The Trials of Olympus
Brittni Chenelle
Charlee Garden
Copyright © 2020 by Brittni Chenelle & Charlee Garden
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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For the champion in all of us. May life’s trials be met with bravery and hope.
Contents
1. Yesenia
2. Jiro
3. Yesenia
4. Jiro
5. Yesenia
6. Jiro
7. Yesenia
8. Jiro
9. Yesenia
10. Jiro
11. Yesenia
12. Jiro
13. Yesenia
14. Jiro
15. Yesenia
16. Jiro
17. Yesenia
18. Jiro
19. Yesenia
20. Jiro
21. Yesenia
22. Jiro
23. Yesenia
24. Jiro
25. Yesenia
26. Jiro
27. Yesenia
28. Jiro
29. Yesenia
30. Jiro
31. Yesenia
32. Jiro
33. Yesenia
34. Jiro
35. Yesenia
36. Jiro
37. Yesenia
38. Jiro
39. Yesenia
40. Jiro
41. Yesenia
42. Jiro
43. Yesenia
44. Jiro
45. Yesenia
46. Jiro
47. Yesenia
Browse Books By Brittni Chenelle
Browse Books By Charlee Garden
Acknowledgments
1
Yesenia
My eyes shot open as the sound of glass smashing against the wall jolted me awake.
“You stupid bitch!” I heard a male shout as something slammed against the living room wall so hard it caused my adjoining wall to tremble.
I threw the thin blanket off my legs. A whine escaped me as I rolled over and grabbed my phone. Just once, I’d like to wake up to something other than the noises of my mother and her flavor of the week on a drug-infused alcohol binge. I picked up my phone and dialed the only number I could.
Manny always came to my rescue, even after our break up. He knew that if I called the cops every time this happened, it would end in an investigation. I was almost nineteen but my sister, Araceli, was only twelve. She could get taken away, and that wasn’t something I could allow.
Manny answered on the first ring, sleep evident in his voice. “Again?”
“Where the fuck is my stash?” the unknown man yelled before I could reply.
I let out a sigh as another boom sounded from the living room. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Maybe the third time will be the charm this week and she’ll lay off for a while.”
I wasn’t optimistic, but anything was possible.
Within ten minutes, I heard Manny open the back door with the keys I gave him a couple years back. I listened with anticipation as he threw my mom’s boy toy out, his low voice a direct contrast to the hysteria of the other two, as I hid in my room.
While I was thankful for Manny’s assistance, I didn’t want him to see me in my messy-haired, morning-breathed, and braless state. I shot him a “thank you” text as I heard him say goodbye to my mother.
His message came instantly. “Anytime, sweetheart.” A chuckle escaped me as I sat up. I stood and started to make my way to the door of the small bedroom I shared with my sister. My pinky toe slammed against the corner of the two-drawer dresser that separated our twin-sized mattresses that rested directly on the floor. I swore under my breath, unnecessarily since it took the equivalent of an earthquake to wake Araceli, and grasped my foot as I hopped the rest of the distance to the door. I made my way into the hall, still groaning at the pain that shot from my littlest toe up my entire body.
Once the throb emanating from my foot faded, I closed the door and crept across the hall to listen at my mother’s. It was best to avoid conflict when she was inebriated. When the only sounds that met my ear were her lawn mower-like snores, I walked to the kitchen to start making breakfast for Celi and me.
I whipped up a quick pan of scrambled eggs before cleaning up the discarded beer cans my mother and whomever Manny threw out this morning had left on the living room floor, placing the aluminum into our mostly neglected recycle bin.
Once the pathway from the bedroom to the kitchen was cleared, I went to wake up Celi. As usual, it was practically a knock down, drag-out fight. She was definitely not a morning person.
“Yesenia, go away!” she yelled at me, causing a smile to tug at my lips.
She never called me by my full name unless she was mad, preferring to call me Yessi.
Yanking her blanket off, I placed it on my bed and spoke in a stern tone, “Celi. Up. Now.”
She sat up, bobbing and weaving as she tried to force herself awake while whining dramatically, “Why do you hate me?”
I laughed as I rushed her. “Let’s go. Breakfast is ready.”
My sister, the typical preteen that she was, continued to moan about how unfair life was. Ignoring her, I got myself ready as she ate. I didn’t say anything in response because I secretly agreed. Her life was exceptionally unfair.
Araceli was a healthy young girl, but she wasn’t like every other kid out there. She was born blind and, in a neighborhood as rough as ours, it was exceedingly unjust. Drivebys and gang violence were the norm, and dangerous for everyone around. But when you couldn’t see the car rolling up or the bangers checking each other? Yeah, life sucked for Celi. That was the reason I was up at the crack of dawn even though I worked the night shift. I graduated from high school and began working full time as a waitress. The nights were long, I usually crawled into bed around 3 am, but I still got up at 6 every weekday so I could take Araceli to the bus stop. She didn’t have the eyes to look after herself, so I stepped into that role.
