The Accursed

by J G Koratzanis

  He sipped his beer and huffed.

  “Now I really feel like a dick for the dyke joke.”

  Shut the fuck up, stupid. She’ll think you’re a moron.

  “Me, I didn’t go to college.”

  Good job, Einstein.

  “Never understood the strict, mass production education strategy. Chipping away at the innately talented into mindless drones to make the rich richer.”

  Strong thesis. A for effort. And an F for fool, fuck you very much. And now back to our regularly scheduled stupidity.

  She smiled, and he felt the inquisition in her eyes like daggers.

  “You’re the artsy type, huh? Introverted, but blunt. Living outside the box. I love a man with a zeal.”

  His head popped up.

  “Sociology major,” she added with a grin.

  Their conversation lasted for hours. Asking and answering questions back and forth, understanding more about each other in one evening than most people after years of friendship.

  Chase dashed for another beer whenever she ran low. Heather insisted on something fruitier, and less bile flavored.

  Chase told Heather about his constant humiliation from his fire-scarred legs.

  Heather told Chase about her father’s heart attack when she was thirteen, and over the last eleven years, she feared for his life every single day.

  He told her about when Stephanie died and Linda’s drunken passion, and how he stayed with Rick for a few days until she calmed down.

  She told him about her near abduction when she was also fourteen, and how the man tried to run her down with his car when she didn’t believe her mother sent him to pick her up from school.

  He told her about the lift that collapsed atop of Georgie at the machine shop, and if it wasn’t for Chase putting the four-foot stanchions before Georgie got under the car to work, he would’ve been crushed to death instead of an early retirement, complete with thirty stitches and a concussion.

  Heather told him about how she saved her college roommate from alcohol poisoning and possible gang rape one night at a frat party when some of the brothers tried a little too hard to have their way with her.

  One by one, Sammie’s guests made their way to their tents, other people’s sleeping bags and the back seats of cars as the fire dwindled into nothing more than a heaping pile of ash and glowing embers. Save for the choir of sleepless crickets, only Chase and Heather remained as the glimmer of dawn slit the night.

  “Let’s back up the conversation a bit. Nobody in your family knows what happened to you? What caused the fire?”

  Chase shook his head and looked down.

  “My family- sorry, my foster family? No. They said they didn’t know anything. I’m sure they did. They had to, right? And I never knew my birth family. No one ever showed up to claim me. Everything, before I was four is a blank slate.”

  Heather remained silent, reached down and raised Chase’s leg to her lap.

  He pulled away. She tugged him back.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  Heather slid her fingers up under his pant leg and rolled his sock to his ankle. Emotion welled up in his eyes.

  “Shh. It’s Okay,” she said.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why are you letting me?”

  He framed his head up and stared at the coming twilight.

  “I promise. There’s nothing for you ever to be ashamed of with me.”

  He reconsidered her again.

  She looked into his eyes for a long time before she continued. He felt her essence enter his dark closet, which only one other had ever entered.

  “If it makes you feel better, this will be our secret,” she whispered.

  It wasn’t much of a secret, other than her feeling his deep-rooted embarrassment and pain, his trepidation and doubt.

  He yanked the hem of his jeans up and allowed for her disgust that never came. Sorrow, empathy raised her eyebrows and lowered the corners of her lips. She massaged his calf, the worst of his scars, and shouted volumes from the tear that rambled down her cheek.

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” she said.

  She lowered his foot down and arose from her seat. He followed her every move. Each step of her foot, each sway of her arms in perfect rhythm of his heartbeat.

  She stepped next to him, draped a hand on his shoulder and sat sideways on his lap. Her other hand swept across his cheek and she smiled as she rested her forehead on his.

  “I remembered you, Chase. I watched you that whole night,” she said. “When I watched you walk off with Tina, I thought my chance to talk to you was over.”

  His eyes drew closed.

  “I wanted to know what it was like to kiss you so badly that night. Don’t make me wait another eight years,” she said.

  Slowly, he tilted his lips to hers. Gently, he pulled her into his strong embrace. Longingly, he dove into her gaze. And softly, he pressed against her ruby lips.

  “No tongue,” she whispered as she pressed back into his kiss.

  His cheeks flushed, and a bolt of anxiety trembled his hands as he held her tighter. The delightful bouquet of her lavender scent ignited the fire his soul and the tone of her purr flowed through his heart.

  She drew back and exhaled with a slight coo. He opened his eyes and considered the sunrise behind her, God’s magnificence, eclipsed by an angel.

  III

  The influence of Chase’s friends had borne more weight than he imagined. Especially when the matters of the heart were at hand. He cared almost too much what the others thought. There was a part of himself that he never attempted to reveal nor delve into. What if any one of them didn’t approve? Would he risk losing them for someone else? It wasn’t a question he wanted to think about. Not after last week.

  Did he have the means to make her happy? To keep her happy? He never felt this way about Misa. And it troubled him. He wondered if he should have been a little more considerate. Maybe if he did, just a little, this time around might be easier.

