I hadn’t been with anyone since Paige. Not one girl. I tried. A year after we’d split, she’d gotten married, and I figured out she would never come back. I’d seen a few chicks, but it always ended at the first kiss. My life, the love I had for her, I’d never find it again, and I fucking hated her for ruining me, for stealing my soul.
She destroyed you.
“Declan.” I answered a bit too late, and I watched as the puzzlement flashed across her features.
I should have asked her what her name was, but I didn’t care. She was pretty. I liked that she was an odd little thing. I liked that she kept looking down at my art pad and that her eyes glittered with excitement. I ran my hand through my hair, and her eyes trailed along my bicep.
“My name’s Kate.” She offered me her hand, and I stared at it as she giggled. “I don’t bite.”
I took her hand and the heat of it felt foreign in my grip. The bone structure too fine. A sick thought hissed through my consciousness of how easy she could break under my touch, under my body, under the weight of my sickness. Her skin felt nice below my thumb, and I wished I could shut everything out, wished I could pretend I was just some guy at a bar, and she was just mine for the night, a chance to escape. Maybe I should take it.
You’ll shatter her.
“It’s nice to meet you, Declan.” Her eyes were a dark brown, and the lack of color made me smile. A faint rose filled her cheeks, and I wanted, just this once, the ability to feel something. To have someone.
I nodded just as her friend called to her that they were leaving. She grabbed my pencil from the table and wrote her number on the blank piece of paper next to my drawing.
“Call me.” She stood and gave me a once over. Her stare lingered over the muscles in my chest as she grinned.
I didn’t give her a second notice as she turned to leave. I grabbed my things, placed them in my bag, and took one last sip of water. She didn’t want to know me, she didn’t need to be compared to the something I’d never have again. The paper crumbled under my fist as I balled it up and threw it in the trash.
Taco Tuesday. Another week, another day, another tradition I didn’t plan. Clark prattled on about his day, and I found myself lost in my thoughts. The only thing to pull me from my trance was the tangy smell of cilantro as it assaulted my senses. It was his favorite, and I had to make sure I always had it on hand.
“Why do you love me?” It eased past my lips like a dare.
Not really giving him eye contact, I ripped pieces of lettuce into manageable portions. The silence was a loud roar in my ears, and it took effort to even my breathing as my eyes stayed trained on the counter awaiting his answer.
“Paige? Are we doing this again?” Clark exhaled with an irritated puff, and the knife in his hand came to an abrupt stop.
I dragged my eyes to his, leaving the lettuce on the counter. His dull gray irises looked at me with disappointment. I wasn’t what he thought I should be. I’d been a mirage, and I’d slowly given myself over to his needs, tried to become what he desired, but lost myself in my Stepford way of life. Paige… I was the wife with a perfect smile and the perfect hair and make-up. The house was always clean. I went to church every Sunday. I attended, but I wasn’t truthful to the Savior like I should’ve been. It was bland, my life, and sometimes I let myself drift into the unknown, drift into one of my internal paintings, my past sketches, wondering if I’d ever draw again. Everything in my life looked as it should. Everything in its place, but the one thing he wanted I couldn’t give. I couldn’t have children. I couldn’t supply and replenish the Earth, his seed never took, and I never really converted. Well, that last part was what he truly thought. Even if he didn’t say it, it was there, in the way he reprimanded me when I forgot to say my nightly prayers or if I didn’t read the scriptures like I should.
Maybe if I had truly converted, gave myself to the Savior, I could’ve had a baby. It was his mantra, for the past eight years, but I’d destroyed that chance when I was eighteen, and there was no blessing the pastor could give to fix it.
“Why, Clark?” I wanted to shout it, but instead it was just a whisper.
“Do you need to call your mother?” He dropped his eyes to the cutting board continuing his work, and shook his head.
I grit my teeth and my anxiety grew as I found the strength to say what I should have said three weeks ago. “You slept with her. And you said you didn’t love her, that it was a mistake. You said you loved me, but when I ask you why, you never give me a real answer.”