Not that her blindness really affected anything. Even if she could see, I would have insisted on escorting her. We lived in a tough neighborhood. Add that to the fact that she was a beautiful girl and, regardless of whether she could see or not, I wouldn’t let her walk anywhere alone. People were fucked up—it was something I learned at a young age and something I wanted to protect my sister from ever learning first hand.
After I finished getting ready, I pushed Araceli through her morning routine. For someone who hated being late, she moved like a turtle. Once she got out of the shower and dressed, I put mousse in her hair and attempted to tame the curly black locks that we’d both inherited from our mother. It was basically hopeless. We were half Puerto Rican and half Mexican with hair that was entirely wild. Coarse and thick, our hair was gorgeous when it behaved, which was rare. I wrestled the top portion into a ponytail, half up was all the thin elastic could handle without snapping, and rushed her out the door.
We exited our apartment with moments to spare and started for the bus stop that was several blocks away. The morning was peaceful, birds chirping in the warm autumn air. At times like this, our neighborhood was almost beautiful—if you ignored the fact that the buildings were all in a permanent state of disrepair and trash littered the streets. Even if it did always smell like piss and cigarettes, it was home.
The bus pulled up as we arrived. I walked Celi to its open doors, telling her to step down as we reached the curb. Placing her hand on
the railing, I said “good morning” to the driver as I watched my sister ascend the stairs. It was a well choreographed dance at this point. I didn’t work until late, so I went home to enjoy my favorite part of my morning routine—taking a nap.
2
Jiro
I panted beneath the disapproving stars as I slid down the opal banister, the luminescent surface glowing brighter at my touch. Hermes spun as I ducked beneath his winged sandals.
“You’re gonna get caught,” he whispered.
“Relax,” I spat, hopping onto the golden surface that coated the base of the stairs. I could hear the gentle hum of his sandals behind me as I sprinted toward the grassy outskirts of Olympus. They were fools, every one of them. Leaving a place with such unearthly pleasures unguarded. The arrogance of the gods astounded me. Like they couldn’t fathom a world where anyone dare defy them. But, from where I sat, it was like they were daring me. How else did they expect me to amuse myself after such long stretches of being locked in the Underworld?
Hermes, as usual, hovered over my shoulder, egging me on as if he were the demon from the Underworld and I was the righteous soul being led astray. He was harmless enough and fun, unlike the rest of the stuffed throne-sitting spawn who lorded over this place. He even let me through The Hallowed Gate every now and then to stir up trouble. But, when that trouble struck, he was the first to bail. Not even an instigator such as himself would risk the wrath of Zeus. I’d heard it said that one bolt of Zeus’ lightning was so excruciating that it could make a god curse his own immortality.
My heart threatened to burst in my chest as my gaze involuntarily studied the cloudless night for signs of lightning.
Hermes chuckled. “He’s going to catch you and you know it.”
I stopped short and he thrust his knees to his chest to avoid kicking me in the head. I waited for him to lower himself in front of me, and I stuck my finger in his freckled face. “He will if you don’t shut up.”
His left eyebrow shot up and he grinned. “Hurry up then. Last time you pulled a stunt like this, I—”
“Shhh!”
I turned back to the grassy plain. The field of white flowers stretched before me like a distorted mirror of the stars above. It was such a stark contrast to the skyless tunnels of the Underworld, where there was only darkness and heat. On the edge of Olympus, the stars felt so close that I was tempted to reach out and touch them. Instead, I allowed myself a moment’s pause to take them in, despite the risk. How long had it been since I’d seen them? How long since my skin shuddered with cold?
I inhaled the crisp night air as I relished each moment spent under the endless wide-open skies of Olympus while indignation raged within my chest at my confinement. The ethereal moonlight hung over us like a silver spotlight, so I scanned the empty land for cover.
I began to run again, the whip of the night air on my face. The field extended no more than a hundred yards ahead with nothing beyond the plain except its misty border and the night’s sky beyond. The closer I tried to get to the edge, the more it grew, exposing hidden landscape.
Sweat beaded on my upper lip as new land came into view a few strides at a time. First, a small stream appeared. It ran along the fringe but, as I jogged toward it, more land appeared behind it—moving it to the center of the field. I leapt over, feeling a small pang of regret for not taking a moment to splash some of its water on my face. Hills appeared in the distance, with a few trees scattered about them.
“We’re getting close,” Hermes said from over my shoulder.
Finally, the start of a forest appeared through the mist, feeding new stores of adrenaline to my blood. I increased my pace, sprinting toward the tree line until the golden stables rose from the fog into the starlit night. I stopped and rested my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
“You’re not going to turn back now, are you?” Hermes asked as he lowered to my side.
I huffed as I doubled over and fought for air.
