Possession

by Johnson, A. M.

  She’s gone.

  You ruined it, you let her go.

  She’s dead to you.

  Forget her.

  “No,” I said to the void in a tight whisper.

  Forgive her.

  Hate her.

  Love her.

  Gone.

  Useless. Useless. Useless.

  The train had finally passed, but the pounding in my head remained. I shut my eyes tight and pressed the heel of my palm into my temple. When I opened my eyes again, I was knelt down on the carpet, still naked; my canvas laid out before me. My hands were covered in whorls of color, and my fingers gripped a paint brush. I glanced at the red numbers on the clock. It was just past two in the morning. I shook my head. Time, time… I continued to lose it. I continued to fall into black holes. It didn’t matter how many fucking pills I popped, I belonged to the abyss, and no chemical on Earth would drag me from its depths. These… blank moments were few and far between, but lately, I welcomed them.

  The smell of paint saturated the air. I didn’t remember getting out of bed, I sure as hell didn’t remember creating this. I took in the painting in front of me. It was the brightest thing I’d painted since Paige. Since the after that had swallowed me whole. The buttery yellow glow of clear Christmas lights spilled across the canvas, two twisted figures, one black and one gray, embraced. A bulky pine tree lit with tiny balls of ghostly light sat in the corner. It wasn’t an exact rendering, the color was off, it was truth mixed with a false understanding, but if I stared at it long enough… I could almost taste her.

  It was the dream I’d had. The one that had woken me, the one that chilled my skin with beaded sweat, the one that now came to life with oil and pigment. But the memory, that real thing, it played behind my eyes.

  Red, green, white, and blue… the spectrum bounced off the white walls of the dimly lit and narrow hallway. Her smile pulled her cheeks into dimples, and I leaned in as she rested her back against the surface of the wall. Her hand trembled as she pulled the soft strands of her blonde hair behind her ear. I breathed her in. She smelled like rain, like comfort, like warm hues of light. My eager inexperienced lips found hers. The taste of candy canes spilled over my tongue, and her quiet sigh fueled my wavering control. We were too young to feel like this. I was too young to believe in forever and always. My mouth with hers forever. My hand fisted in her hair always. This rare moment… it felt as if I’d never wake up.

  The pressure built as her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling our bodies together. Her breasts flush against my chest. Her kiss stopped the voices completely, stopped the sound… stopped time.

  The loud laughter from the kitchen startled her and she pulled away. Paige’s lips spread so slowly into the sexiest grin I was sure I’d ever see.

  “Merry Christmas, Declan.”

  Her voice was velvet, gold, bright savage colors against my wet lips. She kissed me again, a lazy tease, before hiding her face in my neck with a giggle.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  I was fourteen when I kissed Paige in the hallway of her childhood home. We’d only been together a month. It was the beginning of everything. The beginning of something I thought would save me from myself, from the demons that possessed me. Little had I known, four years later Paige would destroy everything.

  A pornographic, female moan ripped me from sleep. A loud bang, a grunt, and another moan, another breathless sigh. Shit. The sun was up and baking the open paints I’d left out overnight on the floor. I got out of bed abruptly, grabbed my sweats and slipped them on. I quickly picked up a few bottles of paint and closed the lids, setting them on my work table. Shit. I tried not to look at the painting I’d created last night. I tried to push back the memory I’d had, and the time I’d lost, but it was pointless. The scene I’d masterfully placed on display spit curses at me.

  Tear it up. Cut it up, Declan.

  Destroy it.

  I didn’t let my eyes linger as I stepped over the canvas. I rummaged through my dresser drawer and grabbed the first t-shirt I could find. The sounds of my brother, Liam, fucking some chick just a wall away was starting to piss me off.

  You’re jealous.

  Listen. Listen. Listen.

  You’ll never have it, never feel it.