  Work was abundant at the machine shop. Although Tony downsized, Chase never missed a day of work. He continued to craft his dark wonders for himself in hopes of growing into something better. Hope also consumed him through Grace. An understanding soul who appreciated his talents. And he wanted to keep her desires in his back pocket, as a just in case he needed to do the wrong thing for the right reason. He wouldn’t consider it with Misa. And it might be out of the question with Heather.

  One kiss shouldn’t dictate the rest of his life. A long reveal, a diarrhea of the mouth, shouldn’t change his direction. The dry mouth and palpitations in his chest when his fingers tapped her phone number shouldn’t diminish his character. Should it?

  Gravity eluded him as his thoughts, ideas and dreams spun out of control. He wasn’t sure what nagged his weary mind and his aching heart. Facing it head-on was—

  Maybe everyone was right. Maybe there was a first time for—

  Bullshit.

  It had been nearly a week since they met, what should have been the second time, at Sammie’s. Reminiscing about the six-year overdue kiss awakened the champagne bubbles throughout his body with childish fantasy and movie magic. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Was it? He had just left Misa the day before. A broken heart doesn’t heal overnight. He wished he knew who he was and where he was supposed to be in the world. But at the moment, it was Dickinson’s.

  The remnants of fading daylight blanketed Downtown Brooklyn in gold and azure hues as shadows disappeared with the eerie lucidity of twilight. The pub buzzed with the typical tête-à-têtes of the weekend that took a little too long to arrive. Chase had arrived a half-hour earlier than he told her, in hopes of finding the right booth, the right music and rehearsing the right words. A lump clotted his throat when the hostess smiled at him.

  “Chase, right?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “The woman I sat described you to a T. Follow me.”


  Butterflies fluttered, heat flitted across his chest, and his mouth went dry as his eyes followed the aisle of tables and booths. There she sat, alongside the window, low-cut, navy blouse, raven locks tied up in an unconstrained pony-tail that cascaded in relaxed locks, her first finger, unpainted nails, ran along the rim of her pint glass. Her pursed, cerise lips hinted at a secret she might not share.

  “Hi,” she said. Her slender fingers arose from her glass and flickered at him.

  “You’re early,” he giggled. She grinned.

  “So are you.” Her eyes remained focused on his as he sat, adjusted himself and cleared his throat. If they were children in a staring contest at recess, he lost.

  He invited her to Dickinson’s a few days earlier as their schedules didn’t allow them to get together any time sooner. He considered inviting her over to his apartment, but as she hadn’t extended an invitation to hers, he didn’t want to appear overzealous, presumptuous. Not only was he not prepared to take that step, but he hoped she wasn’t either. Heather was different. She had to be… Right? There was no other acquaintance to which he could compare.

  He needed to figure out what stirred his mind, what kept him awake at night, what diverted his focus, and what strummed his heartstrings. He wanted to take it slow, wanted to know who she was, and had to know why she mattered so much after only one night.

  Heather reached under the table and drew her purse. Black leather. Vera Wang. Money. Maybe, he thought.

  “Crazy week, huh? I’m glad you were able to make it tonight.”

  “Give me your wallet,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  There was no hiding as his brows shifted in opposite directions.

  “Don’t look at me like that. Just give me your wallet,” she chuckled. Breath left his lungs as he grinned and leaned over. She ripped it from his hands and opened the billfold.

  “Here, go through my purse,” she said as she scanned through his driver’s license, bank and business cards. She opened it and thumbed through the cash, more business cards, and receipts. Chase watched her and smiled. His eyes drifted to her sweeping neckline.

  “You don’t have any pictures,” she said and tugged her shirt upwards.

  “I know.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Never thought about it.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who are you, Chase Romano?”

  He scanned the pub for a server.

  “The guy wondering why you’re going through his wallet.”

  Her hands gently clam shelled over the black leather wallet and placed it on the table. It made no sound. Or was drowned out by his thundering heartbeat reaching his head and ears. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He clung to every word, watched the flow of her hands as she gesticulated, and breathed deep her lavender scent.

  “What other girls have you brought here before?” she said.

  “What?”

  Her lips, those soft, deep red lips he wanted, asked too many questions.

  “I don’t remember. I haven’t been here too many times.”

  Heather placed her elbows on the table and interlaced her fingers. They wove together in slow motion. Her eyes were wide, receptive. Her grin, inquisitive, playful. She held her breath. So did he.

  “One.”

  “Who?”

  “Does it matter? She’s not here.”

  “It matters.”

  “Why?”

  Heather leaned closer.

  “You hungry? I’m hungry. Are you going to look at the menu? Where’s the server? I’d like a beer. I’m thirsty too.”

  Their eyes remained locked as the Friday night band began their set. Staring contest— Heather 1, Chase 1. She considered the amateur musicians, decked out in black T-shirts and jeans, black instruments and black amplifiers and shook her head. Chase watched as she scanned the exposed brick wall behind the bar, the flat-screens hanging above, the matted duct work, steel beams and final her own hands.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “This girl. Woman. She was about two years older than me. Misa. I thought told you about her?”

  “Nope.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Heather leaned in close. Her hands slid across the table towards his.