The knife he held in his hand shook as he tried to still his anger. Clark’s nostrils flared. “It was a mistake.” He dropped the knife, and the metal clanged against the granite surface of the counter, missing the cutting board.
Clark wiped his hands on the dishrag next to the sink. He ran his fingers through his jet black hair and exhaled. His broad shoulders relaxed as his eyes met my now tear-filled gaze. He hesitated, and his lips parted then closed into a thin line.
“Why do you love me?” I asked again, my voice tremored as he moved toward me.
His cool fingers gripped my chin. “I don’t.” His tone was just as empty as those steel eyes.
I swallowed down my sob.
“But we’re married, for better or for worse, in God’s eyes, you’re mine, and even if I don’t love you, you’re my wife, and you’ll do what you can to change my feelings.” He gave me a soft smile, dropping his tight grip on my chin, and the acid bubbled up my throat. The air in my lungs seized. I closed my eyes to control my panic. He’d been cold, but never this cold.
I’d asked for it.
The scraping of the knife was the only sound in the kitchen, as Clark started prepping for dinner again, and I finally opened my eyes. I watched in silence. Clark had never been what I’d pictured for myself. He was handsome, strong, had a great job at his father’s practice as a physician’s assistant. His father was my father’s partner at Canyon Internal Medicine Clinic. Our marriage? That had been chosen by our parents. My life had fallen apart just after high school, and being with Clark, joining Midway Heights Christian Church of the Savior, had been my only salvation. Together for nine years, married for eight, he’d saved me from my past, my damnation. My parents and I had decided to join his father’s church and they were faithful followers. The church was a mix of popular Christian beliefs. It pulled from all Christian-based faiths. His father was the founder of the first Utah branch and, after what I’d done, after Declan, my heart skipped at the thought of his name, I needed something, anything to pull me from Hell. I’d been just as faithful as my mom and dad had been, gave myself to my husband in every way I could. I had tried, but the more I asked questions, and the more I sought out answers, all I found were closed doors.
“Paige.” He finished chopping and scooped the cilantro into the bowl I’d gotten out of the cupboard earlier. “Hand me those tomatoes.” His smile was tight, and I realized he was going to push what he’d said under the rug, like he always did.
The heat in my cheeks drifted to the tips of my ears. My anger bloomed through my chest and it made it impossible to stop my hands from shaking as I grabbed the tomatoes and placed them on the cutting board. He’d cheated. He’d had sex with the church nursery advisor. He’d had an affair for months. I’d always suspected he’d cared for Cheryl, but I’d only caught him because he’d been distracted and messaged me a salacious text instead of her. When I confronted him, he didn’t deny it, he said he had needs, and that I hadn’t been the wife I should’ve been. I’d gone to the pastor, spoke with him, and he’d told Clark’s father. We’d both—both—had to serve penance. Clark, for his infidelity, and me because I’d led him astray. That was the day I knew I wasn’t meant for this faith. I wasn’t a true follower of the Savior, because my God, my Christ, the Creator I prayed to every night, would have never punished me for the sins of my husband. My Savior already knew my crime, and I’d never wash it away, never pray it away, I’d never be clean of it. My Sa
vior had already doled out my sentence.
I sucked in a ragged breath gaining every last bit of courage I had. “I want a divorce.”
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I want a divorce,” I spoke just above a whisper.
“No.” He gripped the dishrag in his hand and twisted his fingers through it. The red juice of the tomatoes stained the bleached white fabric.
“You don’t love me,” I tried.
He stood still. Calculating. Clark’s eyes looked past me, through me, measuring every sin I’d committed, every piece of ammunition he could use to wound me. “I don’t.”
“Then let me leave,” I pleaded.
He shook his head. “You belong to me, we were married before God.”
“Clark, you were unfaithful… before God.” My tone held all the acid that churned in my gut.
“You’re a murderer.” The words slithered over his lips.
It wasn’t a surprise he’d call me that, it was what kept me. It was the truth that bound me to him, to God, to my inability to have children. I’d never be free of my sin, no matter what punishments life held, but I was tired, tired of living through a suffocating death.
