Possession

by Johnson, A. M.

  My eyes locked on hers. “I’m scared.”

  “But you have to try, right?” She speared a carrot and brought it to her lips. “It can’t get any worse than it already is?”

  It could, but at least now, I had a twinkling of hope. “We’ll see.”

  “Well, I’m glad you got your appetite back, even if you’re eating your emotions, you need your kick ass curves back. I need a hot wingman.” She smirked as she nibbled on the carrot.

  “I’m not ready for wingman status.” I stood from the couch and brought my plate to the sink.

  “No? But look how far you’ve come. You’ve left the tyranny of a controlling, cheating bastard to live with the sinner of your past…” She paused and drew a halo over her head with her finger. “And now you’re about to take the bull by the horns and win back the love of your life. It’s like a Shakespeare play.”

  “He liked to write tragedies.”

  “Ahh. But he wrote a good sonnet I hear.” She grinned.

  “Lana, you’re making me nervous.” It was the truth and all the food I’d just shoveled down my throat flipped and threatened to come back up as I walked over to the couch.

  Her smile faded and she took my hand. “If you need me, text me. I’ll wait up for you. I’ve got nothing going tomorrow, so if Declan turns out to be a dick, I’ll be here for the rescue mission.”

  I gave her a confidant smile, even though inside I was screaming in terror. “I’ll… I’ll be fine.” I squeezed her hand in reassurance, but I wasn’t sure if it was for her or for me.

  My stomach was still a battleground as I pulled to the back of The Gallery and parked. The full feeling weighted me like a boulder to the front seat of my car as I turned off the engine. There were no other cars in the parking lot, but I’d seen a pale light shining from the back of the shop through the windows when I’d driven past the store front. My legs were like jelly as I made an attempt to stand from the vehicle. All my doubts bubbled with the bile in my throat. What was I doing here? What would I say? My hands trembled as I wiped them on my jeans. The thin, light blue sweater I wore hung off my left shoulder, and the cool air tickled my skin, but did nothing to calm the heat brewing in my blood.

  My face felt hot all the way to my ears as I used my key to enter The Gallery. Music played and I recognized the song, “Evergreen” by Broods, it was one of Lana’s favorites. She’d played the album almost every day since I’d moved in. The notes were slow and menacing, drawn out and sensual, and I wondered if the melody matched his mood. The studio door was propped open with the stool that normally sat behind the cash register and, as I moved closer, my heart fluttered like a trapped bird in a cage. The light from the open door cracked through the dark and my eyes were drawn to it. My gaze followed the warm yellow silhouette, and before I had a chance to take a breath, my eyes lifted and saw him standing in front of the canvas.

  My cheeks flamed and my muscles tightened and went weak all at once. He was shirtless; his paint-splattered jeans hung low, his hands rested on the top of his head as he stared at his painting. His body was not what I remembered. He was carved stone now. The only word that came to my mind was powerful. Powerful, beautiful strength etched out each muscle. I tried to swallow as I watched his hands fall to his sides, but my mouth was ash. He turned just enough that I could see the ink that covered his chest and the perfect V that disappeared below the top of his jeans. I tried to breathe, but the boy I’d known had transformed into a magnificent statue, and I was just a shadow, a voyeur… and I couldn’t look away. I shouldn’t be here; my courage evaporated as I made a move to step back. My footing was off, I was dazed, and I gasped as I stumbled. Declan’s eyes darted to the door and trapped me.

  He looked at me, his blue eyes wide as if he wasn’t sure, as always, debating his own mind.

  “Paige?” he asked. His voice was rough and sent a warm shiver up my spine.

  I had nowhere to go, he’d caught me, so I walked through the studio door with my heart in my stomach. “I-I wasn’t sure if I should, but I needed to see you.”

  He grabbed a rag from his work stool and rubbed off the excess paint from his fingers. The muscles in his arms pulled, and the power I’d seen a moment ago seemed to ripple off of him in waves.

  “Why?” He threw the rag onto the work stool and winced, as if his own abrupt tone shocked him.

