The Broken Curse

  Contents

  Untitled

  Also by Taylor Lavati

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Thank you

  Wingless by Taylor Lavati

  A Reliant Love by Taylor Lavati

  For The Love of Ash by Taylor Lavati

  The Broken Curse

  A Curse Books Novel

  Taylor Lavati

  Also by Taylor Lavati

  Young Adult

  The Thousand Year Curse

  The Curse of Betrayal

  Wingless

  Boundless (2015)

  New Adult

  A Reliant Love

  For The Love of Ash (2015)

  PROLOGUE

  Every good thing must come to an end.

  The roller coaster life I've led must end.

  While my body is young, my soul feels old.

  Dead. Broken inside.

  It's judgment day.

  Finally we'll know the outcome of our tragic love affair.

  Finally, she will understand my actions.

  The truth will hurt her—

  That much I know.

  But life is chaos.

  Love doesn't play by the rules.

  Our love will heal her and make her whole again.

  Finally, we can be at peace.

  For once in my life, I can be happy.

  Love is composed of a single soul

  Inhabiting two bodies.

  -Aristotle

  CHAPTER ONE

  forgotten dream

  A wounded man lies on the bed in front of me. I pull a metal rack on wheels towards the patient and pull the lever underneath to lower it. The man is badly beat up, bruises from head to toe. Luckily, the bleeding has stopped so I can begin to clean his wounds.

  Suddenly, the ship rocks, and I'm thrown to the side. A nurse behind me yelps as she falls to the ground. I grab onto the wall to hold myself up and lunge for the supplies from on my rack. The scalpel clatters to the ground and I let it slide as we tilt. I don't want to fall and hurt myself.

  The ship rights itself, after we're jostled two more times, and I fix my outfit before anyone notices that my dress shimmied up my leg. I hate that we have to wear white dresses. It's easily the worst outfit for someone who deals with blood on an hourly basis, but I'm a rule follower.

  I go back to bandaging the man in front of me. I dab some disinfectant on a white, scratchy piece of gauze and press it to the man's forehead. He hisses with the sting I know it brings, but I press harder, knowing the worst of his pain is over. When I pull the gauze back, what I thought was a minor gash proves to be much worse.

  I grab my sutures from the tray and string a black line through it. It turns out I have to put seventeen stitches right across the poor guy's forehead. He shuts his eyes as I string the fourth, and I'm thankful because I don't have to look at the pain in his eyes and can take my time. I'm putting a bandage over the stitches when a sailor runs into the room, making a loud commotion.

  "More coming in. The Alert attacked. Second group is coming in fifteen minutes. Prepare beds." The main doctor on staff, Henry, rushes around the room and clears those who aren't badly injured. We have a second room on the ship, but we leave it empty most of the time. Truthfully, it's been quiet lately and I've enjoyed my days staring at the ocean and writing in my journal. I told him to let us have more beds in there, but he didn't listen to me.

  I don't leave the man in front of me to help Henry prepare for the new group. Instead, I continue to make sure the patient in front of me is comfortable. He's still asleep and I place a cup of ice cubes beside his bed.

  As I'm gathering my tools, five stretchers of Navy men are wheeled into the room. One dark-haired man is dropped on the bed in front of me. He's literally thrown over my patient's legs and left dangling with half his body on one side and half on the other. I glare at the nurse who threw this man down as I try to adjust him so both men can fit.

  "I guess I'm not hurt enough," my patient says through a wicked smile. He has perfectly straight teeth, and despite the ugly stitches, he's smiling and I can respect that.

  "I'm sorry. If you'd like to sit in the other room, I can check in on you later." I try to make this experience as easy as possible for the sailors. I hate that they're usually treated with annoyance. The other nurses, with the exception of Claudia, are self-righteous snobs who hate lifting a finger. I constantly question why they're in this field. I would hate to be away from my family, at risk. The sailors are men who fight on a daily basis, and these nurses don't even give them the time of day.

  "It's you," the dark-haired man says as he scoots back against the metal headboard, stealing my old patient's spot. I catch the backside of him as he goes into the second room where he'll most likely have to sit on the ground.

  "It certainly is. What hurts?" I fix the pillow beneath him, so he's more comfortable and propped up appropriately. He has captivating eyes. I used to call them hurricane eyes because they're full of emotion, different shades swirling together like a storm. Eyes I've never seen before in a man. They're so green like the finest emeralds, but with deep evergreen tones underneath.

  "There's just some wood in my shoulder."

  "Oh God," I gasp as I notice the large piece of shrapnel lodged deep in his shoulder. I touch the top of his shoulder to feel for swelling, and my fingers sizzle with heat. I look up from his shoulder to his eyes and they hold me. My gut swirls with emotion, but I push it down with a smile as I look away to focus on his injury.

