Chailali’s Curse

by Anna Leigh Keaton

  “I’m not—”

  He knew he’d never find his cane on the floor without making himself look like a fool, so he moved away from the table, reaching for the wall for support.

  “Mike...wait. I didn’t mean...”

  A God damn pity fuck. He bumped into the doorframe as he made his way to the hall. His gut churned with humiliation. She’s willing. Willing to have sex with me. He made it to his bedroom and slammed the door before limping to his bed. He sank down on the edge and covered his face with his hands. Go to hell, Christy. Go straight to hell!

  * * * * *

  Christy stared after Mike’s retreating back, her face hot, her hands cold and clammy. What a fool she was. What a total idiot.

  She glanced at his untouched food, at the tumbled chair and his cane lying on the floor. She licked her lips and took a shaky breath.

  Go after him! Don’t let him walk away!

  She turned toward the voice and narrowed her eyes. She opened her mouth to tell the invisible person it was because of her that she’d kissed him in the first place, but then clamped her teeth together so hard her jaw ached.

  Her mind was fried. She was sure of it. She was hearing invisible people and pushing herself on a man who didn’t want her, all because that damn voice told her to.

  She groaned and sank down on the chair opposite Mike’s side of the table. Schizophrenic. That’s what she was. That’s what those people had who live on the street, who talked to themselves and committed murders because the ‘little voices in their heads’ told them to.

  She wasn’t committing any murders, but she was throwing herself at a man who...who what? Last night she’d felt his erection. This morning he’d been masturbating to a sex scene in a book he wrote. When she’d kissed him, he’d returned her passion, her need. And, oh, God, it had felt good. He tasted like sin and made her want to do him right here in the kitchen.

  But then she’d kissed his scar, trying to show him that she found him beautiful no matter what was on the outside, and he’d...freaked.

  Now she was jobless, homeless, and she might as well join those street people. “I hope you’re happy,” she told the disembodied voice. “You made me lose my job.”

  Go talk to him! Why are you people so stupid? Why don’t you go after him and find out why he reacted the way he did? Go! Now! Before he has time to sit and think about everything he doesn’t have.

  “Great. Now the little people in my head are calling me stupid.” Christy rolled her eyes and got up, righted Mike’s chair, picked up his cane, and hooked it over the back. He’d come for it eventually, she figured. She stared at his food on the table and decided to just leave it. She knew he hadn’t eaten all day, so he’d have to come out of his room sometime.

  She shook her head. He probably wouldn’t show his face until she was gone. So what? She didn’t care. He was a cantankerous, moody, obnoxious man to start with.

  After washing her hands, she grabbed the ancient-looking cordless phone off the cradle on the counter and headed for her room. Beth better come pick her up. Even if her sister didn’t want her living with her, she would not leave her here without a way to get home. If she did, Christy would kill her.

  The hallway was silent when she passed between the office and Mike’s room. The office door stood open, the room empty. His bedroom door was still shut.

  She raised her hand to knock, to tell him his food was still on the table, but stopped herself. If he wanted to have a temper tantrum like a child, then he could just suffer. She’d been turned down by a man before—turned out he was very religious, though in the two months they’d dated he’d never told her so—and when she pushed to move their relationship to the next level, he’d told her he was waiting for marriage.

  But even Mr. Religious hadn’t kicked her out of his house. That was just plain rude. She did not take sex lightly, even though right now her body was wound so tight she was afraid she’d attack the first man she came across on the street—were she to leave the house.

  Be hungry, she thought as she turned for the stairs and walked away from his room. Sit in your room and be furious with me, and stay hungry.

  * * * * *

  Chailali watched Christy as she sat on the floor in front of the fireplace in the living room, pushing buttons on the phone again. She’d been trying to get a hold of her sister all afternoon. The hour was late now, and another storm shook the house. When the thunder started, Christy had come downstairs, lit a fire, and huddled on the floor next to the heat under a blanket.

  “Beth,” she said into the phone. “Where are you? You have to call me. Mike fired me and wants me out by morning.” Her voice was pitched high, and Chailali wondered if another one of those panics was setting in. “You know I can’t leave alone. You know this. Why aren’t you returning my calls? You always answer your damn cell phone!”

  She hit a button on the phone to disconnect the call then dropped it on the floor next to her. She bundled the blanket around her shoulders and scooted a bit closer to the fire.

  Chailali shook her head and sat down on the sofa behind the huddled woman. Things had not gone well today, and she had only herself to blame. She’d urged Christy to kiss him, whispered in her ear that he needed her. She’d had no idea that a simple kiss would cause Mike to get angry.

  No, she amended. It wasn’t the kiss. It was Christy’s bungled attempt at getting him into bed. That had to have been the stupidest proposal Chailali had ever heard. Knowing how Mike’s mind worked, he probably thought Christy pitied him and was offering sex because of what she’d seen him do earlier in the day.

  If there was one thing Michael couldn’t stand, it was pity.

  So what now? How did she get Mike and Christy together when he demanded she be out of the house in less than twelve hours?

  Chailali wondered what Christy meant when she told her sister she couldn’t leave by herself, though that really wasn’t her concern. The longer she was stuck in the house, the better.

