athena fawcett d4

I cast a long shadow; it’s not Ares’ fault he was always falling into it.

First child syndrome: the conscientious desire to overachieve. An unspoken rule of the universe: first-time parents are always desperate for perfection. They demand excellence in every single area of life, overprotective and demanding all at once as they shepherd their child from hobby to hobby. My parents were constantly throwing me into the deep end of the ocean and waiting to watch me float to the surface. And so, I grew up with saltwater in my lungs, coughing and sputtering through the obstacle course of life, collecting talents like girl scout badges. First child syndrome: favouritism at its finest.

By the time Ares was born, there wasn’t even a competition anymore. I’d already taken my place on the winner’s podium; he was just another face in the crowd.

I guess that kind of languish gets tiring after a while. Makes you hateful, resentful, and he’s always had fire in his blood, so it’s no surprise that his heart never stood a chance at loving me. We’ve been at war with each other longer than the Crawley brothers, or close enough. We grew up with our feet against each other’s chests, brute strength and litheness on a collision course with no destination. I’ve had my fair share of cut lips; he’s had his fair share of black eyes. Truthfully, he should have beaten me every time, towering over me at twice my height and weight. But he’s too angry. He doesn’t think before he hits. He sees movement in the smoke and reacts before he even knows it was just a ruse.

I’ve stopped keeping track of who wins and who loses – I’ve got bigger battles to win these days. But for him, it will never end. He’ll never stop keeping score. He thinks that the only way to prove his self-worth is to rise above me, fight his way out of my shadow and stake his hold on an imaginary crown.

He’s not so smart, my poor little brother. He should know he’ll never win.

If he knew what was good for him, the best thing for him in a world that’s always painting him as the underdog, he’d have stayed with me. I’m the Einstein, always have been, the same way that I’ve always hated that nickname, which is exactly why Ares insists on beating that dead horse of a joke into the ground. But he’s not wrong. I can do the maths and count the odds as they’re stacking against us, split three ways amongst three brothers holding knives to each other’s throats. Hades is too fickle, Zeus too proud. I’m not a betting girl, but I know who wins this war.

And I’m never wrong.

But instead, Ares took his pride and cut the thread that held us together – unwillingly, most of the time, but not always. Now he follows Hades around like a lost puppy trying to belong somewhere. It’s embarrassing to think we share a last name and 50% of our DNA. Fawcett, it almost doesn’t sound like a real name anymore – I think it died when I watched our love be severed. Maybe I wasn’t the one who cut the ties, but I stood by and let it happen.

Now, I barely see him.

It’s getting to a point where I’ve almost forgotten what having a brother feels like. Not all the way – the rare nights we reached a ceasefire and wound up tucked into the same bed together fighting the demons of the night are memories as indelible as all the bitter words that have crept under my skin, stinging like salt in a wound – but just enough to feel very, very alone.

I think I’m okay with it. Mostly.

The truth is, I’ve lost people who almost counted as friends and chalked it up to the casualties of war. But I’m a comeback kid. I’ve been wearing Dionysus down, probably colluding with the enemy, call it what you want. I call it getting tired of alone. All the boys hate me for putting up a fight; their pride can’t handle the thought of a girl beating them at their own game. All the girls hate me for holding my own, holding the respect of the world, they’re one and the same. I feel them looking over at me, always watching and waiting for me to falter.

But I never lose.

I’ve got more knowledge inside of me than I know what to do with. You can’t win a war without a plan, and I’m a strategist to a fault, blueprints pinned up on my walls so they’re the last thing I see when I fall asleep, the first thing I see when I wake up. I’m the only one with more than half a brain and a good enough chance of taking the prize for my own, and Poseidon knows it. Might be the only one who does – that’s why he came looking for me, made me a deal only a fool would refuse. Truthfully, I was already looking for a way out of the big, bright lights of a family legacy I’ve been prepped for my whole life. Something about it felt all too easy – being handed a good life, a respectable life, on a silver platter. I wanted more.

I guess ambition is a hell of a drug. It made me stronger – strong enough to break free and seek out the incessant wisdom of the universe. The glory that goes along with that kind of knowledge.

I’m not the underdog of this story. I’m just another girl trying to build a legacy. A girl who wants to be brilliant and revered and remembered as the warrior I’ve always been.

I’ll make them see who I really am.