Authors: Taylor Lavati
The Thousand Year Curse
The Curse Books
Copyright © 2013 Taylor Lavati
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is no authorizes, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
General Editing by Laura Carlson
To contact the author please visit her website at
Table of Contents
Chapter One- High School Hell
Chapter Two- New Friends
Chapter Three- Party Time
Chapter Four- Cave Dream
Chapter Five- Song of Sadness
Chapter Six- Home Sweet Home
Chapter Seven- The Kiss
Chapter Eight- Paradise Springs
Chapter Nine- New Kid
Chapter Ten- Bike Ride
Chapter Eleven- Sunset Beach
Chapter Twelve- Answers
Chapter Thirteen- Dream From Hell
Chapter Fourteen- The Note
Chapter Fifteen- Surprise Visitor
Chapter Sixteen- Colliding
Chapter Seventeen- Morning After
Chapter Eighteen- Preparations
Chapter Nineteen- Twenty Questions
Chapter Twenty- River of Pain
Chapter Twenty One- Punishments
Chapter Twenty Two- Oblivion
Chapter Twenty Three- Challenge Accepted
Chapter Twenty Four- Meeting Charon
Chapter Twenty Five- Hades Isn't Nice
Chapter Twenty Six- Interrogations
Chapter Twenty Seven- Homeward Bound
Chapter Twenty Eight- Time Goes By
Chapter Twenty nine- Slap This
Chapter Thirty- School Dance
We are brought up being told tales of love and triumph. Hell, I should know, I'm in the damn books.
I was brought up being told that there is always a happily ever after and that I deserved one.
Well, what if there isn't?
What if bad things really do happen to good people? I consider myself a good person.
Yes, I have a special skill set where at times,
I'll admit too taking advantage of them.
But still, I'm good.
I never hurt someone until the day she came into my life, those thousands and thousands of years ago.
Her death was my fault. It's always my fault. This curse is my fault.
He doesn't waste one day rubbing that in my face.
I can't help that I love her.
He can't help that he loves her, too.
I wish I could die to end this constant torment. How easy would that be?
I've even asked Hades himself for a swift end.
Of course not.
That would be too damn easy.
I don't deserve this.
Yet here I am, walking back into his trap. I can't stay away from her.
Her very essence calls to me no matter how many miles I shove between us.
Neither can he.
high school hell
I pull in a ragged breath hoping to regain my composure but it's no use. My heart races and spots blur my visions making me stumble out of the bathroom. I collapse onto my bed and the chills take over, wracking my body in long tremors of terror.
With numb hands, I reach towards my night stand for my cell phone needing my crutch. I send out a quick SOS text and hope that Junior is awake.
Shooting pain travels up my chest making my short breath even shorter. With the lack of oxygen I start fearing that I might pass out and the full on panic starts to take over.
"What's wrong?" A worried voice rings out in the room seconds later. My vision is still spotty but I'd know that voice anywhere.
"I can't—" I start to say but I don't have enough breath to even complete a god damned sentence. I'm frustrated with myself for letting the panic take over me again so I start banging my fists on the bed hating this empty person I've become.
"Shh. I've got you now, Ryder." Junior soothes me, holding me tightly in his arms so I can't break free. I try to fight him for a second but eventually melt into his arms loving the comfort he continuously brings me.
Whenever he comes to my rescue like this, it brings me back to my first panic attack about two years ago. I used to be this bubbly, outgoing typical popular girl in school but then one day, my life turned upside down.
My best friend Becca screwed me over. She spread nasty rumors about me to the entire school, turned all of our friends against me and left me to rot on the gym floor. If it weren't for Junior finding me curled up in the fetal position, I would have stayed there paralyzed all day.
I'll never forget the way he stood by me no matter what people said. He took the heat along with me and has been outcasted ever since. The only difference is that he genuinely doesn't give a shit and moved on, making new friends who also have the same I-don't-care attitude.
He could care less what Becca or Kevin, the school power couple, think. He could careless if they call him an emo kid for his colored mohawk or a band geek for playing the drums.
Whereas I let the torture sit inside of me and eat me from the inside out. Is it so bad to want to be included and have friends? I don't think so but through the past few years, I've learned a lot—never trust anyone.
