Cursed (8 page)

He’d clearly gotten them for me. Had thought of me. It was almost too hard for me to accept them, but I clearly couldn’t go walking around naked, or dressed in pajamas, so I stifled any discomfort about his gift and promised to thank him.

I looked about the bedroom. His space. It was the first time I’d been strong enough to take it all in. The room was comfortable, if not disheveled. No wonder really. He’d been glued to my side since all this madness began. Clothes were piled in a heap on the floor. Books, one opened on top of an untidy stack, were on a low table next to the bed. Next to the books was a glowing transparent lamp that threw soft light around the room.

On one wall were large semi translucent doors. One was ajar, and I saw clothes peeking through the gap. Shirts, jackets, pants. The usual assortment of male garments. I felt the sleeve of one of his shirts between his fingertips. It smelled of him. That spicy masculine scent that wove inside me to places I’d long since ignored.

I trailed my hand on the top of the dresser made from dark, polished wood. Several photo frames were set atop. The last frame was face down.

Julius was in a few of them. I picked up one, studying it. He had his arm thrown casually around the shoulders of a beautiful woman. In the photo, he was smiling and looked happy. He wasn’t looking at the camera; he was looking at her.

Next I picked up the frame that had been set down. It was a picture of a little girl with dark hair, rounded cheeks, and a pink pursed mouth. She was laughing and moving around so much that the drink she held was spilling over the edge of the cup. She was at a party. I saw a colorful number five printed on a balloon in the corner of the photo. Her fifth birthday? A friend’s? A frown puckered my brow. I wondered why it was set face down. Such a gorgeous, vibrant photo. Such an innocent child.

I traced her face with my fingertip, my mouth tugged with a returning smile. She was such a gorgeous child. I wished I’d been there that day with her. A feeling of regret washed over me. Maybe it was because I wished I had been that little girl, laughing so freely, so happily when the photograph had been taken. Maybe it was because I liked looking at her while she was laughing. As though it eased my soul, knowing that somewhere, at some time, a little girl had a carefree, loving childhood.

Or maybe it was because I’d never have a child myself. Could never offer a child a life like that. Not living the way I was. Not
being
who I was. I’d be too deluded to think I’d ever have a chance as precious as that.

I placed the photo back down, battling the hollowness that had settled inside me. My childhood had been ripped away from me. I’d often fantasized about having a child of my own and being able to offer her everything I’d missed out on. We could have a childhood together. Discover things, live and laugh. I would share my time, and she would show me how to love. And I knew I’d never ever leave her. And I knew, without sharing that type of love, I’d always be empty with nothing to give of myself. Like I was now and had been for years. I wasn’t even sure if I knew how to be anything else anymore.

The house was silent. I hesitated at the bedroom door. I hadn’t ventured outside of this room since I’d been here. I’d just been in a cycle of eating and rest, my body fighting to recover.

I walked out of the bedroom and entered a tidy living area. The furniture was understated, designed with the same flowing lines as the dresser in his bedroom and built with the same deep, polished wood as the dresser in the bedroom. The room was decorated in neutral, warm grays with touches of color in a picture on the wall and a white glass vase on a bench. There was a low couch along one wall with matching armchairs on either side. A blanket was folded up at one end of the couch. His pillow at the other end. I traced the indent his head had made with my fingertip. The couch didn’t look long enough for his tall frame. He must be so uncomfortable because I’d taken him out of his bed.

A dark wood wall table was placed beneath a window with the blinds drawn. Soft light filtered around the edges. Opposite the couch was an open wall with a large white shiny screen mounted on it that took up most of the wall space.

“Julius?”

There was no answer. I wandered down a hallway. There was another bathroom, this one slightly larger and housing what I recognized as a bathtub. There was a closed door at the end. I pressed the door, which swung open easily to a bedroom of soft pink walls and polished white furniture. There were toys on some shelving, dolls with princess dresses, teddy bears, and some others I didn’t recognize at all. The bed was neatly made and pink. Frilly little pillows were artfully piled on top, waiting for a little girl to toss them to the floor.

