Venus’s Curse

Ivris Foxe

Foxe was beautiful. He knew that all too well. They had fought together, survived an apocalypse together. They had been great friends and would have progressed as a happy couple if it weren’t for his shy and homosexual nature.

And there was him.

He had chocolate brown eyes. He was a strong athlete. He looked like a movie star and he had a lot of fans, she said. She also said that he was a good helper and she admired him much.

She never said that she admired him too much.

From the ways the two interacted, you could never tell if Foxe hated him or not. She spoke with such venom that everyone flinched. Her eyes reflected with such intensity, everyone avoided her. Her sharp retorts and comebacks were her symbol. She could have been the “Most feared 14 year old” award winning kid.

He never made eye contact with her. Not even once. He did. At least, he had tried to.


He understood.

Her most frequently quote was, “Who cares? We all know who gets hurt in the end.” It was always in this cheery, yet false tone. She made herself sound like a player.

He didn’t like it, but he understood.

Her player reputation has been broadcasted worldwide. Everyone knows that. He bet that if he walked down the corridor and cornered a few kids from the class, asked them about Foxe, they would either scurry away or avoid him.

If he had asked him, he would just shrug in his coolly nonchalant attitude and walk away. She knew that he didn’t care about her anyways. He tried to love her just the way she was. He didn’t.

He understood.

Venus’s curse. It was said that every boy she loved would not- never once love her in return. It was like Calypso over and over again. It was like him and Percy, a never fulfilling love.

He never knew. He’ll never know, either. She knew that she would not tell him. She rather it be her little secret, a little secret that was heavier than any secret she had held for so long. He would never know and despite all the hurt she was causing herself to have, she wouldn’t have to- want to face him,  with his institutive questions and intense gaze. 

He understood.

Who knew that she was insecure about herself? Who knew that she secretly loved him? Who knew the secrets she had kept for years in her lonely, broken heart?

Who knew about her deepest secret: the one with Venus’s curse?

But he knew. Deep deep down, he felt a strong connection. She was him, and he was her. In a very weird sense. He believed in her, and she did so in return.

He was a fake character, made by a human to bury their guilt of letting him go.

But he understood.

He understood.

Nico Di Angelo understood.


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