Possession

by Johnson, A. M.

  She betrayed you.

  I exhaled, sifting through my venomous thoughts and kissed her cheek as I whispered, “Maybe we were damned from the start.”

  The heat from her touch radiated up my arm, fighting off the voices that still screamed worthless, worthless, worthless, as the memory flickered behind my eyes.

  “Do you still feel damned?” I asked. Her words, my words still fresh in my head from that day.

  Her eyes glimmered in crystalline waves of blue as she said, “On most days… yes, but I’ve come to terms with my fate.”

  “Your fate?”

  “I can’t have children. I tried, for years, to conceive again, and I think God gave me a gift and then I discarded it. I—”

  “We did, Paige, we both did. I let you suffer alone, and there are days I fucking drown in that choice. I want the illness, the blackness in my brain to swallow me up so I can’t remember how I’d treated you that day.” Each breath burned as I spoke past the lump in my throat. I’d let her believe she was damned. I let my own anger punish her with silence. “If anyone has a one way ticket to Hell it’s me. I let it fall apart… I was the one who went quiet, when all you needed was noise.”

  She exhaled an unsteady breath and I released her hand.

  “I’m sorry I left you alone, captive to your thoughts. I didn’t save you like you’d always done for me, and I’m sorry for not fighting harder to get you back.”

  I held her face and drew her watery gaze to mine.

  “Did you mean it, Declan? Did you mean it, what you said that day… that we were damned from the start?”

  I shook my head. “I was angry and confused, and if I could go back—”

  She wrapped her arms around my waist, and I dropped my hands as she brought her cheek to my chest. Out of instinct, of self-preservation, my body stiffened, but then melted as her palms lay flush on my back. The familiar embrace calmed the unnerving feeling of being touched by her again.

  “There’s no going back, remember?” She breathed and I felt her smile against my chest as I draped my arms around her small frame. She leaned back but kept her hold on my waist. Having her hands on my body again, it set the pilot light ablaze in my heart. “You and I, we made so many mistakes, and I could let myself fall into each one until I could no longer find a way out, but I’m too tired to get lost, I’d rather just move forward.”

  As I cupped her cheek, she closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. The rational thoughts, the dark thoughts, they became a piece of parchment held above a flame. They flaked and burned and blew away into the thick, studio air, and all I could think about was kissing her. Her top lip was fuller than her bottom, and I wondered if she’d kiss my upper lip first like she used to. I could almost feel it, her hesitant breath would brush the skin of my lips. Would I get to smell the sweet mint of her mouth, feel the damp heat of her flesh against mine?

  She was once my ruin, and she could easily rip me apart again, and I think I’d let her.

  I waited for the hateful hallucinations, the malicious thoughts to grip me, but there was no sound… nothing to cool the warmer thoughts that had begun to brew inside me.

  She stared at me, her eyes brilliant under the studio lights, waiting for me to make the choice, to choose the path forward.

  I nodded, and her features softened as my lips curved into a smile. I caught a piece of her hair and softly placed it behind her ear.

  “Let’s paint.”

  “Do you like working at Avenues?” she asked as we packed up for the night.

  We’d spent the majority of the past two nights in silence. It was the way it had always been with us. Paints, pencils, charcoal, oil pastels, it didn’t matter the medium, we’d mix it with music and fall onto our own planets, each orbiting the other. She was the Earth, and I was always her night. Working next to her again was no different. I think we purposely didn’t ask questions, knowing it could disturb the weak foundation of the treaty we’d both agreed to. We had discussed nothing but art until now. Paige’s body, still thin, seemed fuller somehow, and she even had color in her cheeks as she stood with her bag already over her shoulder, staring at me, awaiting a response. She was opening the next door, and there was a part of me that didn’t want to cross the threshold, because what if what I had become still wasn’t good enough to keep her.

  “I do. It was weird at first, permanently placing a piece of myself onto another person, a stranger, but I love it. I like it best when they don’t give me a reason behind what they pick. I tend to make my own assumptions.” I smiled as I covered my palette.

