"Dumbass! You stupid, ignorant, selfish, impulsive, rude—"

     "Bloody Tartarus, usually those words come from someone else's mouth," I muttered, crossing my arms lazily at my brother as he strode towards me.

     "Dude, what the hell were you thinking?" Conner shoved his hands in his pockets, furious. "We spent years pranking her. Years listening to your rants about how fucking hot she is when she's mad and it was actually worth it when you finally asked her out. Why the heck was I more excited than you were? What happened? Why won't you talk to me?"

     "Leave it. It's nothing."

     He really didn't look convinced. I knew that he wouldn't be. In fact, if he had believed me I would have been worried for him. We knew each other too well. We didn't have childhood friends because our mother was always moving us around to avoid monsters. It was impossible to have another best friend.

     "Nothing? Nothing? When have you hid something from me and say it's nothing?" he asked, concerned.

     "I'm serious, Conner." I sighed. "I'm saying that it's nothing because it is nothing."

     "It isn't! I know you! Stop lying!"

     "Stop pretending to know me so well!"

     It seemed to hurt him and I swallowed back my bile. 

     "You know I'm not pretending," he said. "Come on, what is this. You're not like yourself at all. Do you know how horrible you look?"

     "I truly don't want to talk about it," I muttered. "Please Conner,"

     "Then why can't you fix your shit together? Why did you suddenly stop smiling?"

     "Stop trying to act like my girlfriend!"

     "Then who will be your girlfriend to make sure you're ok? We're all we have! From the looks of it, the person who probably would have been there for you no matter what was driven off. So what the hell is your problem Travis?"

     "I'm the reason!" I cried. "I'm the reason we're all we have left!"

     "Damn right you are," Conner sighed. "You drive away everyone from getting close!"

     I rubbed my face with my hand, trying to keep my voice from cracking. This wasn't really the time to be getting emotional. It had been over five years ago and I had cried enough of the tears I needed to cry out when I was 14. They shouldn't be resurfacing today, or any time else.

     "I don't mean her," I said under my breath, but he caught it anyway. His eyes suddenly landed on my wrist, noticing the pale tan line where the watch used to reside.

     "Your watch is gone." 

     "It's nothing!"

     "That was mom's watch! Of course, it isn't nothing!" he said, face red in anger. "That's one of the last things we have of her and she gave that watch to you! To you!"

     "And she shouldn't have!" I yelled suddenly. 

     The outburst was sudden, unexpected, even by me. I usually tried not to yell, I usually didn't. Most of the time, there was nothing to bottle up so the anger was never an issue. Yet recently, I felt my emotions becoming more and more unstable. There was always this shaky feeling in my chest as if I was a raft in the middle of the ocean, about to tip at any time. 

     "It's my fault mom died and you know it! I killed her!"

     I didn't know what hurt more; the fact that he didn't even try to lie, or the look in his eyes that confirmed everything, even the things I hadn't said. Conner looked so disappointed, and I didn't even know where it was coming from. He usually wasn't like that. He usually didn't look like he was waiting for the world to fall apart.

     My brother was always good at looking forwards. He was an optimistic person. In situations where the worst seemed to be the worst, he was able to balance grief and positivity. Yet I hadn't seen that look of helplessness since our mother died. When I thought about it again, maybe I had moved on more than he did. It seemed like right now, Conner hadn't found himself, someone, to blame yet, wouldn't let himself blame.

     She had been extremely close to us. Our mother was the best mother anyone could wish for. Every morning she left sticky notes on the microwave and the fridge to make sure we drank a glass of milk or put the peanut butter back because she had to go to work early in the morning as an ER nurse. Yet on her days off, she'd find time for us all day, teach us to make Japanese food she learned how to make when she lived in Japan for a year. Once a month we'd go and drive around strange places in New York, where the conditions weren't always great but she'd give the people food and care anyways.

     Our mother was the type of mother that made the world worth living. People said that if everyone was like her, the world would be free of prejudices and stigmas. She was a feminist, taught us how to cry, and also how to love. 

     I shouldn't have made her drive that night. I still hadn't touched a steering wheel, nor have I touched a steering wheel. Police sirens haunted me.

