Page 71 of Possession

“What?” I say, then cringe at my shuddering, weak voice. I try to clear my throat, but my saliva gets stuck halfway and I end up having to cough to prevent myself from choking. Ryan stares for some time before extending his hand in my direction, palm first.

Does he want to help me up? I’m not keen on touching him, but I do need assistance at the moment.

I cautiously take his hand, and he immediately pulls, lifting me a solid two feet off of the ground. My shoulder burns like it’s been jostled in its socket, making me gasp in pain, but the ache settles when Ryan sets me on my own feet. He keeps a hand close to my back, hovering like he can sense that I’m probably going to fall over and he’s been tasked with catching me. Still, he doesn’t touch me again.

I have the strange urge to look at him and gauge his expression—what does he think of this? What does he have to say? But I’m right next to him, and I don’t think my neck would be able to support my head if I leaned it fully back to look at his face.

He gives me a moment to collect myself before his hand brushes against my shoulder blades, so big that it spans about the entirety of my back. Gently, Ryan gives me a nudge towards the door. Herding me.

I’m not going to lie, I need more time to myself. I feel like I’ve run a half marathon, and I just want to sit. I’m terrified that my racing heart will give out, my body stunned from simply getting to my feet. Unfortunately, I doubt that Ryan cares very much. The only thing that made me relevant or important to him is gone now. Frankly, I’m not sure why he hasn’t killed me yet. Maybe Aris told him not to, though that doesn’t sound like him.

In a somewhat removed, tired manner, I wonder what will happen to me now. Is it really over—this whole nightmare, the madness? Can I rest now? Ryan offers nothing, but, then again, I don’t dare ask. What if I don’t like his answer?

Somehow, I manage to put one foot in front of the other, Ryan a step behind as he ushers me out. We walk the house, changed by my month’s absence in ways I hadn’t noticed before: broken picture frames, holes in the wall and floor, splintered furniture. I find it strange that no one bothered to clean any of it up. This is Henry’s friend's house—certainly he’d want to tidy it?

We stop by the front door, where two bags have been packed. I stare at them curiously and wait for an explanation, though of course Ryan says nothing, his gaze just burning into the top of my head. I sigh and step a few feet back so I can see his face, and I pause as his eyes flit between me and the door. It’s like he’s trying to communicate without speaking.

“What?” I say, and understand what he wants just a second after.

Bags packed. Walking me to the door.

I immediately shake my head. No, I can’t leave. I’m tired. I need rest, and I need to talk to Henry. Where is he, anyway? Does he know that Ryan is just throwing me out? He can’t be throwing me out.

I won’t survive on my own! I haven’t been part of society for a few years now, but I know how things work; to travel, I need money and identification. I won’t get far with what I have now, which is nothing. And I doubt my status as a wanted criminal has changed in the past few weeks.

My focus switches to the bags, and I wonder what’s inside. IDs? Clothes? Who packed them? I try to imagine Ryan’s thick fingers rifling through my belongings, selecting shirts he thinks would suit me best, but the image just won’t stick.

“Where is Henry?” I ask, trying to keep my voice firm, but it shakes from exhaustion and fear. If Ryan wants me to go, there’s nothing and no one to stop him; he’s a million times stronger than me.

He cocks his head to the side, and, remembering his ear, I momentarily wonder if he even heard me. But then he raises a hand and points at the ceiling, face impassive.

“He’s… upstairs?”

Ryan nods.

I shake my head, not understanding. If Henry is here, why isn’t he with me? Was Henry the one who decided to throw me out? I feel like a kid plucking daisies: I trust him, I trust him not. My breathing starts to pick up, to the point where I’m gasping for air and sobbing from frustration.

Aris? What’s happening, Aris?

I reach out for him instinctively, trying to find his smoke as I collapse to my knees. Steel bands catch me before I connect with the floor, but the strength of what holds me is bruising on its own. The pain should center me, help me focus on this moment, but I find myself drifting.

This is too much at once. An hour ago, I was eating a sandwich with Henry and Aris, but that was really a month ago, and so much happened in that month that I don’t understand. Our entire situation changed; Aris’ outlook flipped, and he stopped seeing it as “our” situation. The moment I returned, he tossed me aside.

And now I’m supposed to go? Maybe I’ve been asleep for another month in the center of the chalk circle, and in that time Henry and Ryan decided to get rid of me. Is that what happened?

My head is spinning, pounding at my temples, and I am utterly exhausted. I have given them everything.

“I want to sleep,” I murmur, fresh tears making my voice wobble. “I just want to sleep.”

My head bows, forehead pressing against Ryan’s arm. Cold to the touch, it hardly feels human, and I suppose that’s because he isn’t. Ryan lets me stay on him for a few more seconds before straightening and holding me up by the shoulders. For a moment, I worry that he’ll grab me by the scruff of my neck and toss me outside, but he stays still and only helps support me.

I open my mouth to ask him what he’s doing, what he wants, when the floorboards upstairs start creaking. Both Ryan and I still, my crying halting abruptly. The sound travels down the hall, to the staircase, and become footfalls. It’s only when I hear the newcomer approaching from the nearest room that I realize I’ve no idea if this is a good thing or not. If it’s Henry, does he want me to leave?

Wiggling out of Ryan’s hold, I take a few steps away, moving not unlike a newborn fawn. I don’t want to be caught in Ryan’s arms, not in front of Henry.

“Mary.” My name is said as an exhalation, maybe even in relief. Or am I hearing what I want to?

I somehow manage to turn on my own, Ryan following the motion and revealing Henry behind his bulk. I falter at the sight of him. It can’t have been just a few hours—it’s not possible. Something is different about him. Has he filled out more, gotten taller?

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