This was strange. I was under the impression Julius lived alone, yet clearly a little girl lived here, or maybe she only came for visits. Maybe since I’d been here, Julius hadn’t had her here.

I heard a clatter from the living area. I quickly closed the door and stepped back into the lounge room. Sounds came from the kitchen, and I peeked around the door frame to see Julius chopping up vegetables in the most technologically advanced kitchen I had seen in my life. The stove, oven, and sink were designed with clean, flowing lines. I could identify a cylindrical kettle with steam twirling from the spout. Other appliances I could also identify. A toaster, rectangular in shape and made from a gleaming charcoal metal, still had two slits for bread. It was good to know sliced bread was still available. There was an oven with a clear glass window, but that was where the similarities ended. To one side of the window was a complicated series of blue squares and blinking lights, some blue, others white and red, having some meaning I couldn’t determine from looking at them.

“You were out?”

Julius glanced up, his face easing into a quick smile that made my heart flutter. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

“Where were you?”

He hesitated, a pause so short it was almost imperceptible. “I just went out to get some food for us. How are you feeling?” I let it go, not wanting to cause an issue.

I shrugged, “I’m feeling much better, thank you. I’m really not used to sleeping so much. Well, not before I slept for a century anyway.”

“It’s good to see you up and about. Sit down.”

I sunk onto one of the stools that lined the island bench. I noticed glowing blue energy panels were set into a glass backsplash, like others set throughout the house. I knew that they opened and closed, but other than that, they were a mystery. I pointed to one, “What do those things actually do?”

“They are control panels. That one’s for the kitchen. You can turn any appliance on or off. Look.” He pressed a part of the closest panel, which lit beneath his finger tip, and the kettle started to boil. He swiped his finger across the panel, and the lights above the island bench he stood at blinked on. “Of course, you can just use voice technology if you have dirty hands. Fridge.” At his word, the door to the refrigerator opened. I hadn’t even noticed it as the front matched the white of the cupboards. I breathed in some relief as I recognized apples and various vegetables on the shelves. “Close.” The door closed with a quiet tap of the cushioned seal.

“Oven,” I said. The door to the oven slid sideways, revealing silver shelves. There was a hum as it started heating. “I didn’t mean to turn it on!” I said, now nervous I’d somehow wrecked his appliance.

“It’s okay. It starts when the door opens and automatically corrects the heat temperature when you place the food inside.”

“You mean I don’t have to set the temperature?”

“I have to admit, it does make cooking easy.”

Vegetables scattered around the gunmetal stone bench tops. A delicious smell came from a pot on the stove. Saliva flowed into my mouth like a river. “I hope you like pumpkin soup.”

He’d cooked. For
me
. I nodded, finding my polite tongue. “I do.”

Julius spooned some soup into a bowl and set it on the table where another bowl was already steaming. He looked different out of his doctor’s scrubs. A black T-shirt stretched tightly over his biceps sloping to a smooth stomach. It was tucked into straight-leg dove-gray pants that molded to his lean, toned thighs.

Suddenly, this was way too personal, way too close. I sat so still in the chair. This was out of my realm of experience, sitting in a kitchen with a man I was getting to more than just notice.

“Eat, Katia. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

I scooped some soup and closed my eyes at the taste. It was so much better than the scraps I normally ate on the run. And even better knowing he’d cooked it. For me. I put my fingertips to my lips. “Hmm.”

I opened my eyes to find him chuckling. “At least I know you’re going to love my chicken no matter how badly I cook it.”

“Do you often go out of your way to cook a chicken badly?”

He looked at me, brow raised, spoon halfway from the bowl to his mouth. Surprise had him in its grip. To my complete amazement, I smiled. I didn’t know I had it in me to make even half a joke. His mouth tipped, and he chuckled. I bit my lower lip and drew my attention back to the soup, fighting to stop smiling, but it felt so dammed good to at least feel lighthearted for a little while.

