The Cursed Incubus

Chapter 4: Cortado

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I jolt up at the sound of my alarm clock. Picking up my phone, I turn it off. My body is covered with a sheen of sweat and as I move to get up, I notice a wet spot in my underwear. God, I've never had a dream like that before. Liz's phone call must have crept its way into my subconscious before I fell asleep last night.

Stumbling over to the bathroom, I pause in front of the mirror. A flash of red stands out, a small cut on my bottom lip. Maybe I cut it in my sleep...

After a quick, cold shower, I blow dry my hair with the diffuser attachment, attempting to somewhat organize my curls and do my skincare routine. It's August in Salem, so I dress in a mesh white turtleneck with tan overalls, throwing on my docs before heading downstairs. My footsteps echo down the hallway as I make my way to the kitchen, every step makes me more nervous for what's to come.

Mom and Dad immigrated to the states from India before I was born, which wasn't ever too much of a problem growing up in San Francisco. Our neighborhood was a melting pot, so I never stood out there. Then two weeks after Dad's passing, Mom met Mark and we moved to a different part of the city. I was pissed – no – I am pissed about her moving on so fast. Moving to North San Fran and transferring to a private high school made matters even worse. Being the only brown person in a sea of white...

Well, it sucked.

In high school no one would sit by me because my packed lunches 'smelled funny' and the boys that spoke to me treated me like an exotic dessert rather than a person.

Then Liz came along. My best and only friend. She made it bearable, tolerable even. She started at Boston University a few weeks ago, but I decided to wait until January to join her. I need to work, save up some money, pick a major, etc. There's a lot of reasons I postponed starting school this semester, but the main one...

I want sex.

Hot, passionate, kinky sex. With someone older, wiser, more experienced than myself. Someone that won't look at me like some exotic dessert like the boys from my high school. If only such a man existed. Seeing as we are in New England, my sexpectations are low. It's probably going to be just like North San Fran.

I run my fingers over my lips, remembering the feeling of long fingernails tugging my bottom lip down. His forked tongue underneath the seam of my panties... fuck that was one hell of a dream. That man - or monster I guess - would be perfect for what I want.

Best not to think about that right now. Focus on the present.

My stomach growls loudly as I reach the kitchen. Mark stands at the island, sipping his coffee while reviewing his sermon notes. After setting his cup down he notices me and frowns. "Saanvi, I'd appreciate if you made an effort in your appearance, at least on Sundays."

Asshole.

"I have to work at the coffee shop after church." I huff, going to pour myself a cup. Mom walks into the kitchen shortly afterwards.

"Aw, sweetie you look cute!" She comes over and kisses the top of my head. I don't miss the frown on Mark's face at her complement.

"Seems a bit casual for church..." Mark mutters, still looking down at his notes. Thankfully, Mom ignores him.

I bounce my knee the entire 45-minute car ride to church as anxiety pounds through my bloodstream.

The sermon is a repeat of one he did four years ago; I try to listen but the feeling of eyes on the back of my head is too distracting. I fling my head around to watch in disbelief as several people look away. You'd think they'd never seen melanin by the way they were staring.