“I am.” I ran my sweaty hands down my light tan, linen pants once, and then again, as I tried to iron out the wrinkles from the day, a habit I’d acquired. “But, I’ve paid the price. I’m paying it every day, while you get to do whatever the hell you want.”
He growled, “Don’t swear in this home.”
“This isn’t a home, it’s a prison.” I raised my voice and my heart hammered, and my pulse was like a drum in my chest, but I felt it. I felt something.
His movement was quick, and I hadn’t a chance to react as he gripped his hands around my arms. “You’ll get nothing. You. Are. Nothing.”
The words should have sliced me open, bled me dry, but I’d known his truths for years.
“I know.” My voice cracked as he shoved me away and tears singed my cheeks.
His chest was heaving with suppressed rage, and for the first time in nine years, I felt actual fear. He didn’t want me, he wanted something to control, someone to berate, someone to put down to make himself feel better.
“I wanted a family. I wanted a woman who could actually be a wife. You should have stayed with that crazy piece of trash.” He smirked, sharpening his verbal knife. “But, he didn’t want you either not after—”
“Stop it.” My voice was cold, dead, and terrified. “Stop it, Clark.”
His smile dissipated and his mask of indifference fell into place. “Get out.”
The tree-lined street was still lit by the setting sun, and the neighborhood kids giggled and shrieked as they weaved their bikes through the looming old tree trunks. My car idled as I checked the address on the curb. This was it, I had nowhere else to go, and when I’d dialed Lana’s old number I’d suspected that it would’ve been disconnected, but it hadn’t. I didn’t grab a stitch of clothing from my closet, just my purse, keys, phone, and I’d left. I left. I couldn’t go to my parents, they’d talk me into staying with Clark. They had so much tied up in his family, in the church, they’d never let me leave.
Lana’s place was a cute, little, red brick house, with a heavy looking wood and stained-glass front door. The street was quaint, and I wondered if she lived here with her own family or if she lived here alone. I hadn’t seen my once-best-friend since my wedding day. My past life was completely prohibited, and because she was my one and only link to my life before Clark, before the church, she was cut out.
I turned off the engine and stepped from the car into an oven. This summer was the hottest I could remember, and as I moved toward her front door, tendrils of heat curled around my bare ankles. The front door opened before I even had the chance to make it to the porch.
“Well, shit, if it isn’t little Mrs. Holy Roller… in the fucking flesh.” Lana’s smile broke across her face.
My eyes dropped to the ground at the sound of the harsh words. My body stopped automatically, and my anxiety grew.
“Paige?” Lana was close, close enough to hug, but my breathing became shallow as her familiar scent filled my lungs. The words, the heat, everything burst all at once, and a sob wracked from my lips.
“What did he do to you?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around me. My knees wobbled. The stress of my life weighed down upon me in that one second and I almost couldn’t stand. Lana’s arms tightened around my body, my own arms fixed at my sides.
“I don’t know who I am anymore.” It was the only thing I could say, it was the only truth I had.
“I know who you are, I always have.” She squeezed me tighter as if she was struggling to hold all my broken pieces together.
The moment I was through her front door it all came crashing down. Her house was filled with warmth, color, clutter—life. Books spilled from her shelves, her couches were hand-me-downs from her grandmother. I’d recognize those sofas anywhere. Lana had been adopted by her grandmother because her parents were always in and out of jail for drugs. Before my parents turned into self-righteous zealots, they’d once loved Lana, like their own.
“How is your grandmother?” I asked as I set down my bag on her scratched up coffee table.
“Dead as a doornail, the old bat finally croaked.” She smiled at my wide eyes. “It’s okay, I use humor to suppress my deep-seated sadness. I’m truly a dark spirit.”
I was afraid to smile, but the corners of my lips had other thoughts, and a slow grin spread across my face.
“And, there she is, folks. Paige Simon, welcome to my humble abode.” Lana’s smile stretched wider. “I’m glad you called me, I’ve missed you. I just made some tea, do you want a cup?”
