The Hate Between Us (Percabeth&Solangelo)

Chapter Eleven: A Visit To An Old Friend

Percy

Sometimes there are nights when Gabe's rage becomes so large it's impossible to live with. There have been nights where he kicks me out of the house, and I have to make sure not to attempt to get back in until sunrise, otherwise – as he would threaten – he would take his anger out on my Mother. There were other times when he would be so angry I would secretly text my Mother and tell her not to come home from work. Those nights, Gabe would scream at me more than most, and his anger would only grow the longer my Mother spent away from him, but I'd be damned if I ever let her near him when he was like that. It was those nights where I worried that he would become physical.

The night before my fourth football game of the season – the most important game of my life, in which a recruiter from Brown University would assess me for a scholarship – was one of those nights where my Mom had to avoid coming home. I don't quite know what Gabe was angry about – he was far too drunk to form a proper sentence, and, knowing him, his anger could have been sourced from something as minor as a fly landing on his hand.

Whatever the case, he chased me around the apartment, screaming bloody murder, until light from the Wednesday morning sun broke through the windows.

I let my emotions get the better of me – a whole night without sleep took its toll – and I yelled: "Oh yeah, well fuck you!" at him, thinking that I could grab my bag for school and leave. But that must have been a step too far for Gabe, because this time when he threw the bottle it didn't smash against the wall like it usually did – it hit me.

Shocked, the two of us stared at each other in silence for a while. I was too afraid to move. Glass shards splintered the skin on my hand, drawing blood.

Gabe lumbered forwards, three heavy steps echoed through the apartment, and then he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and lifted me off the ground. My back thudded heavily against the wall behind me.

"Listen up, kid," he snarled. His breath was heavy with alcohol. "Don't you ever yell at me like that again."

"Get your hands off me," I spat back. He pulled me away from the wall and slammed me against it once more. I felt winded.

"Tell your Mother about this and I do the same to her," he threatened. My mouth fell open in shock. "Do I make myself clear?"

He looked at me, waiting for an answer. I nodded once, hating how small and terrified I must look in his eyes. He smiled, satisfied with my answer, and let me go.

I fell to my knees, and before I knew it his heavy boot smacked into my shoulder and forced me onto the floor. I rested my head against the carpet, not daring to move an inch until I heard him leave the room. Panicked, I grabbed my school bag and left, wiping at the tears in my eyes.

I didn't know what to think as I walked through the streets of Manhattan. What had just happened? He had hit me – for the first time in my life he had actually done it. Was this the beginning of something worse? Something much, much worse?

Before I knew it I found myself outside his door – the only person I could think to come to in a situation like this – and knocked on it loudly. Damasen opened the door after a minute had passed.

"Percy, it's 5:30 in the morning what are you... oh my gods, come on in," he eyes fell to my left hand, which was still imprinted with small shards of glass. My skin was stained red.

I followed him down the hallway until we reached his bathroom. There, he helped me get rid of the glass. He dealt with me carefully, tenderly, removing the glass, washing my hand, wrapping it in a white bandage. Then he looked me up and down, assessed the damages with a concerned look, seemed relieved that no more had been done. He gave me a new shirt – one of his own – seeing as the sleeve of my old one had been ruined by my blood, but when I lifted my arms to put it on I winced. My shoulder, the one Gabe had kicked, was beginning to bruise.