Page 35 of Possession

“Did he leave you?” I asked.

She stood taller and shook her head. “No, I left him…” She placed her brush on the work stool and stared at my painting. “I was given to him, Declan. I was a gift from my father. A perfectly packaged sinner ready to be saved. I was something to control, and when I couldn’t give him what he wanted he looked for it elsewhere.”

“You were gifted?” My brows furrowed, and all I wanted was for her to look at me, but she wouldn’t. She continued to stare, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

“I had to tell my parents everything, and you know, Declan, you saw how the church had taken over their lives. I was cattle to be bartered for status. I was to marry the pastor’s son. I was to atone for my murdering ways.”

My heart was like a jackhammer as I watched her shiver. She rubbed at her arms until the blood pooled below the surface of her flesh. Her words strangled me, and the light drained from my periphery. The darkness came back with a vengeance I’d never felt before, and my fists begged for answers.

“Clark was a façade at first. The doting husband to the pitiful wife who still longed for her past. After a while, I assimilated. I did exactly as he wished, as my parents wished. I was the perfect Stepford wife, except for one flaw… I wasn’t able to bare Clark a child. He hated me for my sin and how it ruined his chances at the family he thought he deserved, so he sought comfort in another woman.”

“So you left him?” My fury was barely contained and she could tell.

She finally brought her eyes to mine and they were wide open. “Yes.” She turned to face me fully and took my hand in hers. “I’d thought for so long that I deserved every rotten minute I spent with Clark because of what I’d chosen to do and then, when I wasn’t able to conceive, I knew God thought so, too. I didn’t deserve happiness, and I’d told myself I never deserved you.” I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but she said, “I wish…” she choked. “I wish I would’ve kept our baby and married you. Created an existence that didn’t involve pain and heartbreak, only art and joy and family. I wish I would’ve had faith in us, in you, and I should’ve never let you leave my house that day thinking I didn’t love you… want you—”

“Paige.” I dropped her hand and cradled her face between my palms. “There’s no going back.” She’d been wishing for things we’d never get back, living in shit, just like me. Mine was self-imposed, but hers, my head throbbed, what else had she had to live through?

“I understand.” She sounded defeated. She pulled away and my arms fell to my sides.

The voices in my head smiled, and my heart cracked and spilled through my veins in wet, sloppy beats as my palms cooled, the heat from her cheeks an afterthought. “I don’t think you do. I have no clue what you’ve been through, or who you are now, but I want to. Our past is gone… we’ve changed, Paige… I’ve changed.”

You’re the same, Declan.

See how she watches you, she knows it… you’re still worthless.

I brought my thumbs to my temples and pressed as I closed my eyes willing the thoughts away.Not now.

“What are they saying?” Her fingertips were light on my shoulder and, as I lowered my arms, I opened my eyes. She was so close. The voices whirred and hissed as her fingers trailed down, dusting along the line of my arm, until the warmth of her hand tangled in mine.

I was a kid again, and she was the only thing able to heal me. “They say I’m worthless.” I swallowed as her lips parted with a soundless gasp.

She squeezed my hand. Her smile was compassion, it was faith, and it spread a deep burgundy glow in my chest. “All you have to do is take a look behind you…” She flicked her gaze to my painting. “And you’ll know that’s not true.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” my mother spoke with her usual kindness, but I didn’t miss the anxiety that highlighted her tone. “I’ll get you some water.”

Paige was pale and lying on my bed, my mother sat at her side with a warm smile as I hovered in the doorway. I lingered as my mom stood. My head was pounding; the voices I’d forgotten about polluted my peripheral vision again.

“She looks really tired, sick… maybe she should head home? Her mother could tend to her.” My mom took my hand and squeezed it. “She doesn’t have a fever.”

We’d come back to my place after we’d left the clinic. Paige was too afraid to go home, she wasn’t ready to tell her parents, and I sure as hell would never tell mine.

“She’s just tired, Mom, it’s been a long day. I think maybe a stomach bug. I’ll take her home in a little bit.”

She nodded and whispered so only I could hear, “Your father is passed out, use his car, she shouldn’t have to ride the bus like that.”

“Thanks.” I leaned down and kissed my mother’s forehead, I towered over her now. Almost a man, but still a boy. A boy who’d just lied to his mother, who’d just made the most adult decision of his life, and who watched his girlfriend quietly leak tears onto his pillowcase.

You hate her.

No.

You hate what she’s done.

No.

I was lying more today than I ever had before, to myself, to my mom, to Paige. My mother closed the door behind her as she left my bedroom. It could have been two minutes or twenty, but I stood there and stared at the girl I loved, and as time ticked by, as each one of my heartbeats slowed to a grind, a painful ache grew… for her… for what we’d done, I wasn’t sure I would ever move again.

She sniffled and opened her eyes. They were void of color. The soulful blue had been snuffed out.

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