  Because I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. Because I lost myself and I think you’re the only one who could put me back together. Because, I still love you, always have.

  The air grew tense between us, his citrus scent muted my thoughts, and I had to close my eyes. I had to speak, I had to say something. “Because, I miss you.”

  I heard him exhale and my eyes opened, but fell to the thick, black cross he had tattooed in the middle of his sternum. The rise and fall of his chest was noticeable as he sucked in each ragged breath. He took a step toward me and I lifted my gaze to his.

  “I’m not sure where to go from here, but I miss you, Declan, and—”

  He lifted his hand and for minute I braced myself for his touch. I longed to feel the heat of his palm on my cheek, let the forgiveness feed my pulse, but he’d raised his arm just to run his fingers through his hair roughly as he stared at me with bright blue eyes.

  “Grab a canvas.” He flicked his gaze to the door.

  “You need another canvas?” My heart skipped, was he dismissing me or letting me in?

  “No, but you do.”

  The slight hiss of the storm was competing with the delicate sound of guitars. The music was lazy, and the slow strum fed my heart, and fed my mind as I painted. It was days like this that I lived for. Days when the snow was three feet deep and still coming, and I’d become a captive of a beautiful artist. My smile spread warmly across my face as I sat down on the white marble next to Declan.

  “I really love this band.” He turned his head and smiled at me.

  “Me too. It really helps me concentrate on the work.” I leaned to the side and turned up the music.

  We’d been sitting cross-legged, side by side for about an hour and a half sketching. We’d spend most of our time like this, sitting in my den working on something. Today, I had originally planned to draw something Dali would’ve been proud of, but instead, I penciled the curve of Declan’s jaw, the slope of his nose, and before I knew it I had almost a complete portrait.

  “You’re getting better.” He gave me a sideways smirk.

  “I have a good teacher,” I said as he leaned in and my heart sputtered.

  We’d had our first kiss a few weeks ago and since then we’d been stealing kisses whenever we could. It was silly, but I loved when Declan would take a few minutes between classes at school and kiss me thoroughly in an alcove or an abandoned hallway. The warning bell would ring and being tardy would be the last thing on our minds.

  Our art projects were forgotten as his mouth moved eagerly against mine. I didn’t care that my parents were in the kitchen and could possibly catch us. He tasted like toothpaste and something sweet, just him, and as he wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and pulled my lip with his teeth, I exhaled an unsteady breath. I’d lost myself in the feel of his lips, and the way his fingers tangled in my hair. I whined when he pulled away and his chuckle heated my cheeks. He might’ve been laughing, but he was just as out of breath as I was, and something told me he was holding back on purpose. We were too young to want more.

  Tell that to my heart.

  “I like kissing you.” I scrunched my nose in embarrassment as the truth slipped from my lips too easily.

  His chuckle turned into a hearty laugh and my stomach filled with butterflies. I made an attempt to swat his shoulder but he grabbed my wrist gently and brought our hands together by wrapping his fingers with mine.

  “I hate it when I have to leave.” His smile fell and the color of his eyes deepened.

  I looked down at our joined hands and how they fit together. My hand was so small compared to his, but i
t didn’t feel awkward.

  “I hate it, too.”

  I did. I missed him too much when he wasn’t around, and I worried that his moods turned dark when I was gone. He struggled so much between his real thoughts and the voices that he heard. He’d told me about them before we were official, and I had to admit to myself that it scared me at first, but he was always so honest with me, and if I was being truthful, I kind of liked that he was special like that. I’d told him as much, and since then… our relationship… it changed, and he’d become more than just a friend, he’d become important to me. We’d become important to each other.

  The music switched and the sound of Low turned over to Interpol and the mood lifted.

  “If it keeps snowing like this I might hide in your closet and stay the night.” His smile was mischievous.

  I leaned over and pecked him on the cheek before I said, “Promise?”

