The Broken Curse (39 page)

1

Nathalie

No way. I pull my red truck up to the curb of my alleged new home. After parking the enormous vehicle my parents just had to get me for my sweet sixteen two years ago, I grab the ad printout, which lies crumpled on my passenger seat, and compare it to the building I'm now staring at, destined to live in.
 

"Apartment in downtown area. Plenty to do." Yeah, well, I guess they forgot to mention that by saying "downtown," they really meant ghetto and by "plenty to do," they meant dealing drugs and prostituting. I'm not quick to judge, but just on my drive in, I passed some sketchy-looking people smoking what looked like a joint in clear daylight.
 

Maybe the inside is better? But even as my mind goes there, I know it's not true. Sighing to myself, I jump out of my big wheeled truck, bringing the keys with me. At home, I'd leave the keys in the ignition and know nobody would touch the car. Of course, that's probably the only advantage to living in one of the richest towns in Connecticut.
 

But here, I highly doubt that my custom car is safe, especially parked curb side. So I shut the door and lock it—clicking one, two, three times just for good measure. I pull on the handle to make sure it's locked since my entire life's worth of possessions are inside. Luckily, my tinted windows hide what's in there. Not that I have that much stuff. This is my first time moving away from home, so my truck was able to house it all.
 

I take a deep breath and step my flip-flopped foot towards my new home. While staring up at the multiple floors, I don't look where I'm walking and fall forward over the broken sidewalk. I trip, but luckily, my arms are fast, and I catch myself, saving the immediate danger of an embarrassing face-plant.
 

I mutter to myself as I dust my hands off from the prickly gravel I just embedded in my palms. The pebbles clink as they drop to the ground. I look down at the assailant who tripped me, and notice the cement sidewalk has a crack that looks like someone hit it with a car and cut a chunk out.
 

I shake my head again and turn back toward the house, but that view is hardly better. The front lawn, if you'd even call it that, is nice and green, but there aren't any flowers or bushes making it homey and welcoming. It's boring and small, but it's clean—at least they're doing something right. The main door is shut, and when I go to grab the handle, I figure it'll be locked since that's the safe thing to do.

But the thing creaks open like it's about to fall from the hinges. So much for security around here. Groaning, I step in and a musty smell overwhelms my senses. My hand involuntarily reaches up and covers my nose, to save my senses from the nasty, old stench. I shut the door behind me, but the only way it fully shuts is after I hip check it into position and push as hard as I can.
 

I definitely feel safe here…

"Hello?" I ask, the building silent. The front room, I guess you'd call it a foyer, is completely open and empty. It's small, and there's no furniture at all. I walk around the bare area and look for a door or office or really anything. Luckily, I find an elevator with a sign hung up next to it, explaining where everything is. 1B is the office, so I follow the wall around a corner and read off each door number/letter code until I get there.

It's a short walk to the office since the building is so small. Plus there is really only one way to go, so I make it nice and fast around the hallway. I knock first on the windowless door, but there's no answer. So I turn the handle and open the door, hoping it's okay. The room is dimly lit and the fluorescent lights flicker like they're set on a dimmer that's half up, half down.

"Hi," I say when I spot a man's balding head behind the IKEA-looking desk. His back is turned towards me, and instead of answering, he holds up a finger. I look around, and the office is nothing special. There's some mailboxes, so I make a mental note of that, but everything else is normal, boring.

Finally, the man turns to face me as I stand awkwardly in front of him, and he points to a phone which rests on the space between his shoulder and ear. I nod, trying to be polite, but he just returns it with a smirk that leaves me feeling grimy.

I stand in front of the high reception desk, twiddling my thumbs, waiting on this dirty man to just give me my dang key so I can start unloading my truck. The guy looks like a seedy used car salesman with his grayish-brown suit that's too big for his short and stout body. The top of his collared shirt is unbuttoned, revealing gray hair poking through and twirling out towards his face. And I'm pretty sure there's a stain where his nipple might be.

His hair is brown and greasy, with a thinning top where a few wisps try to cover the obvious bald spot. I cringe when I notice his crumb-filled goatee. His eyes are dark yet glassy like he's spent a little too much time hitting the bong and with the rest of his appearance, he might have.

"Mary, I know your roof's leaking, but I told you someone was on it last week." He's being incredibly rude to the person on the phone. He brings his inky eyes up to me and rolls them, pointing to the phone. I just nod back, faking enthusiasm, and the minute he looks away, I roll my eyes. "You don't pay me to fix that. Hire someone," he snips out and then slams the phone onto the receiver with a huff that makes me jump.

He lets out a long sigh and then finally focuses on me. "What are you here for?" he asks as if I'm the biggest inconvenience to his important day.
 

"I'm moving in today. I just want my key," I tell him, trying to make this as quick and painless as possible for the both of us.

"Oh right…5B. Great…" he mutters, rummaging through his desk. I take the final few steps towards the desk until my fingers touch the brim and notice his disorganized mess. I rest my elbows on top of the counter and glance down at what he's doing on the lower part. There are papers scattered everywhere—his phone is now missing, like it was sucked into quicksand, and there's just crap all over the place. "Here," he says, passing me a manila envelope over the desk.