  “So you and your brothers all work there?”

  I nodded. “Kieran runs the books and Liam owns it. He bought it six years ago, just after my dad died. The place was going bankrupt, so he—”

  “Your dad died?” The blush in her cheeks faded as she took a step toward me. She reached out her hand in comfort, but I turned away and headed to the stereo to grab my phone. He was one of the reasons I’d lost her to begin with.

  “He was nothing more than a drunk.” The sentence was a rapid fire machine gun to the white flags we had raised.

  She thinks you’re just like him.

  “But he was your father.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Liam was more of a father to me than he ever was.”

  She lowered her head and whispered an apology.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as I shook my head. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice.” I moved to where she was standing and lifted her chin. “It was more of a relief when he died, Paige. He wasn’t something any of us were proud of, and Liam, he had to give up everything to help with his medical bills.” And mine. “Kieran gave up his quest for the priesthood to stay with Mom, and—”

  She took my hand. “I wish I could have been there for you.”

  A spark of anger snapped behind my eyes, and I shrugged out from under her touch. She hadn’t been there.

  “After we split, it got pretty bad, Paige, I was in and out of treatment, different docs. I was a fucking head case. They said I had a mild psychotic break about a year after we’d broken up. The voices, they’d eaten me alive, I’d lose time a lot, still do when I get really depressed, but I’d been able to pull out of it without hospitalization. It cost Liam. He took care of me when I couldn’t do it for myself. I would have rotted away in that house with my mother, but after Pop died, it was like Liam finally got the freedom to fly, and thank Christ he took me with him.”

  The guilt painted dark circles under her eyes and they began to deepen into black and blue hollows.

  “I-I worried about what it had been like for you.” Paige’s voice was fragile. “There were many times I wanted to reach out, talk to you, but it was forbidden, my past was erased the day I married Clark. I was his to have and he did what he pleased. I wasn’t allowed to paint, have friends outside of the church. I wasn’t allowed to hold a job. If I ever mentioned you, or anything… even Lana, I was told to pray away my demons. Clark made sure I always remembered what my place was.” She exhaled and I let her take my hand. “I wasn’t there for you, and I wasn’t there for myself.”

  Everything she was saying cut me open, churned in my gut, and made me see red. Clark had owned her as much as my sickness had claimed me. “I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty.”

  She smiled without malice. “You did. But it’s okay. We’ve both hurt each other and the damage, it’s done, but we’re not beyond repair. At least I hope not. I’m just glad you don’t hate me anymore.”

  She cast her gaze down and a small gasp slipped from her lips. She turned my arm over in her hand and traced the ink with the tip of her finger as she mumbled the words “You see the world.” The hair on my arm stood and a shiver ran up my spine as she circled the “O” in the word you.

  I watched her cheeks fill with pink again as she continued to move her finger slowly, delicately, over my skin. “I-I.” She struggled to speak past her trembling lips.

  “You told me I saw the w
orld, and it was the first time anyone ever looked at my sickness with anything other than sadness. You saw me as something unique and special, not twisted and fucked up. It was one of the first tattoos I got. Even though I was pissed, and part of me thought I’d never forgive you, I needed to remember you. Your eyes, they were always honest, and those words… they were the only piece of reality I had to hold on to for a long-ass time.” I weaved our fingers together, and the silk of her skin stole away any lasting trace of irritation. She looked up at me, her guilt still heavy. “I might have hated you, Paige, but that hate, it was the lie. This…” I lifted our linked hands. “This is the truth.”

  I brushed my lips across the back of her hand, and the blush of her cheeks heated into a deeper shade of red.

  Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, “You’ve always known how to make my heart beat, Declan.” She bumped her hip into mine, lightening the mood between us, and that sassy, teenage girl I fell in love with emerged with a full-blown smile, making me chuckle.

  There you are, Paige Simon.