  I mumbled the lyrics of my favorite band, Brand New, in an attempt to ignore the antagonistic hiss of voices playing through my head. I slipped my phone and earbuds off the top of the dresser. I turned on some music and placed the white buds in my ears. The deep bass, the angry rhythm, I closed my eyes and drowned it all out. The painting, last night... forgotten. My bathroom wasn’t connected to my room, unfortunately, so I skipped my normal morning routine in effort to give my brother some privacy. My pills were in the kitchen anyway, I could shower later. There was a small part of me that wanted to make as much noise as possible, let Liam know I was awake, but I wouldn’t do that… not to him. He’d given up so much for me, for our family, he deserved a piece of ass every now and then.

  I snuck out to the kitchen, quietly passing his door. The oblivion the music provided was a nice veil. The hallway led to a large industrial space. The kitchen opened to the living room. Metal beams and supports ran the length of the entire apartment just below the ceiling. The floors were a dark brown wood, and the only delineating line between the kitchen and living area was the beige, oversized throw rug. The apartment was cold with its metal beams, black furniture, and my dark, fucking thoughts that hung from the brick walls in frames. The wood floors and the tan rug were the only warm tones Liam had allowed during the renovation. The floor of the kitchen was cold against my feet as I poured cereal into a bowl. The stainless steel fridge door was heavy, the industrial feel flowed, even in the kitchen. I grabbed the milk and shut the fridge with as much ease as possible.

  After our drunk of a father passed away six years ago, Liam took the small amount of money he’d been saving, got a loan, bought Avenues Ink from his boss and renovated the apartment just above the tattoo shop. Our dad had been diagnosed with cirrhosis a few years before he died, but still he’d chosen to drink himself to death rather than provide for his family. He’d had to quit his job at the oil refinery and had lived off his vet benefits. Our mother had never worked, she’d been a stay-at-home mom all our lives. Liam had taken it upon himself, as the eldest son, to drop out of school at the age of sixteen to help supplement our father’s income. He’d gotten a job here, at Avenues, cleaning and running the front desk, but always watching, and he’d learned fast. His talent had always rivaled mine when it came to art, but he didn’t have voices holding him back, so he’d fucking flourished. Just after he’d turned eighteen, he’d become one of the best artist’s at the shop.

  He’d been working there for eight years when Pop had died. He’d been saving, running our house, paying the medical bills, Liam was the man of the house. He was there for me when I’d tried to kill myself. He was the one who finally took the initiative to get me the help I needed. If it wasn’t for him, if left to the devices of my overly Catholic mother and drunk father, I would’ve never made it past thirteen. I swallowed down my first bite of cereal, and it was dry as it scratched my throat. I owed Liam everything.

  I carried my bowl to the granite breakfast bar and sat down on a stool. It wasn’t until after our dad died that Liam finally felt safe enough to move out. Being home, all the memories, fed the monster, so I moved out with him. Kieran, my baby brother, was still studying theology when we’d left and it had been agreed upon that he’d stay and take care of Mom. We all had taken care of Mom, we still did. Avenues Ink became a family business, the original owner wasn’t the best businessman and had almost lost the place. If it hadn’t been for Liam, this tiny little empire would have crumbled. Avenues was now one of the most thriving ink shops in Salt Lake City. The original owner retired, bowed out, and we took over. Liam and I were the top artists out of our small staff, and Kieran had put his hopes of becoming a priest on hold to help us run the books. Eventuall
y, he gave up the dream, and worked with us full-time.

  A movement in my peripheral vision caused my thoughts to pause. The minute I lifted my eyes from the bowl, I wished I hadn’t. Liam was half naked with just boxer briefs on as he entered the kitchen with the girl, the porn star, scuttling behind him. I removed one ear bud as I watched Tana, one of our regular customers, squirm under my glare. My brother ran his hand through his dark hair; he looked more like our Pop than any of us did and he hated it. Liam’s arms, legs, his chest, neck, and hands were his pallet of color, his disguise. His entire body was covered in ink. He looked just like the owner of an ink shop should; muscles, gages in his ears, piercings in his nose, his right brow decorated with a barbell, and enough tattoos to cover who he really was, who he really despised.

