Free Cursed-epub by Ann Mayburn

point of dry heaving.
    Didn't he see yesterday how clumsy she was, how her dancing was amateurish at best? She could still remember the look of disgust on Sean's face as she tried to teach him how to dance, how he’d recoiled from her touch. For a moment, another memory surfaced—the feeling of his lips crushed against hers as they swayed together in perfect rhythm. A sharp burst of cold pain in her head accompanied that image, and she pressed her fingers to her temples in an effort to alleviate the ache. Once the pain faded she couldn't remember what she had been thinking.
    Sean's face and his slate-colored eyes kept on popping up in her thoughts. A brief surge of happiness filled her, quickly replaced by shame and embarrassment. He’d been so kind to say those nice lies to her. He must have felt sorry for her when he saw her pathetic attempt at belly dancing and wanted to make her feel better. Sean was out of her league; so far above her that she couldn't even see him.
    Briefly, she stroked a hand over her pocket. In it was a stolen CD liner from Fatima's DJ Kal CD, and it had Sean's picture on the back. At least she had this to remember him by. In a week, he would be long gone, having moved on to whatever adventures and beautiful women his life must be filled with. And she would still be Carmella, seamstress and Dianta's whipping post. It was all that she could ever hope for.
    The jerk of the bus knocked her out of her depressing thoughts. A green-painted grocery store with its graffiti-stained walls signaled her stop. Moving past the sullen woman who clutched her purse and gave Carmella a glare, she shoved her way through the mass of bodies. The air outside the bus was a relief, even if it was thick and muggy. Not everyone used—or could afford—deodorant on the crowded bus.
    Head down, backpack clutched to her shoulders with both hands, she hustled as fast as she could down the sidewalk to her apartment. The pavement in the distance shimmered beneath waves of heat in the baking sun. Spring was just beginning in this part of the world, but it already felt like the dead of summer.
    The long, navy shirt she wore clung to her back with sweat. Cars zoomed past her with their expensive stereos blasting, the sound system often costing more than the decrepit vehicle itself. A couple of children in threadbare clothes ran by, and she had to spin to dodge them on the broken concrete of the sidewalk.
    Still hunched tight, she opened the iron gate to her apartment complex and blew out a grateful sigh. No one had tried to mug her, rape her, or sell her drugs on the way home. Maybe things were looking up.
    The smile quickly died on her lips as she saw the local pimp, Ramon, waiting for her in the doorway. He pitched the brown cigarette he was smoking into the struggling bushes and gave her a big smile. Gold teeth twinkled in the fading early evening light, and the pockmarks in his tan skin stood out in sharp relief. He flicked the collar of his black satin shirt and gave her a wink. “Carmella,” he purred at her. “Why do you hide that lovely body underneath those clothes?”
    The gate key still in her hand, Carmella remained frozen like a mouse in front of a snake. Ramon had been trying to get Carmella to whore for him since she moved in. So far she had managed to avoid him, but it her luck had run out.
    Pulling up her shoulders, she tried to appear tough and unafraid. As she climbed the concrete steps to the foyer, Ramon moved so he was right next to her. Pressing his groin against her hip, he pushed her into the metal railing of the stairs. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
    “Aye, senhora bonita . Why do you always run away from me? I can make you lots of money. You won't even have to work the streets. As pretty as you are, I'll put you in my strip club.” Ramon spoke into her ear, the smell of his cheap cologne and stale coffee washing over her.
    “Piss off, Ramon. I'm not for sale,” Carmella replied, hoping