  I ease him forward in the bed and look at the back of his shoulder. Luckily, the hunk of wood didn't poke through the back. It doesn't look like there are any splinters, which is another thing in this guy's favor, but the wood seems to be a good inch or two deep. To be honest, I have no idea how he's still coherent.

  "Just lie back and relax, and I'll get you fixed right up."

  I check my tray for tweezers, but as I take them between my fingers, I realize they're too small to grab ahold of the wood. These are more equipped to pull out a small-grade splinter. I shuffle through my tray for something that will aid me with this shrapnel but it looks like the only thing big enough to tug the wood out is my hands.

  He groans as I start to apply pressure to the wood piece. I push his shoulder back with one hand, and tug the wood with the other. My insides swirl with di
sgust, but like I've taught myself, I push it down and focus on this poor, hurt man.

  With the last tug of the wood, blood follows, soaking the entire front of his shoulder in crimson. I grab a white rag from the bed behind me and place it over the open wound, applying pressure to make sure he doesn't lose any more blood.

  "How are you doing, sailor?" I ask as I push against him.

  "I'm just glad I found you, a beautiful, beautiful woman."

  "Well, I'm pretty sure you got here by a dose of bad luck. But, I'll take the compliment." I giggle at the way he looks at me with a heated intensity that sears to my core. He grabs my wrist and holds onto me as I press the cloth onto his wound. I smile down at him, not minding his hands on me at all. It seems like I've known him forever, because of the way I feel.

  When his eyes meet mine, it's like the purpose to my life has been fulfilled. While I'm not sure how to feel about this instant connection, I don't question it. Sometimes people come into our life and are just meant to change us. I have a feeling this man right here is going to have an effect on me.

  "Where do you live?" he asks me, his gaze unrelenting. He's going to need stitches, so I turn back to my table and start preparing another needle and thread.

  "I'm a traveling nurse, so wherever nursing takes me. I don't have just a single place that I call home. Right now, my home is this ship." I smile over my shoulder.

  "What would you say to staying with me when we get back to port?"

  "I'd say you're crazy to ask me. We don't know each other."

  "But, will you stay with me?" I don't answer him right away. I consider my options. To even consider is crazy, yet here I am, doing just that. "Trust me," he says.

  "Okay. I'll stay with you…" I pause waiting for his name.

  "Aristeus," he supplies, grinning from ear to ear. I shake my head, thinking he's just delirious. But three weeks later, when we get to port, he's waiting with his suitcase in one hand and the other outstretched towards me. And what do you know? I take it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  birthday

  With the strength I've just started harrowing in on, I slam my fist relentlessly into the surface before me. I create crater after hollow crater in the thick, brick wall. The red flakes drop onto the ground and pile up in heaps. I take glee in their demise.

  I step backwards and survey my handiwork as I try to catch my breath. I was never very athletic, so it's taken a while for my stamina to even reach this measly level. My knuckles ache in protest from their slaughtering, but it doesn't really bother me anymore—the red streams between my fingers only remind me how fragile I am and how much more I have to accomplish.

  I turn quickly, and my foot gets caught on a long black weight that I stupidly left on the ground. I catch myself before I completely fall over—luckily. I look over at the bar and kick it in anger. Usually I'm better at surveying my surroundings. Another thing I've been practicing. Disappointment over the fact that I didn't notice the bar rushes through my veins since I didn't notice the bar. I pick it up, but instead of using it for squats or lifting, I use it as a sword. I start bashing it against the wall, pretending it's Hermes's face I'm disfiguring.

  "Ryder." I faintly hear the words through my rage-induced stupor. "Ryder!"

  "What?" I'm reluctant to come out of my fog because it usually takes me a while to get into it. I enjoy the fog. I drop the bar onto the linoleum, my arms burning with fire, but in a good way. I sort of lean, sort of fall against the wall and look over at Kara, who's standing a few feet away from me.

  "Remember me?" she asks, rolling her pretty hazel eyes. "We need to talk."

  "Oh, how I love those words," I say out loud without meaning to. I lean forward, resting my hands on my knees as I start to catch my breath. Kara doesn't say anything so I walk over to the gym bench and grab a clean towel from my bag. My face is covered in sweat, so much so that I can feel the hot drops drip down my neck. I wipe my face down with the towel and throw it back in my bag.

  "Ryder, listen. I miss you. You're always down here now. You barely come up for air. Come hang out with me tonight." Her words hit me hard since they're filled with hurt and truth. But, I'm an expert at dodging her. Months of isolating myself and ignoring my emotions have aided me in avoidance.

  "I would, but I haven't been training as hard as I'd like—" As I come up with an excuse, lying straight to her face, her eyes drop to the ground. Her mouth turns down in a sad frown. I can't ignore it like I normally do. "Fine," I relent, giving in to her. I do feel bad. But, I can't let worthless emotions get in my way. There's a reason I've been working so hard and, unfortunately, she doesn't understand it. Nobody does.