  “Hey, Declan.” Tana’s spritely voice was sweet and it bugged me.

  I nodded.

  “Don’t be a fucking bastard.” Liam narrowed his eyes. “You know Tana, where’re your manners.” He barely concealed his smirk.

  “I didn’t sleep great.” I stood, walked to the sink, and dumped my full bowl of cereal down the drain, running the water to wash it away.

  Tana whispered something, at least I think it was her. I shut off the water and turned to look at them, to make sure, and caught her kissing Liam on the mouth. It was weird to watch. I’d seen him with quite a few women over the years, but Tana reminded me too much of Kelly and, as she pulled away, I saw the slight wince in his eyes. The tiny regret Tana pretended not to notice.

  She lifted her heavily tattooed arms and pulled her curly, dull brown hair into a ponytail as she smiled up at my brother. “See you this Saturday?”

  He took a deep breath. “I’ll text you.” The dismissal caused her fake smile to wane.

  “Okay.” She had enough self-respect not to lean in for another kiss before she turned to leave. She grabbed her bag off the back of the couch before disappearing out the front door.

  Liam and I watched her go in silence. Once the door shut, I removed the other bud from my ear and turned off my phone before placing it back into my pocket.

  “She reminds me of Kelly,” I said.

  “Fuck off.” He clenched his jaw.

  “I’m serious. She looks—"

  “I don’t see it,” he lied and swallowed down the lump of truth.

  I afforded him the fiction. “Maybe I’m just seeing shit again.”

  His lips twitched. “It wouldn’t be the first time, Dex.”

  He helped himself to the box of Cap’n Crunch I’d left on the counter.

  “I’m going to shower before I head down to open the shop.” He wasn’t my keeper, technically anymore, but old habits die hard.

  “Did you take your meds?” he asked, not looking up from his breakfast.

  “I will.”

  “Don’t forget, Dex, last month—"

  “I won’t.”

  Last month I’d tried to wean myself off, I was tired of not feeling, of being a zombie. The voices fucked with me, but they gave me life, too. They bit and gnashed at my heart, but the side effect was art, images, and color. They told me I was alive, despite the lies that nourished me, and filled my gut with rot… I was alive.

  “The med change, it’s helping, right, better balance?” He locked his dark eyes on mine.

  I nodded. “I’m still wading through shit, but it’s better than being a robot.”

  He gave me a small smile.

  “The women? Does it help?” I risked asking, but seeing that small smile, it gave me fucking hope… for him… for me.

  The muscle in his jaw pulsed as he raised his chin. “They fucking left us, Dex, nothing we can do about it but move the hell on. Paige stole your spirit, and Kelly, she… she left, Declan. What I had to offer wasn’t enough for her, it’s time I take care of myself… you know?”

  I did.

  Being alone, for so long, was beginning to feel too good. The vacant feeling inside my chest cheered too much at the dark and dank corners of my existence. When Paige left, she left me gaping, bleeding. The nails of her fingers still ripped and tore through my heart. She was the very specter that still sliced and clawed her way into my soul. Maybe it was time to wash myself clean of her curse.

  “A woman gave me her number the other night.” I glanced at him with little interest, my usual mask.

  Liam’s spoon dropped from his hand and clanged into the bowl. “And?” His lips curved up at the corners.

  “I threw it out.” I dropped my eyes as his smile fell.

  “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

  “But, it was the first time, Liam, that I wish I hadn’t.”

  Marking another human being, gifting them a rainbow of well-orchestrated pigments and lines, creating that perfect picture, the quote they’d always wanted, it was an art. More people than not had tattoos these days. Shops were popping up left and right around the valley. The religious subculture of the city waned under a kaleidoscope of color, of individuality. Today, I held my machine instead of my brush, my canvas—flesh. The girl laid out on the padded table had her shirt off, her ribcage poking out on either side. At times, it felt as if I could see through skin, straight to the bone, a flash of reality. I’d blink my eyes and the gruesome vision would disappear. It happened three times today. This girl was too thin.

