Young Writers Society

_Cursed by Cupid

This is a sequel to Cursed to the Bones; I also felt it needed completing so I hope this answers more questions you had towards it. It’s a story this time, I’m not that good at poems.

She was older now, fifteen, not an underground age. She had to go out, bring in money for him. A cheap whore, she would become even cheaper now. The men used to come in, forcing their way in, she hated it, now, she would invite them in, and she hated that even more. She had to leave, had to go very far away, where nobody would find her, where she would no longer be victim to this his money games. He used her, not just her, she knew them all, and she knew their voices, their screams, each unique, and common, pain-filled, she knew them by their pain.

He told her she had to go out, “You have no fucking use for me so you better get out and bring me money, bitch!” she had agreed, seeing past all the pain he thought she would go through, she saw a glint of hope, shinning light in her forced tunnel vision, she was going out, out, freedom, synonyms of hope in her rugged life.

Once out, she made a run for it. Walking slowly and slowly till she was out of sight. It surprised her about the number of people just like her on stand-by, being picked up by men twice her age. She ran, her feet got sore, she ran, her heart banging against her Ribcage, she ran, till her heart ceased, not pumping any more blood, no oxygen, then blackness.

“She’s been passed out since yesterday”; “She’s a whore, look at her clothes”. She kept hearing voices, male, female. Who was talking? In an instant, her eyes fluttered open, in fear, had she gone back to that man, that hell? The feeling of nausea came back, even stronger. She tried to get up quick, to capture her surroundings. She felt her head spin around as she fell back on to something soft. She was on something soft, what was it? She tried again, this time slowly and she felt something warm around her, she looked down, the white cloth around her was heavy and comforting so was the white bed. Her mind lingered back to the “hell hole” she lived in, this definitely wasn’t it, she had always known that place, all her life, though she had been nowhere else, and that place could never be comfort.

“Awake, are we?” she heard a male voice, it was more comforting than anything, soothing, she could use soothing. She had never heard a soothing sound all her life, a male soothing voice, a mystery, she turned around and what she saw, her heart embraced, freely. He sat on a chair across from her, his elbows propped up and cushioned on his legs as his head on his arms. He wore a bright smile, strong jaw, soft eyes, she could only read right about him, she could only read truth and all the fear in her life had expired. Just this second she felt him, her eyes feasting him, taking in every detail and approving, she didn’t need to touch him to know he would not harm her, she knew very well he wouldn’t.

“Where am I?” she asked, “What happened? How did I get here?”

“I saw you slumped at the back, I brought you in, I’m sorry I don’t know the answer to the other questions”, he said, a sad look in his eyes. “I have to ask, forgive me if I am rude, are you a whore?” her eyes widened at the use of that word, she remembered him using that word on her. She knew what it meant and she knew it did not describe her. “No!!” she screamed her answer, then she started spilling, saying everything, for the first time she had someone to talk to she felt she should say it all.

When she was done, he just looked at her, in disbelief. She stared back, had she ruined everything? Then he smiled at her reassuringly, he couldn’t believe it, she was stronger than he expected, stronger than she looked, there was zeal, hope, strength under those thin arms and pale skin.

His mother brought in breakfast, for both of them, poached eggs; she was hungry and gladly gobbled it down. “This is my mother”, he said when she was done, she looked up to see a small woman, thin, tall and young looking, with his eyes, she smiled. The warmth here was a first and she was happy. He left her and she slept the rest of the day off, waking up to the twanging of a guitar. She remembered his guitar, his smile. She followed the sound as she got up, she remembered this song. Some man, when he came, she remembered his ring tone, the words stuck like magnet to metal, she never forgot it. It was a song of hope and she could hear it now.

‘Cause when you’re

Fifteen

And somebody tells you they love you

You’re gonna believe them

And when you're fifteen

Feeling like there's nothing to figure out

Well count to ten, take it in

This is life before you know who you're gonna be

Fifteen

She always sang, in solitude at the hell hole. To her, it was the only dream she could hold on to, when she refused to embrace reality, now, she could hear it again, in reality. she could hear the first warmth she had ever felt in her life, he was singing her song, fate was a beautiful thing. Now, for the first time, she felt love, a feeling she could only grasp in her dreams, right now, she felt like flying.

She could hear his voice, ringing clear from the other room, when she arrived she discovered so much, a lot more than she thought she would. This was not another room, it was a balcony. He was playing the guitar; his mother was the one singing. He was there, the man responsible for making her life miserable. She was going back, never to leave again, he sold her out, back to misery.

That night when she came back, she lost her life, he killed her. All those Curses, fed onto other men, she fed onto him twice over. Not the man who killed her, no, not him, his curse was minimal, it was to the Boy, the one responsible for making her fall in love, the one now Cursed by Cupid.