Page 3 of Cursed Love
“I was busy,” he mumbled.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sucked in a deep breath as she imagined smothering him with her pillow. Her eyes flew open at the sound of a loud thump, and she froze at the sight.
“Br-hel-ee-hel—” Greg’s words were muffled. Some unknown force had pushed him against the door, and a pillow—her pillow—smothered him.
“Oh my God!” she said and rushed forward. She raised her hand to grab the pillow and watched it fall to the ground as if on command.
Greg raised his fists and looked around. As he tried to find the source of his attack, she stared at her pillow. She did not know what had just happened. Brandy glanced at her fingers and wiggled them. They tingled more than before she had gone to bed. The odd sensation moved up her arms.
“Where is he?” he asked, the slur from before gone.
Lowering her hands to her sides, she tilted her head. “Where is who?”
“Whoever you’re sleeping with who just tried to suffocate me,that’swho!”
Brandy could only blink back. He had to be kidding. She peered from Greg to the half-slept-in bed and back. His wrongful accusation piled onto her mounting anger. “You’re kidding… right?”
“I see how you look at Dan down the hall. It’s him, isn’t it?” Greg yelled as he stepped into their bathroom. “Where are you, Dan? You little pussy. Can’t get your own woman?”
Brandy heard the shower curtain ripped aside, and she clenched her jaw in shock. Greg stormed into the room and moved to their closet. He searched one area and then another, all the while murmuring vicious words.
Brandy’s heart ached with the hurt he inflicted. “How can you say those things to me? You’re the one who can’t account for his whereabouts last night.”
“What are you? My keeper? I was watching the game—in peace—at the bar.” Greg knelt at the side of their bed and looked underneath. If anyone hid under there, they would have to be the size of a child, if that. “What wereyoudoing? Letting Dan touch what’s mine?”
Brandy’s vision blurred with anger. She couldn’t remember a time where she was this upset or angry, not even in the seventh grade when the mean girls had dubbed her Bloody Brandy. It went on for a week after her first accident during her period, until her brothers had taught them a lesson. The tingling in her fingers hummed as an eerie warmth filled her body.
“For the record,Gregory,” she said in a calm voice she didn’t recognize. “I was withmy familycelebratingmy birthday.”
The bedroom light flickered, and he swallowed thickly. “Baby, I’m—”
She was done with his apologies. “No. It’smyturn to talk. You come in here, drunk, and accusemeof stepping out onyou?You forgot my birthday! I cansmella woman’s perfume mixed in with that booze on your breath.”
The more she said, the stronger the anger pulsed in her body. Brandy was done. She was over defending this poor excuse of a man to her family. They were right. Shediddeserve better.
Greg’s eyes widened to saucers, and movement caught her eyes. Brandy did a double take when she spotted her lamp hovering in midair. Looking around, she found random objects orbiting the room.
Shock replaced the anger Greg’s words had brought to life only seconds before, and each item bounced once before dropping to the ground. Her lamp landed on a pillow with a thud as the sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the room. Neither of them spoke as they stared with slack jaws.
Brandy tried understanding what happened but couldn’t. One minute she was reaming him out, and the next her room had a reduced gravitational pull. She caught Greg’s eyes and found them filled with fear as he stumbled back.
“Whatareyou?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“You made things… made them…” He took another step back and bumped into the wall.
“I didn’t do anything!” she yelled, except she didn’t know if it was a lie or not. Brandy curled her fingers to stop herself from scratching her now-itchy palms. The tingling sensation from before spread up her arms to her neck. She was pretty sure she was losing her mind.
“I’m out of here. Please don’t hurt me. You can keep everything,” he rambled as he slithered against the wall toward the door. When he was three feet away from the exit, she watched him run away like she was about to attack.
When the door slammed shut behind Greg, Brandy was overwhelmed with a mix of relief and fear. It seemed they were done. She was surprisingly okay with that fact. Looking around the room, she checked to see if anything else had moved on its own.
She tried to make sense of what had just transpired in her room. She’d been livid, before some of her things were doing circles around them—not to mention the notebook he claimed she'd thrown at him, which she hadn’t, or the pillow that had smothered him all on its own.
Brandy carefully walked across the room and sat on the edge of her bed. There was glass, ceramic, and shards of a lightbulb splattered across her rug. She slid her fingers into her hair and cradled her head.
“There has to be a rational explanation for what just happened,” she whispered. There was no way she could have done any of that… could she?