     The silver watch lay heavy in my pocket and I tossed it to the ground, harder than I intended to. A clattering rang out and Coner's blue eyes followed it as it skidded across the gravel, the surface cracking so strangely easily. It was an expensive watch, the kind that shouldn't even get a scratch. Nonetheless, right in the middle, the surface was broken, unreadable.

     My brother didn't seem to know what to do and his face broke of its happy mask. He stared at me with such beaten eyes that it hurt me. His lips formed into words but they were never spoken as if he couldn't bring himself to say anything powerful enough to say what he was feeling. 

     Conner turned around and picked up the watch off of the ground, twisting it in his hands and running his fingers along the broken crevice. He sighed and dropped it back on the ground, disappearing from sight. 

     I found myself slinking down a nearby tree, staring ahead into emptiness without comprehending anything that happened around me. Barely anyone walked along this path in the first place. The occasional person who passed by didn't give me a second glance. 

     The next person who walked by didn't interest me either and I didn't even comprehend it when she sat by my side. When the pressure of a hand landed on my back and rubbed to my shoulder, I recoiled at the touch. What the hell was this person thinking?

     Suddenly, I met the moss green eyes of the daughter of Demeter, who despite my reaction to her gesture, had not flinched. 

     "Katie, you shouldn't—"

     "It's ok," she said soothingly, though I wasn't sure what she meant. 

     What was ok? Was any of this ok? Breaking that watch, the last gift my mother gave me, a family heirloom, was not ok. The way we fought was not ok. 

     Yet something in her voice convinced me otherwise, despite all logic. For all I cared, she seemed so familiar, so warm, and it felt best to just let her sit there, even if she sat at a strange distance. 

     "I'm sorry," 

     Katie shook her head and moved closer, shaking her head. "You don't have to talk details, just tell me honestly if you're fine."

    Saying that I was fine would have rolled off of my tongue so easily if it weren't for the look of deep concern within her features. How could I lie like I did every other time when she was right there, willing to catch me if I fell.

     I shook my head, biting my lip from letting a shaky breath release, possibly letting everything go. Controlling my breathing was hard when she was so close and her hands were slowly guiding my shoulders towards her chest in a way that made me release that breath. She winded her hands into my hair and I hadn't felt so safe in so long. When she pressed her chin lightly on the top of my head, a dry sob ripped through my body, unintentionally.

     Katie stroked her hand through my hair repeatedly in a soothing motion as I let myself fall into her, despite how my head was telling me not to get too close. Developing a dependence on her was the last thing I needed. The way her arms were so warm and how her hair smelled so familiar made me ache for this sensation forever. 

     When footsteps came closer, I felt her chin lift off my head. With a small glance, I noticed Peggy standing a few feet from us, just behind the watch.

     "Another time, Peggy," Katie said.

     Peggy picked up the watch on the ground wound it in her fingers, eyes furrowing at the cracks in it. Suddenly, there was a glow, and she gasped.

     "I fixed it!" she cried.

     I jerked my head upwards and she held out the watch face towards me, which was shinier than ever, ticking slowly. Yet that wasn't what surprised me the most. Around the girl was an aura of an ivory colour. When I looked at the top of her head, my mouth dropped open.

     "Oh my gods!" cried Katie. "Go get Chiron." 

     I sprinted away, rushing through the paths as everything passed as in a whiz. It was only when I saw the muscular build of the centaur before I slowed down panting.

     "Chiron! Peggy, she—she—"

     He didn't even wait for an answer before he sped off, others following him quickly. I don't even have time to catch my breath before I start sprinting again.

     Pausing only when we were met with the shining peacock feather above her head, we all dropped to our knees and bowed. She tried to find something to look at her self with, but nonetheless, it wasn't possible. 

     "All hail Peggy Wilson, daughter of Hera, queen of the gods."

A/N: I turned on some classical music because even though I quit piano after 10 years, I'm deciding to put the $70 book of Haydn Sonatas to use. So then I thought, why not listen to my Sonata on repeat so it's stuck in my head for when I'm practising a SIX PAGE SONATA (why did I decide to learn a SIX PAGE SONATA BY MYSELF?) and then I thought, why not listen to the SIX PAGE SONATA and write? Turns out, peppy classical music is kind of horrible for writing emotional scenes so I turned it off and went back to Harry Style's new album. 
Anyways...opinions?