  “Over the Ocean” by Low played and reverberated off the walls of the studio. The song washed over me. The wave of it crashed and consumed me as my eyes stung with unshed tears. I inhaled a deep calming breath as I pushed away the memory. Declan had invited me to stay tonight, he’d let me in, and as my eyes found his and the familiar music played, I wanted to go back to the den on that snowy day. Start over and never let him leave.

  “I can’t believe you still listen to this.” I placed my canvas on an easel he’d set up for me with shaky hands.

  He nodded before he pulled on his white t-shirt. He ran his hand through his messy hair and his eyebrows knotted. “Sometimes… sometimes it’s the only thing that will help me paint.”

  I brought my eyes to his, grateful for the cotton that covered his chiseled chest. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to speak like an actual adult if he’d stayed shirtless the whole time.

  “I… I haven’t painted in years.” My throat felt tight, and my tongue was like sandpaper as he dropped my gaze and turned to his own canvas.

  “Start with the basics, Paige.” He sucked in a breath. My name affected him and I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. “Paint what you know.” He wouldn’t look at me as he scanned his depiction of my eyes.

  He scooted the work stool that stood between us closer to me. His palette was filled with blue, purple, gray, orange, and red. I wanted to lift my brush and dip it into the paint, I wanted to see if I still existed. See if Paige Simon had truly died, or had I just been hibernating. I was scared stiff. Declan started to work and I couldn’t help but watch him. His hands moved across the painting like a skilled musician played the piano. My pulse was a mess and my stomach had torqued itself into knots. My canvas stared back at me, just as blank as I’d become.

  “Declan, I—”

  He stopped mid stroke, his head tilted down, and he asked, “Are you nervous?”

  “What if I’ve changed too much?” My voice was a shell.

  “I think it’s all still there.” He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, but his voice had grown strength, and I felt the hope ignite inside my veins. It blossomed in my chest like a brilliant red rose. “Talent doesn’t fade away.”

  Talent.

  I’d let myself believe we were talking about us, not my ability to create art.

  He didn’t speak again, and the lump in my throat turned to shards of glass as I turned back to my canvas. I wasn’t ready. I stepped back from the easel and watched Declan from the corner of my eye. He resumed his work as if I wasn’t there, and if I hadn’t been so selfish I would have left. But, I couldn’t, so I went and sat in the back of the studio against the wall. I sat and watched him. I admired him from afar like I’d once done as a teen and, as the music of our youth poured from the speakers, everything had seemed to come full circle. I only hoped that this time we’d both get some sort of resolution.

  I checked my phone and it was fifteen past one in the morning. My tailbone ached from sitting on the cold, concrete floor for so long. But I’d refused to budge until now. Declan covered his paints and wiped his hands on his towel while he looked at my unused canvas. He stared at it, his lips parted and his fists clenched. If this had been us back in high school I would have asked him what the voices had just said. He would’ve looked at me with sad eyes before he told me something awful. The voices had always been cruel and, if there was only one thing I would change about Declan, it wouldn’t be to get rid of the hallucinations, it would be to make them helpful, make them tell him just how amazing he was.

  I stood from my private vigil and stretched my limbs. Declan’s eyes moved over my body, and I shifted self-consciously under the weight of his gaze. I pulled nervously at the hem of my sweater and then rubbed my hands on my jeans as he stalked toward me. It was difficult to wrap my head around how much he’d transformed over the years. Here was this gorgeous man, walking toward me, and I was nothing but bones and hollow eyes. Declan grabbed his phone that sat by the stereo and pocketed it. The music died and the room became claustrophobic. I’d come here to talk, and all I’d done was hide in the corner all night. This was a huge step, a white flag, but I was still sick with nerves.

  He paused and took a deep breath, steeling himself before he looked at me again. I bit my lip unsure of what to do or say as I stood there like a mute. He glanced over my features again, and his brows dipped with what seemed like worry.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  My stomach threatened to empty right here in front of his feet at the mere mention of food. I shook my head. “No.”

  “There’s a place, just up the street. It’s open twenty-four hours.”