  She had finally shown herself. My pulse quickened at her easy laughter, and I squeezed her hand.

  “You make it easier to breathe.” The sentence tumbled from my mouth before I could stop it.

  She raised up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek, and the fear of losing her again, of pushing us too fast, and derailing the progress we’d made niggled at the back of my throat as I swallowed down the urge to ask her what she was doing once she left here tonight. It was late, and she needed to sleep. Fuck, I needed to sleep, but the idea of having her next to me again, of taking her home and kissing her until her lips were bruised and her chin was raw from my beard, marking her with my touch, my lips… shit… as good as it sounded, as much as I needed that, I wasn’t ready.

  “Will I see you tomorrow?” I asked as she pulled away, my hand in hers still.

  Our week at the studio was almost over, and I didn’t have enough money to extend the lease. I’d been cutting back my hours at the shop, pissing off my brothers so I could get here earlier, have more time with her, but after everything we’d hashed out over these past few days, I’d suffer the wrath of Liam, and I could always just paint in my room.

  She tugged on my arm. “Of course.” She said it as if it was a fact, as if I was nuts to even fucking ask, as if she hadn’t had anywhere else more important to be, and my lips broke into a wide smile.

  The cold air snaked around my body as I walked her to her car. The sky was a cloudless, stark midnight blue with bursts of yellow stars. Everything seemed more vibrant. I could even smell the bakery a few blocks up. They must’ve started baking their sweet breads for the early morning rush. The heat of her skin pressed against me and I took a chance and pulled her under my arm. She burrowed into me as we walked the last few steps to where she’d parked behind The Gallery.

  Paige lingered in my embrace once we got to her car. I turned her at the waist so she was facing me. We were just a hair’s breadth away from each other, and the need to kiss her fueled my rapid pulse once again. The monster in my head was asleep, and each breath she took curled in white steam from her lips, pulling me closer. She raised her hand and placed it at the nape of my neck and brought her lips to my ear.

  “Good night, Declan.”

  I held back my shudder as she pulled away and her fingertips dusted at my hairline. Blood pumped and filled the deep, dark recesses of my heart. My body responded to her body as I watched her blush fall past her chest, disappearing beyond her sweater.

  As I let go of her hips, I steadied myself. My voice was even, and there was no trace of the fire, of the red, lashing flame she’d created as I said, “See you tomorrow.”

  The door clicked shut behind me as I walked into the studio. Declan was already there, dressed in torn jeans that hugged his thighs and a tight, white t-shirt. His skin always looked so touchable next to the soft white of cotton. He was pulling out my supplies, but his work stool was empty.

  “Hi.” The syllable was meek as I approached him.

  We’d started something again, I wasn’t sure where it would go, but the relief I felt in his presence was more than I had ever received while on my knees in prayer.

  He took my hand in his and the calm I’d been craving all day trickled down my spine. “Hey.”

  I reveled in the feel of his hand, and I took a moment to admire his work. I’d not had a chance lately to really see it up close, because I’d been too enveloped in my own work. His painting, it was raw and real and stunning. The texture was thick with surreal strokes and lines that blurred but blended into each other in a perfect dance. The center piece, my eyes, encased by trees, surrounded by giant swirls of dark grays and purples. Each whorl was its own cosmos encased by tiny specks of yellow… stars.

  I felt breathless as I let the intricate details soak my vision. “Declan, this is so much more than beautiful.”

  His eyes filled with an ocean of blue. It was unnerving and familiar at the same time, watching him melt in front of me, watching the life of the boy I used to know color his cheeks.

  He was quiet and let me admire the pieces of his soul that had been splashed onto the canvas.

  “This should be in a museum, lit for everyone to see. Are there more?”

  He nodded.

  “I’d… I’d like to see them sometime… if that’s okay?”

  “Most of my work is dark, you might not like what you see.” His jaw pulsed slightly, but I smiled through the nerves.

  “I’ve always liked your dark, Declan.”