I peeked at him as I dipped my spoon into the soup. “Thank you for these clothes. They are lovely.”

He nodded, the humor escaping his face to be replaced with deep sadness. Then anger flashed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said.

He half smiled. When he returned his gaze to me, the anger had disappeared. “You don’t offend me. They are my wife’s clothes.”

I was stunned. I didn’t expect him to be married. I was surprised when a wave of jealousy slapped me. Immediately, I swatted the emotion aside. I had no right to feel that way. He had a right to a life, friends, a wife. I wondered where she might be, why I hadn’t seen her already, considering I was in his house. In his bed.

“She’s not here.”

“Oh.”

“She’s ... not going to be here. She died five years ago.”

I’d overstepped my boundaries. Pushed him to a place that he clearly didn’t want to go. “I’m ... sorry to hear that.”

“At least her clothes are being worn. I kept them all. Didn’t know what to do with them, really. Then when I brought you here, well, what better use. I’m glad I can give them to you. You just have a bit of filling out to do.”

“What do you mean, all this time?”

He paused. “She left me years ago, but I never got around to removing her clothes.”

The lady in the photo. The one he looked so lovingly at. Why else would it be in his bedroom? I wondered what it might feel like to be on the end of a look like that. From him.

I wanted to know why she died. He must have loved her greatly to be so sad now. I wanted to know, but I wouldn’t ask. Don’t get involved. Don’t get attached. No matter how attractive it might be. Later on, I would feel like shit when I left.

“It’s very kind of you to lend them to me,” I said.

He looked at me then, saw right into my soul. “You’re not used to much kindness. Are you?” It was a statement rather than a question.

My cheeks heated. Normally I’d tell someone where to go, but coming from him, all I felt was ... shame. Words clogged in my throat, caught between wanting to justify myself and embarrassed that it was true.

“It’s not your fault.”

I clenched my fists on my thighs beneath the table, refusing to look at him. I wanted to change the subject, to anything but this.

“Katia ...”

“... I don’t want your pity,” I said.

Gradually I made myself look right into his eyes. What I saw reflected there nearly undid me. I didn’t expect to see anyone look at me like he did right now. Like he
understood
. “I don’t pity you. I ... admire you.”

I blinked, studying his serious face. He seemed to be so determined to make me believe it. I narrowed my eyes at him, suddenly angry at his kindness, this situation. It would have been better never having had it. “What do you want from me?”

He paused, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Everybody wants something. Especially from me. You saw what I did, and you want me to use it to help you somehow.” It’s the only way I could figure out why he was treating me like he was. Like I was a real-life person with feelings, not just as a means to an end.

“Not everyone is like the people you’re used to dealing with.”

“And what would you know about that?”

“I saw your body. What people did to you. Marks like that leave an emotional scar, too, but somehow, you keep going. I saw you fight in that alley, but you looked like you didn’t want to. You fought as a last resort. And those men were much larger than you are. And ... I know what it’s like to be a victim. I also know you don’t believe a word I say so I’m not going to push it, except to say that there are people out of your realm of experience that do not hurt young, vulnerable women simply because they are easy to use and abuse. They help because they want to.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did, but common sense and history had taught me the same lesson over and over again. People will tell you anything to get what they want from you. I’d wait for the crack. I knew it would show up sooner or later. It was only a matter of time.

That was simply the way it was. That was life. I hadn’t expected anything to be different, and I didn’t want to think that the fault just might lay with me.

Julius picked up the empty bowls from the table. I watched as he started cleaning the dishes. The soup had made my stomach nice and warm and full, and I found I was quite content to watch him do such ordinary things. To me, ordinary was just fine.

Julius glanced at me. “Would you like to rest?”

I sat straighter, blinking away the lull of sleep that my full stomach had given me. “I want to be awake.”

Julius paused. “I don’t profess to know how hard it is for you to be here, in this time, but I have something I think you’ll like and that will help you understand how things have changed.”

“You have?” My interest was immediately piqued.