Possession

by Johnson, A. M.

  I was feeling.

  I’d felt.

  The air in Bellows had thinned now that the expectation had disappeared into a messy mistake in Kate’s front seat. Liam was sitting with a few guys from the shop, and Kieran’s cool blue eyes met mine from across the room. He exhaled what looked like a breath of relief as he hurried toward me

  “Where’s Kate?”

  “I think she went home. I walked her to her car,” I lied and his lips formed a thin line.

  “You were gone awhile.” He gave me a once over and his shoulders eased for some reason. “Look, that chick. She’s not a good girl, Declan.”

  “No?” I played along.

  He shook his head. “She’s got some issues, and I don’t like to talk shit, but I’m pretty sure she’s promiscuous.”

  I wanted to laugh at the word. He was only twenty-six. He should be drinking, sleeping around, and living life, living a life I sure as hell would never have. “Always the saint.” I slapped him on the shoulder and gave him a sideways smile.

  “Just stay away from her, Declan. She’s an alcoholic. She was hitting on those assholes I went to high school with the other night, then came right over to you and flashed her smile. She was drunk. I should’ve said something then, but you seemed interested, and it’s been so long since… don’t buy into her, Declan, you’ve waited too long to just—”

  “Don’t worry.” I hated that he did. “Kate’s not for me. She’s not my type.”

  She’s not Paige.

  I gave him my practiced chuckle and he smiled.

  “Good.” He nodded toward the back of the room. “Let’s play a game of pool.”

  It was easy for Liam and Kieran to make believe I was normal inside the confines of the bar and the tattoo shop, but I was tired of pretending. This day wouldn’t end in laughter and fake smiles. It would end with smears of paint as I sullied the eyes that haunted me from the canvas.

  “Nah, I’m going to head to the studio. I’ve got some energy to work off. See you at work tomorrow.”

  “You sure?” The creases around his eyes deepened with concern.

  I nodded.

  “Chandler finally gave you the key to the place?”

  “Yeah, I guess when you pay for two weeks of studio time he figures you’re good for it. Tell Liam I left?”

  “Sure thing, Declan.” He shook my hand and pulled me into a side hug. “See you in the morning.”

  I tried to ignore that the tone of his voice hinted at a question as I turned to leave. It was a fact, my brothers, my mother, they watched me like I was a bomb and my clock was winding down and, at some point, I’d reach my detonation and rip our family to shreds.

  His room was small with aged paint and brown shag carpet. His twin bed was pushed into the corner, the handmade quilt was oversized and threadbare. The whole space was covered in drawings and paintings. Declan’s talent showcased on every wall and spilled from his desktop. It smelled like paper, citrus, and the slight scent of soap lingered in the mix. His space was warm, inviting, and I liked how the lamp on the table cast everything in a creamy light.

  “You’re pretty far from the bench.” He took my hand, led me to his bed, and I sat down.

  The bench of the mountain was where the rich kids lived. The doctors’ sons and daughters. The accountants and finance gurus. Me.

  “I always wondered why rich people build in such dangerous places. You know?”

  I shook my head and pressed my lips together trying to fight my smile. I liked listening to the way Declan thought. He was so smart and most teenagers didn’t care about the little things, not like he did.

  “Beachfront property, mountain sides, it’s crazy, think about it. Hurricanes, earthquakes, floods…” He noticed my small smile and smirked. “What?”

  My lips curled of their own accord. “I like that you think of this stuff, Declan.”

  His smile fell and he sat next to me on the bed. I lifted and entwined his fingers with mine. “I’m fucking weird.” His stare landed on our hands.

  His fingernails were covered in paint; yellow and red and blue crusted under his nails and in the creases of his hand. His skin was rough and worn, like a real artist, and mine, it was soft and underused. Together they clashed, but I loved the feel of him. I thought it was a perfect fit. “I don’t think you’re weird, and my house, it’s cold, Declan. We have all these big windows to look out over the valley, but the curtains are always shut. Sunsets hidden, starlight concealed… your house… it’s a home, mine…you’ve seen it… it’s staged. Always on display, but never part of life.”