I was about to shake my head, I wasn’t allowed to have tea, but I paused. I’d left him, them—everything. “Yes, that would be really nice, thank you.”
“I’ll get it, have a seat. Relax, the Inquisition starts soon.” She nodded toward the couch and I complied.
The place was small. Just a kitchen to the right with a breakfast bar that opened into the living room, and down the hall a few rooms, maybe. “This place is—”
“A tiny, little rabbit hole.” She laughed as she grabbed cups from the cabinet and poured the tea. She didn’t take long, no cream, no sugar, no fuss, as she sat down next to me. The steam smelled like spiced oranges, and I immediately felt relaxed. “This house… it’s good for now. Blow on it, Paige, it’s hot…” I did as I was told then took a small sip as she continued, “But yeah, I bought it after my grandmother died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s life, she was old. She lived a good life, besides, it made it really difficult to bring men home when you live with a ninety year old.” Her lips turned up at the corners.
“Never married?” I asked over the rim of my mug, and she rolled her eyes.
“Hell, no. I’m working on my doctoral thesis, I don’t have time for men.” She smirked. “Well, at least not for the long haul. I like dating professors, it’s a sickness.” She laughed again and pulled her straight and shiny, chin-length, dark chocolate hair behind her ears. Her green eyes searched mine and her brows knotted. Her jovial expression turned serious. “Did he hurt you?”
My hands trembled as I placed my mug on the coffee table. “No,” I said. “And, yes. He had an affair.”
I spent the next hour cataloging the last eight years of my life. The emotional abuse, the constant ridicule. I told her all of it. How we couldn’t have children, how I’d lost myself in religion, lost myself in a marriage, an ownership… anything, anything to help me forget my unforgivable crime. I’d done everything I could do to save myself, save my life after I’d taken one. I was so close to death, so close to ending it all after I’d left Declan. His name, twice now I’d let it slip through. It stirred something inside of me, the sleeping monster’s eyes opened, and I asked, “Do you ever see him?”
“Who?” Lana glanced over my featu
res. The fear must have drained my cheeks because she whispered, “Declan?”
I nodded.
“On occasion.” Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine.
“How… how is he?” It was a stupid question. I had no right to know, and when Lana let her gaze meet mine, I wished I’d never asked.
“I heard it was rough for him, Paige, I mean… I’ve only seen him a few times, at this place called Bellows. I go there sometimes with friends from school. He looks… good,” she added with a chipper beat. “But, if I’m being honest, how you left things, I’m not sure someone like him could recover from that.”
Lana always wanted to be a social worker, help kids like her, but she always said the system was broken, and she’d have to figure out a way to fix it. Child psych, it was her thing.
“I know.” The guilt ate holes in my stomach every day. “Where’s the restroom?”
“Down the hall. Second door on the left. You alright?”
I didn’t smile, but I nodded. I was grateful for the short distance and the plush bathroom floor rug as I kneeled and emptied bile from my throat into the toilet. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead as I wiped my mouth with a piece of toilet paper and threw it in the trash. I took several shaky breaths as I bowed down and started to pray. The hushed words rushed from my lips as I let myself remember, remember him—remember Declan.
I mumbled, “Heavenly Father, please forgive me, forgive my sin, forgive my sin, forgive my sin, please help me, help me… help him, please… please… please—” my voice broke, and I rocked back and forth as I brought my right hand to my womb. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Black, white, black, white, bright blinding flashes flickered through the open blinds. It wasn’t the train rumbling past that had woke me. The grating sound of steel on steel was a welcomed friend. It created certainty when I couldn’t decipher between dreams and realities. Sweaty, naked, wet sheets, clammy skin, each breath I took was a desperate choke of air. Gray sheets, black blanket, large, framed murals, art, my art, I was in my room. I lifted my hands to my face and rubbed my eyes as I sat up. My fingers raked through my hair. It had been a dream that pulled me from peace. An idyllic morbid fantasy. I pulled the sheets back and sat at the edge of the bed, watching the flashes of light, letting myself remember, letting the voices eat me alive.
Possession Page 2
