It had only been a few weeks since you and Clarisse broke up, but it felt like years. You grieved quietly, no outbursts, no melodrama.

Clarisse, on the other hand, was unraveling.

She became a storm with no direction, lashing out at anything, or anyone, within reach. Fights had become her new language. Not just during training or combat drills, but in the middle of camp, at parties; sober or drunk. She didn’t even need a reason. A sideways glance was all it took for her fists to fly. Alcohol became her constant companion. She started her days hungover, chasing it away with more alcohol. Then she’d train herself into the ground like she was trying to beat the fury out of her own muscles, only to end the day either at a party or alone with a bottle, too angry to sit still, too proud to cry. And if there was a party, you could guarantee she’d be there. Even her own siblings weren’t safe of getting beat up anymore. It didn’t matter who stood in front of her, they were all just targets now.

It wasn’t just self-destructive. It was heartbreaking. Because for a while she had been different. Softer. Still rough, yes, but her rage had a place to go. With you, she had learned how to breathe through it. To talk. To trust. But now, it was like every bit of progress had shattered with the relationship. And in its place was a version of her that felt like a ghost of the girl you used to know. Right now she was at a Hermes Party, on the verge of beating up one of her brothers.