  He raised our joined hands to his mouth and brushed his lips over my knuckles. I shuddered and closed my eyes as his hot breath tickled my skin. “I’m sorry I waited so long to bring you here, I was… embarrassed.”

  My eyes opened. We’d been together for almost eight months, and this was the first time I’d been invited to his house. I wanted to ask him why, even though I knew the answer. He was poor. His dad drank too much, from what he told me, and his brothers were rowdy, but he always spoke well of his mother. “Don’t be. I’m excited to finally meet everyone.” I turned and faced him fully, unlinking our hands so I could hold his face between my palms. His pale cheeks filled with color as I leaned in. “Thank you for letting me in. It feels… more official, for some reason.”

  He licked his lips, his blue eyes never leaving mine. “Just ignore my dad, okay? Anything he says… just forget about it.”

  My stomach dropped and I was sad for him. I could see the fear and rage behind his irises. “It doesn’t matter what he says.” I kissed him once and then again and he exhaled in relief. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He kissed me, this time at his own fevered pace. Declan’s mouth claimed mine as he leaned me backward onto his bed. The soft scent of him encircled me and each kiss he took pulled me deeper in—in love with him. I was in love with him. It was absurd, and juvenile, but I wanted to spend every minute in this tiny, ramshackle room with this boy who thought like a man, who painted like a god, and who made me feel like I was special… like I’d always be his.

  It was dark in my room. The overcast sky gave little light and it didn’t help I refused to open the blinds. After seeing Declan again, after seeing the hate in his eyes, I hadn’t been able to go back to The Gallery. The next day I called in sick, and I didn’t have another shift scheduled until this afternoon. It had rained the next day and hadn’t stopped, fall pushed its way into the bowl of the valley. Cleansing the creosotes and sage, feeding the rivers, and bringing the cold of autumn with its crisp touch. Lana had tried to drag me out of bed with promises of food and tea. She’d tried to make me shower, tried to stuff me with Oreos and soup, but I wouldn’t, couldn’t budge. Her classes had kept her busy this week, and I was grateful for the privacy to grieve. I grieved for the loss of my child, for the loss of myself, for the loss of my life, my own person. I’d given into my parents and Clark and the damn church. I’d given up on myself. I lost my palette, my color, my individuality. I’d lost my love, my Declan, and I’d allowed him to fade. I’d fed him to the pack of wolves, to the demons in his head.

  Seeing him in the studio, watching him war with himself, he was gone to them, to the voices. They plagued him and I let him go… nine years ago, after we’d split up, after he’d chosen to leave. He’d been so angry. But he’d come back for me, a week after the break up, and I refused to see him. I’d thought I was doing him a favor, doing myself a favor. We’d been cursed, damned, but after seeing myself on his canvas the other night, seeing my eyes, it was clear he never let me go. So I’d chosen to torture myself with memories. I’d succumbed to each one and fell into dreams of him and us. The summer he’d finally let me meet his family. His house was perfect, just like him, but his father had come home so drunk he’d puked on the porch and Declan had to ask his brother, Liam, to drive us to my house. We’d had dinner there instead, and it had taken him almost another month to finally let me back in.r />
  I rolled to my side, the stench of body odor flared my nostrils. My eyes felt puffy and my hair was greasy and smelled like salt. This last dream hit me hard. It hit me like a train because it was the first time he’d given me his full trust and it was then that I realized I’d fallen in love with him. Teenagers don’t really fall in love, my mother had said. My parents had played along with our relationship because they never thought it would flourish. But it had. And where we thought we were a blooming flower, my parents had thought we were a caustic weed. My parents joined the church my senior year and things only got worse from there.

  You were young, you did what you could.

  I exhaled a noisy breath. A sour film coated my teeth and my lips felt like sandpaper. My phone vibrated and the screen lit up casting a green glow to the room. I picked it up and stared at the face on the screen. I let it go to voicemail. Missed call. It didn’t take long for her to call back. The screen lit up again and I swallowed past the empty feeling in my belly.

