Free Cursed by Charmaine Ross Page B

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.

Chapter Eight
    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