  She giggles, knowing that she's won me over, and smiles over at me. She skips to the gym door, her yellow bouncy skirt swaying with her movements, and pauses with her fingers on the handle. I sigh as I throw a light sweater over my sports bra and follow behind Kara.

  Campus is bare, vacant. It has been since we came back here two months ago. I still remember the day that my dad forced me to come back, pretending along with all my friends that Demi God Academy was reopening.

  The news I got that day rocked my life. But, I've used the information as fuel to heat my anger and step up my training. Fuel to solidify my decisions. Fuel to train as hard as I can so I can kill those who have hurt my friends and I.

  As we pass the student center, I'm reminded of just how quiet this place is. The other students aren't back yet. Despite the air being unusually clear and light, it's still summer break, so they won't return until the end of August. Only a few teachers linger on campus and even fewer students. I just felt like I would do better in the dorms than at home.

  Kara and Mikey decided to stay on campus, thinking that they could 'keep an eye on me'. Despite my attempts to convince them to go home and enjoy their summer, they stubbornly stayed. Junior is here with Kara more often than not, which makes me relieved, because they spend most of their time together and leave me alone. Mikey just didn't have a home to go back to.

  We climb up to our shared dorm room and I can smell the food Kara's ordered already. The room is set up like the time we had a sleepover last semester. Megan's face forces its way to the forefront of my mind and sadness wraps me up in its constricting hands, strangling me to the point where it's difficult to breathe.

  The old me would have let the grief and sadness take me over. I would have let the panic attack wrack my body and render me weak. But I don't do that anymore. I don't let myself fall victim to my own thoughts.

  I'm better than letting my emotions tackle me. I'm empty, a broken shell, but I like it this way. I like not feeling a single thing; it makes my mission a whole lot easier.

  I push all the grief down into the bottom of my gut and move towards the pizza, hungry from my long workout. Hunger feels a whole lot better than sadness, and I cure that way easier. I check my cellphone for the time and notice a notification from Ollie.

  I'm coming tonight.

  I smile, like I'm supposed to, but again it doesn't fill me with the butterflies it used to. I sort of miss getting giddy and full of love. I miss loving Ollie. But at the same time, my choice looms in the air—the grief, guilt and finality too much.

  "What has you all smiley over there?" Kara asks as she grabs a slice of the pepperoni and jumps up on her bed. I notice a new picture above her head, taped to her pink wall. It's of Megan, Lisa, Kara, and me. It's framed with white polka dots. I quickly look away and focus on a feather from her white down pillow that fluffed up when she sat on it. The rectangle fan in the window blows the feathers around until they freeze on the ground.

  "Ollie's going to come visit later."

  "Oh," she coos, wiggling her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "Do you want me to leave for the night?" She grins at me, her sexual innuendo too much to handle. If only she knew that Ollie and I have only had sex that one time. In fact, I've only had sex that one time—period. And I don't plan on changing that anytime soon.

 
"No, that's okay. I'm feeling pretty tired, so we'll probably just watch a movie and go to bed." I hop up on my bed and lean against the wall. My heart is back to its regular, rhythmic beating, and I start to relax, my mind wandering.

  "Why don't you go out or something?" she offers from across the room. She has on more makeup than normal, her eyes lined with black.

  "Not in the mood." I shoot her an I-Don't-Want-To-Elaborate scowl. She frowns, but drops it, and I'm thankful for once that she stops talking. "So how are things with Junior?" I ask her, wanting the subject of our conversation far from me and onto her. I take another bite of my pepperoni slice and savor the grease.

  "Oh my gosh. Things are freaking awesome. We went on a real date last night to some place in your town. I think it was called, Lynns, or Limes or—"

  "Luke's Shake Shack?" I save her from trying to think too hard.

  "Yes!" she yells, clapping her hands, laden with pizza grease. "It was so good. I drank like four chocolate shakes, but wow. Totally worth it. I think he loves me," she says, her eyes wide. She looks at me for confirmation, but to be honest, I don't know much about their relationship other than they make out a lot.

  "That's really great, Kara. I hope that he does. He'd be stupid not to."

  "So, you probably should know, we're having a party for you tonight," she says, her eyes refusing to meet mine.

  "Why?" I ask back, my heart rate spiking just from the knowledge that I'm going to have to act like I'm happy all night long. I hate smiling for people when I really don't feel like it.

  "Why don't you look at the calendar?" she asks through gritted teeth; I can see the confusion bloom on her face. Most people frown at me now, or glare, or just all-around hate me. I know Lisa does—I did kill her best friend. But the way Kara looks at me hurts me a little, as if she's really questioning how far gone I am.