  “Hello.” My voice was stretched thin. I hadn’t spoken in a day… maybe longer.

  “Clark said he can’t get a hold of you. Are you alright?” My mother’s voice was full of fake concern.

  “I’m fine. And, I told you I don’t want to speak to him. He wants a divorce and so do I. He wants to be with her, Mom.” I closed my eyes and leaned back into my pillow.

  “I’m not sure about that, Paige. We’ve spoken to his parents, we all think—”

  “I’m an adult, stop treating me like a child.”

  “Then stop acting like one!” She raised her voice and clicked her tongue. Her words held malice as she continued. “We did everything to assure your happiness, it’s the least you could do, for your father, for me, he has to work with these people, Paige. We have a reputation to uphold. If you go through with this divorce… you’ll be excommunicated. This is your deliverance. After what you did… well.”

  I could picture her in our white kitchen picking her manicured nails. Pastel pink, always pastel pink. Her blonde hair straight and her crème colored dress pressed. I grit my teeth.

  “I know what I did, you don’t need to remind me, and if getting excommunicated means I don’t have to go to that church anymore…. if it means…” I sat up, my chest heavy and my voice building steam. “If it means I’m free of the false doctrine, the control of a man who would rather screw the nursery leader than be a good husband, then that is exactly what I want.” I was out of breath, screaming, sobbing. I didn’t speak like this. I didn’t ever deny my parents’ rule. But I was finished allowing people to dictate who I was supposed to be. “I’m done, Mom. I’m done paying for a sin I’ll never be forgiven for.”

  Silence.

  “Mom?” I choked out the word.

  “If this is your choice,” she spoke slowly with condemnation. “Then you have chosen the way of Hell, and may the fires burn away all your selfish needs. God forgive me, but there is no place in this home for you anymore, girl. You disrespected this house, your husband, and your father the day you left Clark, the church. And trust me… your father feels the same as I do.”

  He was probably sitting next to her, listening, throwing away his only child like the piece of garbage that she was.

  I hung up the phone and stood from the bed. I had nothing left to say. My legs were lead stumps and as I stretched, the pain pulled like rubber bands along each limb of my body. I’d been avoiding that phone call for too long. I’d been excommunicated from a church that called me a murderer, from a husband who never loved me, and from a family that would see me burn before they ever allowed me to be happy again, to feel something other than mourning for the choice they’d never absolve me of.

  I was truly alone. Utterly lost. And, even though I should fall back into the soiled sheets, never leave the filth of this room, something pulled me to the shower.

  “I just draw what I see.”

  Sad eyes. My eyes.

  “You see the world, Declan.”

  He was the only one who saw me… the only one…

  I caught my breath and turned the water to scalding. The filth would wash away and I would be clean again.

  The rain had subsided by the time I got to The Gallery. My stomach was empty, but after talking to my mother, after severing all ties to my family, I didn’t have much of an appetite. I’d been at work for just about an hour and every time the bell on the door would ring my heart would fly into my throat. I didn’t dare check the studio to see if his painting was still there. I seriously doubted he stuck around after seeing me. My whole body shivered. It was most likely the lack of sugar in my system or just straight-up anxiety. All I wanted was to see Declan again, but at the same time, I dreaded it. I had nothing left of me anymore. Nothing to lose. The layers had been shed and husked away into the trash.

  “You look like shit. You’ve lost some weight?” Chandler’s brown eyes assessed me with alarm. He’d been too busy stocking the shelves when I arrived to get a really good look at me.

  The teal sweater I had on felt too big. It was supposed to hang off my shoulder, but it fell farther than it had before. My collarbones jutted out and my face felt hollow. I was starving, but not for food. I was hungry for something, someone, a love I didn’t deserve… not anymore.

  “I had a stomach bug. Sorry if I left you hanging the other day.” I toyed with the thread on my sleeve and I kept my eyes on the counter.

  “It happens. I was fine. But, listen, I think you should maybe go home? This little four-hour shift, it’s nothing, I got it. Go rest.”

  If I had to go back to Lana’s house and rot in the grime I’d created over the past few days I’d never survive. As hard as it was pretending to be a real human for a few hours, I didn’t want to be alone.

