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Prologue
We're all cursed--every single one of us.
It's not the compulsions or addictions that will take us down. It's not greed and lust that will bring us to our knees. Our curses are instilled in us as virtues, something we should attain and strive to become. Except it's these traits, the ones we deem to be the most honorable, that cause the most destruction.
I should know. I've been a witness to it my entire life. Belief, Trust, Kindness and Boldness. They sound like the best characteristics to possess. Except they're the reason for just about everything that's ever gone wrong.
My mother is lost to the Belief that love will find her. She still awaits the return of the man who, at the age of seventeen, vowed to always love her.
My grandmother was disappointed each time the Trust she had given was betrayed, causing her to be constantly wary of others' motives and intentions.
My aunt Allison allows the wrong people into her life--unable to understand that her Kindness doesn't mean others will be kind in return. Three kids with three different fathers later, she lives alone in South Carolina, pregnant with her fourth.
And the eldest, my aunt Helen, cannot advance in the world because her Boldness offends more than it inspires.
I wonder if I'm the only one who sees it--the weakness within us. I don't know if we're born cursed or if it's bestowed upon us at some pivotal moment in our lives, but it defines us and ultimately leads to our demise. So we can either accept it or live in denial.
Most live in denial, holding out hope for their "happily ever after."
Well, I hate to say it, but "happily ever after" is bullshit--an illusion concocted to sell books and movie tickets. Yet people want--no, they need to believe it exists. They prefer the lies.
Me? I'd rather know the truth, no matter how brutal.
Which is my curse right there ... Honesty. I can't remember ever telling a lie, even when I was little. My grandmother was intolerant of anything other than the truth, and so that's all I ever spoke. And why would I want to lie? It's exhausting and takes way too much effort to keep the lies straight.
Every day, I see what lying can do. The false hope. Believing in something that was never real to begin with. Convinced of what will never be.
My curse has taught me how to decipher the bullshit. But telling the truth doesn't always work out so well.
Most of the time, I don't care who I offend. I'll say whatever's on my mind. Ask a question, and I'll give you an honest answer. If you don't really want to know, don't ask.
"Do these jeans make me look fat?"
Yes. But you are fat, so the jeans have nothing to do with it.
"Do you think he likes me?"
No. The fact that he had his tongue down another girl's throat last night should have been a clue.
"Can we still be friends?"
No. We were never friends to begin with. You annoy the hell out of me. And I'm totally okay if we never see each other again. Now go away.
I've come to accept that, regardless of how honest or silent I am, the truth is fated to destroy my life.
Chapter One
"Everyone lies, especially boys. You need to keep this"--my grandmother places her wrinkled finger on my small chest and thumps against my heart--"guarded like a fortress. Don't be fooled by sweet words and a handsome smile, no matter what he promises you. If it sounds too good to be true, it is."
"I hate you. I really, really hate you," I tell the dirty clothes I shove into the Army bag.
I was supposed to go to the Laundromat last night, but I was too exhausted after my shift and chose sleep. I convinced myself as I collapsed in bed around midnight that I'd get up early and go before school--which was stupid because I'm not a morning person. So now, I'm exhausted and miserable.
I tuck the small pouch of quarters in the side pocket and set some textbooks on top before pulling the drawstring tight. Dragging the huge tube of clothes behind me, I lock my bedroom door with a click of the padlock and abandon the bag by the front door.
A dark suit is draped over the kitchen chair with a note.
Lana, would you be able to drop this off at the dry cleaners for me? If you can't, it's okay.
--Nick
I toss the note onto the kitchen table and pick up the suit jacket. The weight of it and the silken threads feel expensive. I hold it in front of me, exposing the satin lining. It has to be tailor-made. I can't even imagine how much he paid for it.