Hermes patted my back, putting his hands behind his head and kicking his feet out in front of him, as if seated in an invisible chair.
“Give me a second,” I said, my stomach churning. “Not all of us have wings.”
“You will in a minute,” he said, his red hair flame-like in the moon’s glow.
I looked up at the stables. The golden columns, marble walls, and arched doorways were a marvel, but a mere pittance compared to the Hall of Olympus where most of the gods lived.
As I stepped onto the smooth surface, the brimstone lit as if sensing my immortal soul—as if I actually belonged. But I didn’t. I was not like Hermes. I was not permitted to roam freely in the gilded home of the Olympians. I was Prince of the Underworld, an outcast. I heard the stir of the pegasuses as I stepped further into the stables. It was time to take a little souvenir back to Hell.
3
Yesenia
“Yesenia, you ungrateful bitch,” my mother’s voice rang out as I walked into our apartment.
A defeated sigh escaped my lips as I turned to shut the door behind me. I had no idea what I was supposedly ungrateful for, but I knew she was going to let me know—loudly.
I squared my shoulders and jutted out my chin defiantly as I walked into the living room. My dear old mom was practically naked, hair matted and makeup smudged, giving her a vaguely raccoon-like appearance. I clenched my teeth tighter, my molars grinding against each other. Once upon a time, my mom, Gloriana, had been a beautiful and compassionate person. Addiction had ruined her.
My eyes took in the marks on her arms before snapping back to her face. “Get yourself together before Celi gets home. You’re a mess.”
I turned on my heels and made for my room. Before I got more than a few feet away, she grabbed my arm and whipped me around, slamming my back into the wall. Anger flared in the pit of my stomach as I glared down at her. I had about three and a half inches on my mother but, as irritation filled me, my physical presence dominated hers.
There was a time when I had been afraid of her, when I’d let her beat me because I thought I deserved it. That. Shit. Was. Dead. I wasn’t that weak little girl anymore. I had to grow up young in order to protect someone much more vulnerable than myself—Araceli. It’d be a cold day in Hell before I took another beating. If my mother thought it was okay to put her hands on me, she might think it fair game to hit my sister, and there was no way I was going to allow that to happen.
I rose to my full height as hatred flooded me at the thought of her hurting my sister. It showed through my eyes as I loomed over her. “Get your hands off me, Glori. I’m not in the mood for your shit. Take a shower. You smell like sex, vomit, and booze.”
She pushed my back into the wall again and I bared my teeth. I vibrated with fury as my lip curled. I couldn’t say what part of my countenance registered as a threat, but she looked into my eyes and backed off as she whispered a prayer in Spanish before speaking directly to me, “Eres una niña del infierno.”
My jaw ticked at her words. It had always burned my soul, knowing my mom believed in the gods and burning in Tartarus for eternity yet still behaved the way she did. If either of us was a child of Hell, it was Gloriana Rodriguez.
I glared down at her, shoving away from the wall and forcing her back. “I’d rather be a child of Hell than be your daughter.”
I pushed past my mother and rushed out the front door. Frustration consumed my mind as I ran down the stairs that led to the alley. It was sad to say, but I preferred the days when she went on a bender and disappeared for a week. Life was easier when it was just Celi and me.
I moved with no conscious sense of direction. I was lost in memories of a better life—a life before my mom became an alcoholic junkie.
I came to a stop at a dark wooden door adorned only with a peephole and peeling stickers that denoted the apartment number. I hadn’t intended to head there, but the home was my security blanket. I knocked on the door louder than I intended, the anger from the encounter with my mom still con
suming me. I heard the slide of a chain and a few bolt locks being turned before the door was pulled open.
I opened my mouth to start my tirade, but the words died on my lips when I realized who had opened the door.
“Did you miss me?” Manny’s voice sent a chill up my spine as he leaned against the door jamb, peering down at me. My eyes traveled from his face down the length of his body of their own volition. I bit my lip as I noticed his bare chest. His tanned, muscled torso and rock hard abs held my attention until he spoke again.
“Well, you definitely missed something about me.” He grinned as he reached for me. His arm snaked around my waist. He pulled me to him, our bodies pressed together, and my hands rested on his chest with an easy familiarity. He leaned down for a kiss, but I pulled away, flustered. “That’s... not going to happen anymore, Manny. For real this time. Is Andres here?”
Manny looked hurt for a split second before covering it up with swagger as he released his hold. “We’ll see. You’ve said that before, and yet we always end up back together.”
His hopefulness made my heart hurt. He was a great person, handsome as all hell, and he cared for my sister and me, but that was the problem. He was too good to waste his time waiting around for me. He wanted us to experience the world, and I did too, but I was stuck in Chicago until Celi turned eighteen. At twenty-two, Manny would be nearly thirty by the time I was able to leave. I couldn’t ask him to put his life on hold for six years, mainly because I knew he’d do it. He deserved so much more than I could offer him.
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