Page 1 of Tate: Gemini King

one

Natasha

Be careful when performing this spell. Remember that all energy you put out there into the universe will come back to you times-three.

I run my finger beneath the instructions to make sure I’m reading the spell correctly. Give me a damn break. I have tried numerous magic spells to manifest love from social media and not one of them has worked. The only reason I’m dipping my toe into these scammy ass spells a fourth time is because if I don’t cast this curse successfully — I will catch a damn case.

What do I mean by that? I mean I will act on my written plan to murder my roommate, Tate Whitmarsh. Spiritually, of course. Lying in bed, gazing into my phone screen at the spell, over the sound of my noise machine turned to its maximum volume, I can hear him snoring. His snoring sounds like a 747 taking off and landing and taking off again… and landing… And unlike a Boeing, the screws aren’t flying off of Tate and sending him into the ocean. Ugh.

I can’t stand his annoying ass. If Tate’s snoring was the only terrible part about living with him, I would buy a pair of headphones to wear over the earplugs and call it a day. But he’s the worst roommate I’ve ever had and I didn’t even choose to live with him. Finding a roommate in a small town is even harder than finding a man and considering how long I’ve been single, that’s saying something.

I got myself in a situation because my previous roommate sold her virginity to some psychopath billionaire online to get her student debt paid off and the only person who would sublet her apartment for the rest of the year with me was this motherfucker. He somehow recently got a job with the fire department, despite his face tattoos and the rest of his stupid asshole personality. She must have known I would never have agreed to this if I met him first.

All she told me was that he was an employed, sexy white man. I told her that I wasn’t attracted to white men and didn’t find any of them sexy, but what did my stupid ass do after that? I signed the lease and my friend unloaded the rent for her two-bedroom apartment on me and that goddamn monster.

No wonder Tate’s old roommate wanted him gone. I should have known $200 a month for a room was too good to be true. My other friends tried to warn me but I told them they wouldn’t know a good deal if it smacked them on the ass. I’m the one who looks like a clown now. I’m talking Bozo, not It.

The only thing that could make this situation worse is if Tate did something stupid and got a dog. He’s exactly the type of guy to adopt a dog with no plan for taking care of it. See? Tate is the type of man who will have you angry about things he hasn’t even done yet. I exhale slowly, letting the rage float through my body to my fingertips. Rage is important for magic spells. I think.

Okay, focus, Natasha.

I re-read the ingredients for the spell.

Small pink sachet

3 chest hairs or pubic hairs

1 tsp cayenne pepper

3 bay leaves

3 opened safety pins

1 cotton ball

3 tsps chewed tobacco

turpentine

I have a mesh pink sachet in my possession already along with all the other ingredients, except for the tobacco, which I haven’t chewed yet.

The directions are clear:

Open your pink sachet and place the cayenne, bay leaves, and cotton ball.

Saturate with turpentine

Chew tobacco and spit into the sachet

Sprinkle chest or pubic hairs into the bag

Bury outside during a full moon after saying the incantation below THREE TIMES

Even though I'm twenty-three years old, I’ve never bought tobacco before. I didn’t even know what to ask for but luckily, I had a better source of tobacco than the gas station. Nasty ass Tate indulges in every form of tobacco known to man, so I stole a handful of raw tobacco from his stash which the spell says I have to chew right now. My hand shakes nervously as I place the teaspoons of tobacco into my cupped palm. The apartment rattles from Tate’s next loud snore. My motivation gets stronger as the windows clatter.

This motherfucker…

He’s 6’8” of pure muscle, otherwise I would smother him instead of resorting to curses. You grow up hearing not to mess with the devil, witchcraft and all that evil shit, which I completely understand. Unfortunately, that advice was for women of a different time, who didn’t have roommates like Tate.

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