The Curse Of Lucinda

The evening breeze was cold against my wet cheeks as I ran up the stairs to Damon and Dorian's apartment. I could barely see, and I had already wiped my face so many times that my palms were damp. I didn't bother knocking when I reached their door. I pushed it open and stumbled inside. "Damon! Dorian!" My voice cracked the moment I called their names. The apartment was warm and dim, with only the lamps in the living room and the soft yellow light from the kitchen lighting the place. I could smell them before I even saw them. Clean laundry, Dorian's cooking, their cologne, and that strange smell I had noticed so many times before. It was faint, almost impossible to notice unless I paid attention, but it was always there. Something warm and smoky, almost like burnt wood. Damon was sitting on the couch with his laptop open when he looked up at me. Dorian was standing in the kitchen, one hand resting on the counter. They both stopped what they were doing when they saw me. "Nomy?" I couldn't answer. The moment Damon got close enough, I grabbed him. "He's dead." His arms came around me immediately, catching me when my knees nearly gave out. "Who?" "Daniel." The name came out broken. I pressed my face against his chest and started crying harder. "Daniel is dead." Damon held me tighter and rubbed my back. "What happened?" "I don't know." I shook my head against his shirt. He smelled like his usual cologne, dark and warm, the same smell I had always liked. Underneath it was that faint smoky scent again. "I don't know what happened. We were together yesterday and he was fine. He was completely fine." Dorian had already come closer. "What happened to him?" "They found him this morning." I swallowed, but my throat hurt too much. "Behind the restaurant." Damon's hand continued moving slowly over my back. "Did they say how he died?" I pulled away enough to look at him. "They said it was a stroke." For a second, something changed in his face. "A stroke?" I nodded quickly. "That's what they said." My lips started trembling again. "I don't understand. He was fine yesterday. They said he was already dead when they found him. They said there was nothing they could do." My eyes filled with tears again. "I was just with him yesterday." Dorian walked back toward the kitchen. "Sit down." "I don't want to sit." "You're shaking." "I don't care." Damon gently took my face between his hands. "Nomy." I looked at him, and something about the way he said my name made me stop arguing. "Come on." He led me to the couch and sat me down beside him. I curled my legs underneath myself while Dorian moved around the kitchen. I watched him fill the kettle, his movements calm and unhurried. But Dorian was always calm, even when I was falling apart. He was the one who could sit beside me during a panic attack and somehow make me feel like everything was going to be okay. A few minutes later, he came back with a mug and placed it in my hands. "Here." The warmth immediately spread through my fingers. "What is it?" "Tea." "I know it's tea." He gave me a small smile. "Then why did you ask?" I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, another tear slipped down my cheek. Dorian sat in the chair opposite me. "Drink." I took a small sip. It was sweet and warm, with a little taste of cinnamon. I held the mug with both hands and stared down at it. For a while, nobody said anything. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the sounds coming from outside. I could hear cars passing on the road, people talking somewhere below and the occasional sound of a horn. The balcony door was slightly open, letting the evening breeze move through the room. The air smelled like rain. I wished I could feel peaceful, but my mind kept replaying the phone call. Miss Foster, I'm sorry to inform you... I squeezed my eyes shut. "Dorian." "I'm here." "What if it's me?" He didn't answer right away, so I opened my eyes and looked at him. "What if I'm actually cursed?" Damon stared at me for a moment before shaking his head. "You're not." "But this keeps happening." "I know." "Every time." My voice cracked again. "Every single time somebody starts liking me, they die." Dorian leaned back in his chair. "That doesn't mean you're cursed." "Then what does it mean?" "I don't know." I looked down at the tea in my hands. "My mum thinks something is attached to me." "Your mother thinks a lot of things." "Damon." "I'm serious." He reached over and took the mug from my hands before I could drop it. He placed it on the coffee table, then turned back to me and pulled me against him. "She also thinks people are nice." I didn't resist. I was too tired. I rested my head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. It was slow and steady, nothing like mine. "I hate this," I whispered. "I know." "I don't want anyone else to die." "They won't." I lifted my head and looked at him. "How do you know?" Damon looked down at me and brushed some of my hair away from my face. "Because we're here." I stared at him. "You have us." Something inside me loosened. It was stupid, maybe, but Damon and Dorian had always been there. A sudden crack of thunder rattled the balcony glass. My mind instantly flashed to being seven years old, curled under a scratchy wool blanket on their floor while light strobed against the window. Damon had sat with his back against my bedroom door, arms over his knees, while Dorian rhythmically tapped his knuckles against the wood floor to match the rhythm of my racing heart until the storm passed. The low hum of the air conditioner kicked on, pulling me back to the warm, dim couch. They had always been there for me. So maybe I wasn't completely alone. Maybe I wasn't cursed. Maybe there was another explanation for everything that had happened. I closed my eyes again. "Just breathe, Nomy," Dorian said softly from across the room. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Then I did it again. After a few more breaths, the tightness in my chest started to ease. My body was getting heavier against Damon, and my eyes were becoming harder to keep open. "I think I'm tired." "You should sleep," Dorian said. "I don't want to go home." "You don't have to." I opened my eyes again. "Can I stay here?" Damon didn't hesitate. "Of course." That was all I needed to hear. I curled closer to him, resting my cheek against his chest again. His arm stayed around me, warm and firm, while Dorian remained in the chair across from us. The apartment was quiet. The smoky smell seemed stronger now. Burnt wood. Something bitter. Something I couldn't name. My breathing slowly became steady. The sounds around me started fading, and the cool evening breeze continued brushing against my face through the open balcony door. Damon's heartbeat was the last thing I heard. Then everything disappeared into darkness. For a few minutes, neither of the twins moved. Damon waited until Naomi's breathing had settled before carefully adjusting her on the couch. He pulled a blanket over her and made sure her head was resting comfortably against the cushion. Dorian glanced toward Naomi before lowering his voice. "A stroke? Seriously? In a twenty-four-year-old athlete? People are going to ask questions." Damon's expression didn't change. "She believed it."