Page 17 of The Cursed Chalice
“Dude?”
“Man, you’re sick.”
I turn to see an average-height boy with a tan complexion and green eyes. He is wearing a green cap backward.
“I am not about to show you my underwear,” I reply.
“Yeah, you are,” Green Eyes replies.
“Um, guys, I am going to call the police,” the cashier states.
They all turn back and laugh.
“Now, drop those drawers, sweet face.”
That was it. I had enough. An abusive ex, a horrid wedding day, selling my dress, about to sleep in a roach motel. My life is about to be fucking ruined.
“Men are the new bitches, aren’t they?” I turn to walk away, and I have no idea what happens. Maybe it’s the Tae Bo CD that I use for exercise, but my feet kick forward hard, connecting with Green Eyes’ balls. As he bends over in pain, my fist and his chin meet. He falls down to the floor, groaning in pain. I don’t stay. I leap over him while they all stand in shock. I run as fast as I can, returning to the motel and to my room.
I can hear their voices in the street.
“Where the fuck is she?” one of them screams.
I step inside, shut the door, and turn the lock. Leaning on the door, I sigh and laugh softly. I can’t believe I just did that. I feel…powerful. I switch on the light, and I almost turn it off.
Mold. That’s the first thing I smell. I can’t see it in the room. But I know it’s there. A full-size bed sits in the middle of the room. The brown and maroon sheets look like they have seen better days. A wooden table and chair sat in the far corner of the room with a lamp with no lampshade on it.
Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into?
To my left sits a small AC unit below the window. I step to it and press the power button. It coughs, sounding like an old woman who smokes cigarettes, but there was a cold breeze coming out of it.
At least that’s a good thing. I drop the bag on the table and poke my head into the open door of the bathroom. You know, it could be worse. Beige tiles and a white—well, it used to be white—vintage tub. The shower has no showerhead, just a steel pipe protruding out of the wall. The toilet and sink are both white and basic.
Okay, it’s not so bad. I kick the threshold of the bathroom door, and four German roaches run out. I scream, scampering back into the bedroom.
I grab the Raid and begin to execute every roach in sight. I should open a window. But I need all the roaches to die. However, I don’t want to die from Raid inhalation. I shuffle to the window and crack it open.
I grab the mulberry wine and pop the cork. Drinking on an empty stomach was a bad idea.
I take a sip and grimace. “This wine tastes like a bad decision.” But I had a day of bad decisions, right?
I chuckle to myself, thinking about how crazy this day has been. I am a runaway bride who was saved by a…
What was Moira? A witch? A fairy? Was she even real, or was my brain developing a new coping mechanism?
No, she was real. And so was the chalice. I take it out of my tote, and it feels hot in my hands again.
“I should give you a gentle cleaning.” I take another gulp of the wine, and grab the dish liquid.
It takes me ten minutes to clean the chalice.
I dry it with a paper towel.
“You are exquisite.” I hold it up to the light, loving the soft shine of the gold.
I drift a little while walking back to the bed.
The chalice twinkles in my hand. “You’re divine.” I trace my hands slowly over the vines and the woman.
