dazed and confused, and blisfully unaware of my surroundings. I came to, and the passenger next to me was crying and repeatedly saying, "I don't want to go to jail. I don't want to go to jail."

That was my first and only opiate induced over-dose, and before Narcan has been heavily encouraged and issued. If you think that was enough to scare me, you're dead wrong.

Fast forward 6 years, give or take...and here I am sitting in the hospital watching my husband writhe in pain. He just had a total shoulder replacement surgery for a second time, at 42 years old (that is considered "young" for this type of evasive surgery.) My husband never shows he is pain, and has been dealing with this pain for over a year. Doctors never took him seriously. He didn't "look" to be in pain, and his physiological responses didn't "show" he was in pain. Often, there was frustration. Anger. Resentment. Not a soul believed him, and he had accepted he was going to have to deal with it for the remainder of his life. My husband served 21 years in the United States Military. His body is proof of what men and women can endure ensuring our freedoms are protected.

My husband has said, "If it weren't for these junkies, I wouldn't have to be jumping through hoops to be taken seriously." It didn't offend me. It didn't hurt my feelings. With the recent (but not new) opiate epidemic, my mind has been reeling with questions, thoughts, and residual pain. How* do we as a society, fix this problem? What can be done to HELP? What types of out-patient, low cost programs could make an impact in communities of these (addicts) people?

Drugs do not discriminate. When I was detained by the oh-so-lovely, Bakersfield Police Department back in 2014, I was treated as less than a person. "How long have you been doing drugs??? You're too pretty and young to be a tweaker." I was humiliated. I sat in silence, and in that moment "they" had won. I wanted to tell them....."If you only knew me.....if you only knew my story....my amazing, loving, parents...my upbringing, my home...my college education....." but to them, I was just 'another tweaker,' and another case number to report on. The stigma is there. I've seen comments on numerous facebook posts, "tweakers deserve to die." But my friends, they do not. If it weren't for the passanger in my car 6 years ago (even if it were for selfish reasons...AKA not going to jail) I would not have had my beautiful babies, and I would not have had a fighting chance to change my life in a productive and meaningful way.

Not even a full 24 hours after surgery, my husband's nerve block started to wear off. We paged his nurse for relief......and what happened? The on-call resident had a nurse bring my husband Tylenol. Tylenol. After a major surgery. I was offended, and in that moment, I felt embarrassed. There are people out here in this world in legitimate pain. Because of the sudden intensity of the current opiate epidemic, they (pain patients) were forced to taper off of their medication completely, or cut back harshly on their medication. Is this the right thing to do? Is this fair to those battling pain daily with the medical records to back it all up? This is where most addictions can start. "It's a prescription by my doctor... so it's fine." I can bet most do not abuse them, because of course, they need them. But there also people out in this world with emotional pain.

The first time I tried Oxycontin, I felt the effects relatively quickly. Battling depression since 12 years of age, I was dealing with my parents divorce and remarriages, new family dynamics, being a fat, and bullied nerd....I never took medication long enough to know if it would be helpful to me. So in that moment, naiive to what was to come, not knowing my genetic predisposition, I thought to myself, "so THIS is happiness....THIS is what "normal" feels like." And so began my endless and bottomless search for that euphoric happiness, and my self-medication began.

My husband was finally given an Oxycodone 11 HOURS later. It was horrible seeing his face knowing he was in unbearable pain. "We're giving you two doses of Oxycodone, Mr. Steele." My ears. I heard the name, and I knew it all too well. A former best-friend of mine; one whom I loved more than myself and loved more than anything else in this entire world at one point. The word itself, triggered me. Almost 6 years of being free and clear off that shit, and the word alone sent my neurotransmitters firing rapidly and excitedly. My brain started to illict a chemical and emotional response... to a fuckin' word*. I started to feel anxious. Uneasy. Worried. Angry. Jealous. To those who have never been addicted to drugs, this probably sounds absolutely CRAZY to you. How can someone be jealous of someone in legitimate pain and taking pain pills? Well, someone who had once before been EXCITED to fracture her thumb knowing she was getting pain pills (me). I knew* my husband needed them. I knew he had a legitimate reason to need them-but I felt* out of my mind. That* is addiction... That* is your brain fighting against the rational fibers of what is "normal". After addiction sets in, your brain under goes chemical changes. Your "Hedonic Set-Point" of happiness is altered and flipped the fuck upside down. You become addicted because you realize that the intense euphoria and happiness, that warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach, the rush to your head...have all caused a peak beyond your "set point" of euphoria. You crave it, and you NEED it just to even function and feel "normal" If you don't use (drugs), your entire body shuts down and you become so sick (the flu times 500). So you continue to use and abuse anything to reach the level of "normal" (and beyond) in order to not feel like a depressed piece of shit. Rock bottom hits (whenever and however that is and may be, and some will never experience the same rock bottom) and you get clean, and your "hedonic set point" is reset and now, unrealistic. You soon realize you will never* feel that level of happiness again (sober). Social context, and psychological predispositions can trigger a response in your brain to want to achieve that chemical, unrealistic level- over and over again.