  “We talked for hours at Sammie’s. We’ve talked for hours every night on the phone this last week. You never mentioned anyone named Misa.”

  His hands slipped away and onto his lap when the server arrived.

  “Hi. What can I get for you?” she said. Chase unfolded the menu and buried his face in it.

  “I’ll have a—”

  “He’ll have a Nitro Stout. I’ll take another Blue Point and a Diet Coke, please,” Heather said. The server grinned and sauntered away.

  “You remembered.”

  “It has flavor. Isn’t that what you said? Now, who’s Misa.”

  “Just an ex.”

  “How long just an ex?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “A week ago, yesterday. We broke up and I went to Sammie’s the next day. Happy?”

  “Who dumped who?”

  “Boy, you ask a lot of questions.”

  “I want to know. Why were you afraid to tell me? Think I’d run away or something?”

  “Something.”

  Conversations continued between quips and sips, dinner, dessert, and journeys to the restrooms. She more often than he. As women normally travel in packs to the restroom, he wondered if one of her friends may have just waited for each break to coach her. Every time she returned, a new question waited on her lips. After three beers, Chase no longer withheld. If she was going to run, she would have already.

  The band had retired for the night, much to their relief. Though talented and entertaining, the constant “what” from Chase annoyed him. Politeness had to be Heather’s strong suit, considering there was not a single shift in annoyance as she repeated herself. Telling her about his hearing turned out to be a good thing, he thought. Chase’s phone rang from the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

  “You going to answer that?”

  He shrugged and slipped it out. Heather grabbed Chase’s hand and turned the phone towards herself.

  “Ooh, let me answer it!”

  He shrugged again. “Go ahead.”

  “Hi,” Heather sang. She chuckled, watched Chase’s reaction and pointed at the phone.

  “Who do you think this is?” she said. Color drained from Chase as he waited. The right name would be weird. The wrong name could drastically change the evening.

  “It’s Heather. Who else would answer Chase’s phone?”

  A hand made its way to Chase’s mouth as he exhaled.

  “No, he’s here. Want to talk to him? Here.”

  “Hey,” Chase said. “What’s up?” Their eyes remained fixed on each other. Curiosity in her gaze, her hand combed through Chase’s long hair and pulled the phone away. She drew it to the table top and hit the speaker button.

  “Dude, you were supposed to call me from the bathroom and let me know how it’s going,” Rick said. Chase went agape and remained silent. Heather licked her lips.

  “Hey, buddy. I know I’m on speaker. I’m busting your chops. Call me tomorrow. Bye.”

  “Later,” Chase muttered.

  One last beer and one last round of conversation about Chase’s past kept them at the pub for another hour. They both noticed the vacant tables and two of the three cash registers zeroed out, but waited for Jeanie, their server, to nudge them along. Rick remained the focus for reasons Chase didn’t understand but obliged. Heather knew Rick via Sammie, not well, but knew him. In fact, everyone knew Rick. He was just one of those people who unwittingly garnered consideration.

  “I want to see what kind of car you drive,” Heather said over the ding of the overhead doorbell as they exited.

  His eyes flickered about Atl
antic Avenue. It was as if the surrounding buildings, cars, lampposts and the moonlit sky suddenly became aware of their presence. A mild breeze shifted Heather’s locks over her shoulder. He gulped when the moonlight skated across her supple neck.

  “Here it is,” he said. Heather’s eyes followed along his stubbly cheek, down his shoulder and arm, past his chaffed hand and finally to an antique looking, blacked-out Harley Davidson.

  “You drive this?”

  “Not really. I ride it.”

  “Ride, drive, what’s the difference?”

  The tremble in Chase’s hands as he reached for hers resonated throughout his body. He pulled her close, drawing her face to his. Noses pressed as they stared into each other’s eyes. Tilting his chin forward, he pressed against her soft lips as her eyes closed. Delectable flavors of blueberry ale and sweet saliva greeted his tongue in rolling waves. His heart thumped as he felt her arms draw him in tighter.

  IV

  A howling scream shattered the still of the night. Weary eyes fought to concentrate as he swatted blindly along his pull-out sofa bed.

  “Baby? What’s wrong,” he said as a hand met a twitching shoulder. He rolled Heather onto her back and kissed her bloodshot eyes. Arms swung around and pulled him in close. Nails dug into his back as she held on.

  “Heather, what’s the matter? What happened?” he said and eased back from her embrace. The warmth of heaven melted through her frozen hell.

  “It was awful,” she wept.

  “What was awful?”

  “My dream.”

  “What happened in it?”

  Heather shook her head and rolled to her side. Chase watched as the blanket fell off her hourglass figure. He grazed the contour of her naked hips, up her midriff and through the valley of her spine and over her shoulder.

  “You feel Okay?” he said. “Other than the dream.”

  She shook her head again.

  “I’ll be right back. Stay here,” he finished and drew the knit blanket over her.

  Chase stumbled through the apartment towards the kitchenette. He eased open the cupboard and withdrew a bottle of aspirin. He shook it by his ear and heard the rattle of a few left over. He took out a plastic tumbler with one hand and ran the faucet with the other.