  You allowed it.

  You took a life once.

  Look at her bones, Declan.

  My hand paused. My eyes slammed shut but the girl’s intake of breath brought me back to clearer thoughts.

  “Almost finished,” I muttered as I wiped away the excess ink and blood from the small of her back.

  A butterfly. I wondered if she’d picked it because she wanted to be reborn. This girl with her waif body, spindly arms, and limp hair. She was young, maybe just moved from the nest, just weaned from the milk of her mother’s love. A symbol of resurrection, change, a new beginning.

  I finished up the last few shades of purple, filling in all the vibrant life I could into this girl’s hope for peace. After I was finished, she listened carefully, her eyes locked on mine as I explained the aftercare. She admired the reflection of her first tattoo through the small mirror in her hand. She smiled over her shoulder as she turned trying to get a better look.

  “It’s perfect,” she said with an excited gleam in her eyes, she’d be back for more.

  I repeated the instructions again as I smeared a salve over the ink and then covered it.

  She rambled about how her friends were going to be jealous, and then she disappointed me when she mentioned she’d picked the butterfly from the book because it looked cool. I should’ve fucking known, it was a tramp stamp, after all. I walked her to the front and gave Kieran my bill so he could ring her up.

  “One hour?” He glanced down at the invoice and then back up at me. “She was back there for at least two.” He raised his left eyebrow.

  The girl smiled as I spoke, “It’s her first.”

  It was all the explanation he needed. It was my thing. Discounting the first tatt always brought them back, it bought loyalty where loyalty was rare.

  “Thank you, again. It’s really pretty.”

  “Send your friends,” I said with a genuine smile right before she walked out of the front door.

  Inside the shop it was easy to pretend like I was normal. I could be anybody. To that girl, the girl with the cool butterfly, the girl who hadn’t known she’d picked a symbol that was just as powerful as it was beautiful, to her I was just the guy who’d popped her ink cherry. I could hide the voices behind a smile and my love for art. I could hide the loneliness while I helped my brothers build an empire. But mostly, I could hide my fear… my fear of firsts. First glances, first touches, first kisses, first… Paige had been the one I experienced everything with, and occasionally, when I was out in the real world, it was hard not to compare. I kept myself busy, I breathed in, and I breathed out. I lived, but sometimes, sometimes all I wanted to do was remember.


  “Declan?” Kieran’s deep, usually easy voice held a note of worry.

  “Yeah?” I swallowed and ran my eyes down the appointment log on his desk.

  “You’re done for the day, unless you want to stay and take some walk-ins?” Kieran’s eyes were blue like mine, we had our mother’s azure irises while Liam bore the dark tones of our father. I was the only blond. My mother had said it was a fluke, but I’d known I was different, even from the point of conception. She’d sung the praises, all my life, of great aunts who lived in Killarney with blonde hair and blue eyes, and how lucky I’d been to be born with so much light. God had blessed her with a baby who was bright like the sun. It wasn’t until I was twelve that she’d realized my life had become a perpetual night.

  “Did you hear me?” He chuckled.

  “No.” I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “I said stay, take a few walk-ins, then when we close up we can all go to Bellows.” He slapped my shoulder as he stood.

  “I’ll be in the back if you need me,” I said.

  “Seriously.” He lowered his voice to a low hum, almost matching the buzz of the tattoo machines. “Liam said the med change has been good?”

  I allowed my shoulders to sag. He worried too much. He’d been the one to find me hanging by a sheet from my closet door. Liam had cut me down, but it was Kieran who’d picked up on my silence, my moods. He was the first to ask me what the voices said. The older he got, the more fixated he’d been on becoming a priest. A part of me questioned if that was my fault. I wondered if he wanted to exorcise the voices, help the damned, and keep the link he had between those who suffered and those who needed help.