Recovering addicts face this day in and day out, and in this case, recovery** is a CHOICE. No one wakes up one day and says, "you know what? I'm going to steal from my family and act like a reckless fool and ruin my normalcy and fuck up my entire family (and my fuckin' credit score) Addicts can do bad things, but that doesn't make them bad people. They are the walking wounded. In the words of my favorite author, Charles Bukowski, "we don't even ask (for) happiness, just a little less pain." A close friend of mines addiction was so deep, she lost custody of her child and lost sight of everything she once loved. No one in their right mind* would EVER jeopardize the relationship and well being with their own flesh and blood. People who weren't addicted could never phatom this scenario, but addiction is* ugly. She passed away almost two years ago, leaving her daughter and family behind. Again, addiction can be so powerful and it trumps all things good. Addicts become selfish. Because they only care about themselves and their next fix. Unless they get the proper intervention, have kick ass insurance, and the will and reason deep down to stop, they won't. That's why in NA, they say some people's only way out of addiction, is jail, institutions, or death.

I feel embarrassed sometimes to admit any of this. Those who knew me in my active addiction phase, constantly said, "where* is Katelyn? Where* did she go? This is not* the Katelyn we know and loved..." Addicts have to first admit they are powerless over their addiction. Along with this, comes a mountain of shame, guilt, embarrassment, shame, and a total slap in the face of everything* they were covering up during their abuse. We have to essentially re-learn how to live life again. How to cope with underlying mental illness, how to cope with triggers, how to live day to day without their former best friend.

I wish deep down I wasn't this way. I wish deep down the muffled voice subtly nagging at my brain would stop. I wish i knew better. I don't feel this hardcore temptation anymore. In the beginning, everything felt "unfair" and life kept throwing punches at me and I struggled to handle them. I blamed others for my addiction and carried around SO much anger. One day, it clicked. No one forced me to do anything. Only I was to blame. I was responsible and accountable for what happened to me, and only I was responsible for changing my behavior. It was hard. Most of the time, it felt virtually impossible to stop. If any addict could take a magic pill to end the cycle and to start their lives over, I'm betting some- if not most, would. This blog isn't a debate on whether or not addiction is a choice. I could sit here and debate with anyone all day on this subject. This entry is merely pointing out a basic and yet complex struggle one can face years and years down the line during their recovery. I look back and feel accomplished. I overcame something not everyone has the privilege to escape from. Being clean, I was able to rediscover myself, reevaluate goals, mend relationships, and lead a meaningful life. I found my soul-mate and have two amazing babies. My hope for anyone struggling with addiction is to overcome. Take advantage of any and all local resources and dig deep down to find the desire to want to stop. It might take you more than one attempt to get clean. In NA, they mention over and over to never feel like relapse isn't possible and that it "won't happen" to you. Because it is possible. It can happen at any given moment, and there is always a chance of giving in to the demons you have worked so hard to manage and control. Make the concious choice to NOT give in to the monster, no matter how tempting it could be. You are loved. You are worthy.

"Just for today, my thoughts will be on my recovery, living and enjoying life without the use of drugs. Just for today, I will have faith in someone in NA who believes in me and wants to help me in my recovery. Just for today, I will have a program. I will try to follow it to the best of my ability. Just for today, I will be unafraid. My thoughts will be on my new association's- people who are not using and have found a new way of life. So as long as I follow that way, I will have nothing to fear." (Narcotics Anonymous, text)

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA)

1-800-662-4357

NA (Narcotics Anonymous)- find NA meetings and local resources for recovery.

http://m.na.org/