"Thanks," I mutter, taking the folder. I start opening it, planning to go through it and make sure that everything is there, when he interrupts me with an exaggerated sigh.

"Is that it?" His voice is gruff, and when I look up, his eyes narrow like he's undressing me. I bring the envelope to my chest to cover myself from this creepy pervert's gaze.

"Yeah…thanks." I roll my eyes as I leave the room. What a jerk.
 

For The Love of Ash by Taylor Lavati

Due out 2015

Maggie Larken is a reformed party girl. After her parent's death, she's left to raise Asher, her nine-year-old brother.

Luke Wilson has done everything his parents have ever asked of him. A new teacher, Luke constantly questions where is life is headed.

When Luke and Maggie meet, neither is in the market for a relationship. But sometimes life has other plans. Both navigate new waters as they try to decide where their priorities should lie, while also seizing what they want.

In this heartbreakingly real tale of love, Maggie and Luke discover what being a family truly means.

Chapter One

"Asher, please get in the car!" This kid was seriously going to be the death of me. I knew that scheduling my classes earlier in the day would be a problem, but the community college didn't offer much when he was in school.
 

"I'm not going!" His whiney voice carried from the living room, which was just a step inside the townhouse. I was just about to get into my car, but his temper tantrum brought me inside. I slammed the car door shut, and double checked the time. We were already five minutes late. But I guess it wasn't as bad since people expected this of me. I shouldn't have cared. But I did.

I stormed into the house. I'd never seen my feet move so fast this early in the morning. There was just two cement steps up to my home and I grabbed onto the black wrought iron railing to catapult me in the front door.
 

I found Asher sitting on the couch. His face was streaked with crocodile tears. He looked up at my loud entrance. His eyes were red and blotchy. I couldn't stand seeing him upset. This child was my weakness. Time didn't matter anymore.

"What's wrong, baby?"
 

"I don't want to go to school any more," he said between ragged, sobbing breaths. I walked over to his side and sat next to him. I wrapped my arms around his skinny body and pulled him towards me. He was reluctant to accept my comfort, but when his arms circled me, I let out a sigh of relief.
 

I let him rest his head on my chest as I brushed him overgrown brown hair off his forehead. He soaked my tee, but it didn't matter.
 

"Why not? You love school," I said as his breathing started to even out.
 

"Because you can't come, too." I didn't know what to say. We spent the entire summer together, every day and night playing in the sun and going on adventures. But it was September now, and we both had school to get to.
 

"Buddy, I have to go to school, too. Trust me, I'd rather hang out with you all day, but summer's over. Back to school time." I laced my words with conviction.
 

He looked up at me through his long, dark lashes and pouted, sticking his cute ruby bottom lip out and up.
 

"Come on." I hopped up and reached down, grabbing his hands. He let me lift him up. I started to walk us to the front door and when I turned back, he was right behind me. Victory at last. Maybe I was doing this right.

I locked the chipped yellow door behind us and walked Asher run and jump into my brand new Honda Accord. Well, it was new to me, but I had bought it used about a week ago. It had 80,000 miles, but the dealer had promised that it was in tip top shape. Luckily, the dealer was a friend of my dad's so I got a deal, and despite the cutthroat nature of him, I trusted him on the car details.
 

I got into the car and started the ignition. As I pulled out of the complex driveway, I caught Asher's face in the rearview mirror. He was no longer crying, but he definitely wasn't excited about his first day of the forth grade.
 

"What do I have to do to cut that crazy hair of yours?" I asked him, noticing that his long bangs were now bothering him. Although, he would never, ever admit that he wanted it cut.
 

The shaggy dog look was his favorite. All summer long I tried to get his hair cut, but he refused, claiming that all the cool hockey players in professional leagues
let it hang.
But as I glanced at him in the mirror, I saw him blow the hair out of his eyes and tuck it back.

"I like it long," he muttered as he turned to look out the window. His eyebrows pinched together in the cutest way, but I felt sorry for him. "But, I might do it for a special hockey stick."
 

I smiled at his guts, but at the same time, my stomach rolled. Anxious bubbles popped within me. I knew what stick he had been wishing for, and it was definitely not in my budget.
 

Yet as I looked back again in the mirror when I stopped at a red light, his green eyes captured me and I couldn't say a thing. I'd do anything for this kid—including spending my entire paycheck.
 

"Deal," I said. I reached my hand backwards between the passenger and driver seat. He grabbed onto my hand and shook it, sealing our little deal.

"Can we go today?" His voice perked up like magic and I knew that his day was looking up. And I did that. I was proud of myself.

"No. Tomorrow we can. Lisa is stopping by to watch you until I get out of school."
 

"Dang-it!" he yelled. He crossed his arms over his chest, his thumb snaking its way towards his mouth.
 

"Ash," I whispered, not wanting to start another fight. But I had been trying to break him of his thumb sucking habit forever. However, it did give him comfort and soothe him.