Page 32 of Possession

Insecurity?

He sighs, my anger making him tired. You think on and on about of the same stupid things: what a pathetic and weak thing you are, irrelevant to this new life, trapped by such a mean and evil god. Would it be so bad to enjoy yourself?

Sure, I’m an insecure, pointless human, but I’m not as stupid as you think I am. I know you aren’t satisfied just staying here. You’re getting stronger, and there’s more that you want. He doesn’t respond, which emboldens me. You have the resources of a cult, you’re able to create monsters, and you can take control over me. What’s next? I know you’re planning something.

And if I am? I’m not supposed to enjoy my freedom? I’m not supposed to want more for us?

This isn’t about us! You’re so quick to talk about “we” and “our,” but all you ever do is think about yourself!

Careful now. He was calm before, almost enjoying my anger, but now it’s starting to lose its charm.

Or what?

You said yourself that I can take control. Why should I share at all?

Maybe it’s being trapped with a cult, or being ignored and left in the dark, threatened and feeling like Aris’ toy; I don’t know what it is, but it’s enough. And it all finally culminates.

With a flash of rage that I’m not quite sure is fully mine, I grab the oval mirror the seamstress had me stand before and throw it as hard as I can. The wooden antique makes it about a foot, an impressive feat of strength from yours truly, and lands mirror-side down on the floor. I glare at it for a moment, furious that it hasn’t collapsed into a million pieces, before I kick it.

It’s unbelievably stupid and useless, and there’s an instantaneous sting on my leg, where skin and bone connect with the mirror’s stand. Humiliated and aching, I can do nothing but curse and move to the bed to lay down and nurse myself. As a clumsy girl, I’ve had my fair share of bruises and can feel one coming on.

But, one second I’m walking to the bed, and the next I can’t move at all.

I picture him, the flame trapped in a wooden room, and see the walls starting to blacken, weakening, collapsing in on themselves.

“What was that?” Aris yells, almost roars; he’s so ferociously irate. I’ve felt him this angry before, but I’ve never heard it. Aris has a voice that’s scary when he’s speaking at a regular volume. Like this, even I’m scared of him. “You hurt our body!”

My anger falters from a rush of dread. I was mad, I say to explain. You said you would take over!

“And you rush to hurt us? Do you understand nothing?”

Now, Aris strides over to the mirror, raises it above his head in a way that I could not, and throws it at the wall. Between the sound of shattering glass, the splintering mirror, and crumbling plaster, something in me breaks.

Shock and true fear make me shrink inside of myself. I imagine a turtle or hermit crab retreating as I try to move further back, further away. To hide.

“Mary?” he says, suddenly alert. His voice is more level, though the undercurrent of rage lies just beneath. Ready to come out at any moment.

I’m hardly listening, so caught up in my own thoughts. I don’t know what to think first or feel most ardently. He screamed at me. He took control without asking. He’s angry—angry with me. He didn’t ask me—he just took control.

I am actually, truly scared.

“Mary,” Aris says again. This time, more alarmed.

His presence, while in control of the body, also appears in our head. Searching. As Aris moves closer to me, I operate out of instinct; I recede. Deeper and deeper.

As if my body were a cavern or a hole to fall down and die, I begin the downward descent. One rock at a time…

“Come back!”

…descending a cliff, until my eyesight begins to blur and blacken, until there’s nothing at all.

***

It has been… some time. I can’t tell how long.

Aris? I say tiredly.

Mary? Mary, where have you been?

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