After I'm quiet and coming down from the panic attack, Junior lets me go. I rub my arms up and down, the chills still present in the background but no longer a contributor to my pain.
"I'm sorry." I tell Junior hating how he has to come to my aid all of the time. I definitely feel like I hold him back but I have to be selfish—I need him to get through these.
"Don't apologize. I don't mind." He says, grabbing my desk chair and sitting himself down on the comfortable swirler across from me. He knows the drill by now and if that attack shows anything, it's that the night is going to be a long one.
"I hate that they're starting up again." I say, burrowing my head into my hands hoping that I can just crawl into a dark hole and never come out.
"It's just because you're nervous about tomorrow." He says, "After that, I'm sure they'll fade away again. You just have to know you're okay. I'm here for you." He says rolling over to me and making me look up at him.
"Okay." I say not really convinced.
"I know when you're bullshitting me." Junior says when I roll my eyes in his direction. He tackles me onto the bed, pulling his hand up my side to tickle me. He starts the war and a few minutes later, I can barely breathe but for a different reason.
We end up watching reruns of the Walking Dead in each others arms but it's exactly what I need the night before the start of my senior year. I fall asleep in the crook of his neck but my sleep is far from sweet. I've been having bizarre dreams night after night that leave me restless.
Something is wrong with me. Strange things are starting to happen.
I don't understand it. I can't tell anyone.
I can't tell my dad. He doesn't even know about the bullying at school.
He'll make me see a therapist and I can't go there.
Yesterday, I shut my laptop and the screen cracked in half.
It's not like I slammed it.
I just pushed the top down and the corner shattered.
That night at dinner I put a plate on the table and it crumbled into pieces.
Dad thought I dropped it—I couldn't tell him the truth.
What's happening to me?
It's Monday morning, senior year and I have no idea how I am going to make it. I'm dreading seeing kids and teachers. I'm dreading my classes and lunch period. Everything about today scares me.
Anxious butterflies stick in my throat like cotton as I think about the day and what it entails. I'm pretty sure by the end of the day I may throw them up.
High school is supposed to be the best years of my life, yet school has become the polar opposite. I'm not sure why I'm freaking out because I don't think I can drop any lower in the social hierarchy of high school—even if I tried.
Grabbing my backpack off my neat bedroom floor and keys off my desk, I glance at my cracked laptop screen hating whatever has been going on with me. I stop at the door to give myself a last glance in my full length mirror. Today I am going for invisible—my usual ensemble.
My brown hair hangs at my waist. I don't even bother to style it anymore since my long locks are straight all by themselves. I have the bare minimum of makeup on—just some eyeliner and mascara since my eyes are my best feature.
People are constantly tell me how cool they are. To be honest, my eyes annoy the crap out of me. Sometimes they're green, sometimes they're blue. They change with the weather, or my mood. Sometimes even my outfit affects them. It's stupid. Why can't they just pick a color and stick with it? My eyes makes me different which I don't like.
I fix my button up shirt so it lays flat against my stomach. I'm not fat, but I'm not skinny either by any means. I'm pretty average. A little short but normal weight—normal me.
I'm wearing my favorite pair of skinny jeans. They have a little bit of yellow paint on them from when I painted my room over the summer. The paint makes them seem cool, or so I think.
I'll go for the artistic effect, which is pathetic because I don't have an artistic bone in my body. In fact, I'm not good at anything. No sports, instruments or anything that requires a skill.
I used to run a lot to clear my head. I never ran track or anything. I did it mostly for myself. The past couple of months, running has been the last thing on my mind. I just don't feel motivated anymore.
Clearing my head, I scurry down the stairs jumping the last two. I smile when I make a perfect yet noisy landing at the bottom. Nobody's home so I can act like a ten year old if I want to.
I grab an apple along with the bag lunch my dad left me from the kitchen and hurry out the front door. I spot my little Honda Accord sitting in the driveway looking all old and decrepit. I've beat this baby up, but the car gets me from point 'a' to point 'b' so I can't complain. The exterior is purple with a little bit of rust lining the edges. I change the oil every four thousand miles though, so it runs like it's brand new.