  I shook my head again. As much as I wanted to talk with him, a restaurant wasn’t the place, and besides, the way he watched me, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and uncertainty, I didn’t want to force this… us.

  It fell quiet and all I could hear was his breathing… it soothed me and gave me a bit of courage. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and a sliver of his skin was exposed as the hem of his t-shirt lifted. I dropped my eyes to the floor as I spoke, “I won’t bother you—”

  “Don’t.”

  His tone was harsh and I raised my head and met his cool eyes. “What?”

  “Don’t play the victim. We’ve both lost enough to hold that title.” His jaw constricted when I puffed out a shuddered gasp. His anger was radiating off his shoulders.

  I took a step backward toward the door and stuttered, “I-I—”

  “Wait.” He swore under his breath. “I didn’t mean… I mean… fuck, Paige, you’re here.” His eyes held me in a bewildered stare.

  My bottom lip started to tremble without my permission, and I had to take several short breaths. In and out. In and out to maintain my emotions. I’d learned with Clark crying got you nowhere. “I shouldn’t be, but I had to say—”

  “Say what?” he asked. His voice raised.

  “I had to say…” My throat contracted and, when I tried to speak, the pain of the words caught in my throat.

  “Say what?” His eyes softened and he moved toward me.

  The dam broke and spilled over and I realized I was gasping, swallowing air down in giant sobs. The heat of his palm on my cheek eased each breath until I was able to see past the blur of tears.

  “I’m sorry.” His tone was full of comfort and sadness, longing, and the guilt I held ripped at my heart until I was just pieces.

  He framed my face with both of his hands.

  “Forgive me,” I managed to say and when he looked at me again I was sure I was the one having hallucinations. He was the boy again. Innocent and wide eyed. “I’m so sorry.”

  He pulled me into a hug and, when my damp cheek dried against the cotton of his shirt, I felt safe again.

  “I know.”

  We stayed like that for a while. His arms around me, holding me tightly against his chest. No promises or big discussions. Just two people who needed each other in the moment more than they needed the blood that pumped rapidly through their
veins.

  It was cathartic.

  A possible renewal.

  There weren’t any smiles or kisses. No more words needed to be exchanged tonight. There was just a peaceful balm of acceptance. We were at mile one and I would make sure he knew everything, but right now, I needed his scent filling my lungs and his heart beating in my ear. And as he let me go, I knew, at some point, he would figure out that the Paige from the past was gone, and I had to be prepared that he may not care about me beyond this apology.

  It wasn’t a weird silence as we locked up the store, and when he offered to walk me to my car, I accepted. It was late, after all.

  “Will you be here tomorrow night, too?” I asked as I opened the driver side door of my car.

  “Will you?” He held the door for me as I sat down. I wanted to look up at him one last time, but my heart thundered, and the butterflies swirled and fluttered. “I’ve booked the week, I think that’s enough time for you to find your inspiration again.”

  I couldn’t be sure, but I almost heard humor in his words and, as I lifted my chin and let my gaze search his, there was a hint of a smile in the creases around his eyes. I leaned back and decided what I would paint tomorrow. I’d paint his eyes, just as he’d painted mine. But instead of the winter, I’d surround him in the spring, in the bright light of the sun and vibrant greens of summer grass. I’d paint him as a starburst, as something to worship, because I’d only known one deity and he’d left me to fend for myself.

  “I think I’ll be ready tomorrow.” My statement held so many meanings and truths, but as I offered him a small smile and his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously, it was clear we had a long journey ahead of us.

  He nodded, edgy again, as he started to close the car door. “I’ll be here around eleven.”

  He shut the door before I could answer, and I turned the key in the ignition as I watched him walk away. I closed my eyes and offered up a thank you in hopes someone was listening. I prayed that this was just a beginning. That the path we would forge from here on out could heal us both. And I prayed to be lucky, because I didn’t deserve anything better than just a chance, but I prayed that maybe Declan could love me again. It was selfish to wish for such light to be wasted on a lost soul, but I kept my eyes shut tight and prayed for it anyway.