  He squeezed my hand and said, “If we finish up a little early we could swing by my place, all my paintings and drawings are there. I try to frame the most important ones.”

  “I’d love to.” I let my eyes linger on his painting for a few seconds before I met his gaze. The air between us seemed to fill with static, and the scent of him, the strength of his fingers wrapped with mine, made my heart feel hollow and full at the same time and it beat with uncertainty as his lips spread slowly into a grin. A grin I knew, a grin that transferred heat from his body to mine.

  He looked down at our tangled fingers. “Should we paint?”

  His voice was firm and strong and sure and I hoped that we would eventually, fully mend our broken hearts. I wanted him to look at me like this again and again. The idea of us was a treacherous river to forge, and our past, a rushing rapid, eager to tear us apart, ready to shred away our skin and bare our bones. It was too soon to think myself worthy of a future, it was foolish, but Declan had forgiven me. He’d held my hand the other night and told me that, together, we were the truth. Not the rules I’d been given by the church I had chosen to blindly follow in order to find some speck of hope. I’d wanted to excel and become something holy, worthy, but with Declan I only ever needed to be me. Mercy… it was thick and somber and resided inside the storm of his eyes as he watched me now. It was fresh and new and beautiful and I’d missed him.

  I wanted him.

  “Yeah, let’s paint.” I smiled and he slowly released my hand.

  I could paint my life in golds and greens and begin to heal for myself, for him. With Declan, I was able to just be—be me, even if it was only for tonight, or this past week. I couldn’t allow myself to think beyond this moment.

  He was quiet as he rustled through the brown leather satchel that was always sitting at the foot of his easel. He pulled a sketch pad and a box of charcoal from the bag.

  “Are you not going to paint?” I asked when he sat on the cold, concrete floor in front of his work stool.

  “I think it’s finished,” he said as he flipped the sketch book to a blank page.

  I awaited more explanation, but none ever came. He sat on the ground for the majority of the night, moving the charcoal quickly over the page, stopping every now and then to smooth his thumb over the paper, shadowing, contouring… what, I couldn’t say. Conversation was minimal, and it was difficult to concentrate on my own project. At times, I’d feel him watch
ing me. It would start out as a tingle of goose bumps that would spread along the line of my arm. His eyes lifted the hairs on the back of my neck, but when I would finally allow myself to look at him, his head would be down, his arm muscles taut and determined as he drew whatever masterpiece he’d thought up along the page. The urge to ask him what he was working on almost consumed me. I realized I’d barely worked on my own painting. I exhaled a sharp breath and he chuckled. The sound of his deep laugh, mixed with the light bass of the music stirred the dormant butterflies in my belly.

  “What?” I asked, unable to contain my smirk as his eyes raised to mine. A hint of mischief colored his sea glass irises with a speck of caramel.

  “It’s killing you, isn’t it?” His smile erased all the dark shadows from under his eyes.

  My eyebrows formed a dubious curve. “I don’t know what you mean?” I shook my head and turned my attention back to my own work. I ignored the smug smile he had. It felt too easy… this whole night did.

  “It’s you.” His voice was smoke and flame and my stomach flipped.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  “Would you like to see?” he asked.

  I did, but I didn’t. Declan had a way of recreating reality. He’d show you who you were, he’d give you a glimpse into his mind, he’d paint you with veracity and passion and there would be no way to deny the truth. I was terrified to see how he saw me now.

  He didn’t give me a chance to say no as he turned the sketch pad toward me. I was there but I wasn’t. It was shadows and mist and my body had been stirred by the air. My profile the only strong line. My head was tipped down, my arms slightly raised as if in prayer, my silhouette lost into the gloom behind me. It was sad, and striking… it was perfect. I kneeled down in front of him and took the sketch book from his grip with trembling fingers. I stared at the girl in the picture. It was sure and clear and abstract. It was steadfast and fleeting… it was exactly how I felt. I was Clark’s wife, but I was also Declan’s heart, and I was stuck between worlds, just as he’d depicted me.