A/N: Sorry that it’s so short, but hope you enjoy! This is unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine! Title Credits to Passenger.
This is celebrating 800 followers on this blog (even though we’re three short, I’m celebrating preemptively). You guys are incredible :)
Annabeth swears that when she finds the moron that did this, she’s going to punch him in the face. It’s probably the best scenario for him if she’s being honest, considering she’s already cursed his firstborn child to twenty-five years of bad luck and imagined about thirty different ways to murder him. She even knows where she’d hide the body.
(There’s a river nearby and she’d be lying if the thought didn’t cross her mind…)
Her breath comes in puffs around her and every time it does it makes her angry because, oh, it’s ten o’clock at night and hardly forty-five degrees and some asshole chained his bike to hers.
She kicks at the chain with her boot uselessly, cringing in pain as her already frozen toes sting upon impact. Her teeth chatter and she wrings her hands inside her hoodie pocket, wishing more than anything that she had worn a proper jacket or a hat or mittens or something to help her conceal the little body heat she has remaining. She’s probably near hypothermic. She’s probably near death.
She swears that if she dies she will come back to earth as a ghost and haunt this guy’s soul for the rest of eternity.