  “I’m feeling better.” I gave him a weak smile.

  His brows knotted. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  I puffed out a laugh. “Because you’re too observant, I guess.”

  “Do me a favor. I’d rather not get…” he pointed his finger at my stomach, “Whatever the hell it is you have, so go home.” His smile was lopsided, but he was being serious.

  “Really?” I scrunched my nose when he nodded.

  “Before you leave though, could you grab a few things from the studio for me while I finish up this last bit of inventory? The customer who rented the place called earlier and he said he’d be by to pick up a few supplies he’d left last night.”

  My heart stopped.

  Last night? Could it be Declan?

  I nodded and he gave me a small cardboard box and a list of things to grab for the client.

  He walked to the small pile of paints he had to shelve and left me to it. The studio door was at the end of my tunneled vision and, as I moved toward it, the room spun. Once I entered, and the smell of paint assaulted my senses, I practically stumbled over my own two feet as the canvas came into view. It was the same painting, his painting, but now mostly completed. I swallowed down my panic and let the vibrant colors pull me toward the larger-than-life blue eyes. It almost looked like a photograph. The detail was immaculate. The sadness nearly palpable.

  The paints and brushes Declan had requested were sitting on the stool. They were his own. I didn’t recognize the brush brand. My fingers trembled as I picked up the wooden handle of one of the smaller brushes. I might’ve been imagining things, but when I closed my eyes, I felt the heat of his skin, and the rough patches of his calloused flesh on mine. It was like he’d left his imprint, and the minute I connected with something of his I felt him, deeply, in my bones, my heart… in my soul.

  “You’re crazy,” I mumbled.

  “Paige?”

  A small scream burst from my lips and I whirled around.

  “Holy shit, I almost didn’t recognize you.” He was still a teenager the last time I saw him. He still looked the same, but older. His dark brown hair was cut short, his shoulders were huge and his chin was covered in a goatee.

  “Kiera
n?”

  He didn’t answer, but his mouth twitched at the corners.

  “I have the supplies, I mean, I was getting them—”

  My hands shook so hard I almost dropped everything to the floor as I tried to gather them and place them in the box.

  “It’s alright. I can grab this stuff.” Kieran reached out and placed his hand over mine. A calm energy hummed in the room, and my throat closed off as tears pricked my eyes. “Has he seen you?” He watched me with careful eyes.

  I nodded and a small sob bubbled up my throat.

  He swore under his breath. “That makes sense.”

  “What makes sense?”

  “Declan used to go to St. Ann’s Cathedral every month after you guys broke up to light a candle. He stopped going a while ago. But today, he left the shop early and asked me to come here to pick up some of his stuff so he could go pray. He was insistent. This week has been rough for him and he’d been doing so…” He shook his head as if he’d said too much. “It makes sense, because here you are.”

  “He lit a candle… every month?” I brought my fingers to my lips as the tears I’d been fighting finally fell. “What day?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “The thirteenth, why?”

  August thirteenth was the day we’d gone to the clinic.

  “He’s at St. Ann’s?” I asked, my breath caught in my chest and pressed against my sternum, the rising need to leave, to find him, to connect, barreled through me.

  He nodded. “Paige, listen he’s—”

  “Thank you.” I dropped the brushes and box to the ground as I turned quickly to leave. It was the first sure thing I’d felt since I left Clark.

  “Paige!” Kieran shouted and swore again, but I ignored him as I ran for the studio door.

  The ornate wooden door, carved with angelic murals, was heavy and creaked as it opened. The sound was eerily loud and seemed to echo in the small chamber between the outside door to the church and the actual door to the cathedral chapel. The soles of my shoes squeaked against the ancient slate flooring as I took the few steps needed to enter the building. The rain had quit but the sidewalk was still wet. It was an off hour for the church, so I was able to park in front, but my shoes still suffered the wrath of the large puddles along the walkway up to the massive building. I felt underdressed in my sweater and jeans and, as my hand wrapped around the large iron handle of the inner door, my heart caught in my throat. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.