  “Why won’t you two talk? Why is it so hard for two people who are so obviously attracted to each other to sit down and express their feelings?”

  Christy turned around and narrowed her eyes in Chailali’s direction, but she didn’t say anything.

  Since she walked out of the kitchen after the disaster, she hadn’t responded to any of Chailali’s questions. It had been rather nice having someone talk to her, even if it was only to argue.

  She’d seen this so many times over the last century. The living had no idea how sweet life could be if they would just accept the happiness offered them. They fought attraction; they fought love. It seemed to her as if the living preferred the misery of their own minds rather than opening their hearts and souls to each other.

  Why would they choose to be alone? Chailali had suffered over two centuries of loneliness. She’d give anything to have a companion, living or dead. Someone who saw her, heard her, was able to touch her and be touched by her. If she only would have known what she was doing to herself and to Jacques when she cursed him...

  Thunder shook the house, and Chailali kept an eye on Christy to make sure she wasn’t going to scream or panic again. But Christy sat calmly, staring into the flames of the fire. Chailali moved from the couch to the hearth so she could see into Christy’s face. A single tear spilled from Christy’s right eye and trailed down her cheek. She blinked and wiped it away with the back of her hand.

  “Why are you crying?” Chailali asked.

  Christy didn’t answer. Didn’t look her way.

  This is ridiculous, Chailali thought and floated down the hallway to Mike’s bedroom. She found him as he’d been all afternoon, lying on his side, staring at the window he couldn’t see out of. The desolation in that one dark-green eye broke her heart.

  “She didn’t mean it the way it came out,” Chailali said as she lay down on the bed next to him. “Why can’t you hear me?” she whispered.

  She reached out and ran her hand over his head. His eyel
id fluttered, the only sign that he felt something when she touched him. She hoped it was a good feeling she passed to him.

  “If you’d only give her a chance...”

  Mike sat up and sniffed the air. He fumbled for his cane he normally hooked over the end of the bed, but he hadn’t retrieved it from the kitchen. Obviously realizing his error, he pushed up off the bed and hobbled to the door.

  A slow smile pulled at Chailali’s lips. He smells the fire, she thought. Good. Once they were in the same room, she’d figure out something.

  Panic seared Mike’s chest as he limped down the hallway, following the scent of burning wood. God, the house was on fire. The living room was warmer than the hall. He had to make sure Christy got out. He turned around and headed for the stairs. “Christy!” he shouted as he tried to go up the stairs without aid of his cane.

  “Mike?” he heard Christy say from behind him.

  He stopped halfway up the first set of steps. “Where are you?” he asked, his breathing labored, his thigh hurting like a son of a bitch.

  “I’m in the living room.”

  “There’s fire. We have to get out. Now.” He made it back down the stairs and, propping himself against the wall, had to wait for his leg to stop throbbing.

  He heard Christy’s soft footsteps coming toward him. “I lit the fireplace,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  The fireplace. He sagged with relief. He forgot the house even had one.

  “Mike?”

  He heard the concern in her voice, and he pushed himself away from the wall, bringing himself up to full height.

  “I hope it was okay....”

  “Fine.” He turned to go back into his bedroom, but her hand on his arm stopped him. Every muscle in his body tightened at the gentle touch. The memory of her kiss, of her tongue sliding against his, of the soft moan of surrender she’d given, crashed in on him. “What do you want?” he demanded, unable to keep the desperation out of his tone.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Sorry for what? For the kiss? For offering your body to me if I needed a fuck? Making me realize that all I’ll ever get from a woman is pity because I’m a freakish monster?

  Her fingers slipped off his arm, and the loss was like a punch to the gut. He wanted her. God help him, he was ready to take the pity if that was all he could have. He hated himself for his weakness, but he’d been alone for what seemed like an eternity.

  Thunder shook the house, and he waited for Christy to reach for him, anticipated her arms closing around him as she sought comfort from her fears. But as the rumbling passed and she didn’t touch him, he wondered if he’d ruined all chances of her ever returning to his arms.

  He heard her sigh, but it wasn’t a sound of fear.

  “I have a problem,” she said.

  “So do I,” he snapped, surprising himself with the roughness of his voice.

  “I said I was sorry,” she snapped right back, almost making him smile. There was the woman who’d come into his house two weeks ago. “I can’t leave in the morning. I can’t get a hold of Beth so...well...I can’t leave until she can get here to pick me up.”

  “Why not? There’s a motel in Moonlight Cove. You can stay there until she comes. How old are you anyway? Why do you need your sister—” He cut himself off and wanted to kick his own ass. What was he doing? He really wasn’t that big of a jerk to throw her out in the cold. Especially since she had that anxiety disorder. He couldn’t.

  Christy growled like a snarling dog. “You are the biggest damn asshole I’ve ever met,” she shouted. “Okay! So maybe I sexually harassed you. I thought you wanted me. Forgive me for misinterpreting a big ol’ hard-on pressed against me. I said I was sorry. But you can’t just kick me out without notice. You can’t. I’m not going anywhere until my sister gets here, and that’s final. I’ll stay in my room if I have to. I’ll make sure you never see me...er...hear me...whatever! God!”

  Her outburst shocked him. She was right. He was being an asshole. And he did want her. But he didn’t want her damn pity. He wanted her to want him. All of him. But what woman in her right mind could look past the scars? He knew what he looked like—or at least had a pretty good idea from what he could feel. He had only half a face. His eye was missing for God’s sake.

  She didn’t seem to be having any anxiety now as she stood up to him and his attitude. “Did you take a pill tonight?” he asked.

  Silence.

  “I mean, you aren’t crying tonight, and there’s thunder and—”

  “I don’t believe this. I’m not afraid of thunder. And you shouldn’t have been in my room to see me that way, anyway. You came into my room, not the other way around, so you started this whole mess.”

  She sounded absolutely disgusted with him, and she had every right. But that didn’t stop him from finding the humor in her words. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall. “I wasn’t the one screaming down the walls,” he reminded her. “And I didn’t hear you telling me to get out. As I recall, you latched on to me like a leech.”

  “Yeah, that’s really something to get turned on by,” she said, her tone scoffing.

  He shrugged and decided honesty was the only course with her. “When you haven’t touched a woman in ten years, it doesn’t take much.”

  “Then why’d you push me away this afternoon?”

  He flinched at the softly spoken question. Maybe honesty wasn’t so good here. He scrubbed his hand over his face, felt his scars, and cringed. Just the fact she’d kissed him there... He shook his head.

  “Maybe the voice was right,” she mumbled.

  He frowned. “What?”

  She sighed again, and he wondered if she’d hyperventilate.

  “Look. I’m hungry. I’m going to make some food. Do you want something since you never ate anything all day?”

  She was still willing to cook for him after he told her to get out of his house? “Uh...sure.” He needed to tell her he’d overreacted.

  “Fine. Go in the living room. The house is too cold, especially the kitchen. I’ll rewarm your sandwich.”

  “Chris—”

  “Just...drop it. Okay? I’ll get out as soon as I can. But I’m not going back up to my room tonight. It’s too cold, and I think there’s a shingle loose on the roof or something. How is anyone supposed to sleep with that thing banging in the wind?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  A small smile caught him off guard, but he tried to stop it from showing. Little Christy had spunk. She was a lot like her sister. She might have an anxiety problem, but she wasn’t going to let anyone walk all over her. He admired that.

  So why the hell was she willing to have sex with him?

  Chapter Five

  Christy grabbed Mike’s sandwich out of the fridge and popped it in the microwave, then she went back for more sandwich makings to put together for herself.

  She couldn’t believe she’d yelled at him. Not that anything she said hadn’t been true, but she wasn’t normally confrontational. She figured it was probably fear that spurred her on. She’d rather stand up to him than face the world beyond the front door by herself.

  God, she’d almost sent herself into a panic just thinking about it. Her damn sister was avoiding her calls; she just knew it. Beth always answered her cell because it might be a client. She shouldn’t have told her what the problem was on the voice mail. She should have just asked her to call.

  Why the hell was Beth so adamant she be here? Mike didn’t want her here, which made the living situation untenable. She had to leave before he called the cops and had her removed. He’d tell them she was a squatter or something.

  Jeez, a squatter who heard voices. They’d lock her up for sure.

  She stacked beef, lettuce and tomatoes on the whole grain bread and slapped another slice on top, shoved the extras back in the fridge—she’d arrange everything to Mike’s liking in the morning—and grabbed his sandwich out o
f the microwave when it beeped.

  “Here,” she said as she walked into the living room to find him seated on the end of the sofa. “Take this. Twelve o’clock.”

  He reached out and wrapped his long, strong fingers around the edges of the plate, the tips brushing the back of her hand in the process. She ignored the tingles racing up her arm and set her own plate on the table at the other end of the sofa. “I’ll get your coffee.”

  She poured him a cup from the carafe that had sat on the burner all day. It smelled a little burned, but she didn’t really care. He deserved it. He was the one hiding in his room all day. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge then headed back to the living room. He was already halfway through his sandwich. Uh huh, she thought. He’s a bit hungry after avoiding the kitchen all day.

  Serves him right.

  She sat down on the opposite end of the couch, curled her icy feet under her, and held out the coffee mug to him. “Three o’clock. And it’s hot, so be careful.”

  He set his sandwich on the plate on his lap and reached out with both hands for the mug. She turned it around so the handle faced him and was able to avoid touching him this time.

  After he sipped the acrid coffee without so much as a grimace, he carefully set the mug on the end table and went back to devouring his sandwich. It was gone in two minutes flat.

  She picked up her own and glanced at it. She wasn’t really hungry. “Want another?”

  “Please.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at his politeness now as she removed his empty plate from his lap and set hers there. “It’s not a hot one this time.”

  “That’s fine,” he said as he picked it up. “You’re a really good cook.”

  She snorted. “Going for compliments and politeness now, are we?” Biting her lip, she cringed. That wasn’t supposed to have come out of her mouth.

  Stop being such a witch, the voice said, making Christy grit her teeth.

  She was not going to respond to it anymore. Not ever. It could just go the hell away!