Page 5 of Possession

“How is your grandmother?” I asked as I set down my bag on her scratched up coffee table.

“Dead as a doornail, the old bat finally croaked.” She smiled at my wide eyes. “It’s okay, I use humor to suppress my deep-seated sadness. I’m truly a dark spirit.”

I was afraid to smile, but the corners of my lips had other thoughts, and a slow grin spread across my face.

“And, there she is, folks. Paige Simon, welcome to my humble abode.” Lana’s smile stretched wider. “I’m glad you called me, I’ve missed you. I just made some tea, do you want a cup?”

I was about to shake my head, I wasn’t allowed to have tea, but I paused. I’d left him, them—everything. “Yes, that would be really nice, thank you.”

“I’ll get it, have a seat. Relax, the Inquisition starts soon.” She nodded toward the couch and I complied.

The place was small. Just a kitchen to the right with a breakfast bar that opened into the living room, and down the hall a few rooms, maybe. “This place is—”

“A tiny, little rabbit hole.” She laughed as she grabbed cups from the cabinet and poured the tea. She didn’t take long, no cream, no sugar, no fuss, as she sat down next to me. The steam smelled like spiced oranges, and I immediately felt relaxed. “This house… it’s good for now. Blow on it, Paige, it’s hot…” I did as I was told then took a small sip as she continued, “But yeah, I bought it after my grandmother died a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s life, she was old. She lived a good life, besides, it made it really difficult to bring men home when you live with a ninety year old.” Her lips turned up at the corners.

“Never married?” I asked over the rim of my mug, and she rolled her eyes.

“Hell, no. I’m working on my doctoral thesis, I don’t have time for men.” She smirked. “Well, at least not for the long haul. I like dating professors, it’s a sickness.” She laughed again and pulled her straight and shiny, chin-length, dark chocolate hair behind her ears. Her green eyes searched mine and her brows knotted. Her jovial expression turned serious. “Did he hurt you?”

My hands trembled as I placed my mug on the coffee table. “No,” I said. “And, yes. He had an affair.”

I spent the next hour cataloging the last eight years of my life. The emotional abuse, the constant ridicule. I told her all of it. How we couldn’t have children, how I’d lost myself in religion, lost myself in a marriage, an ownership… anything,anythingto help me forget my unforgivable crime. I’d done everything I could do to save myself, save my life after I’d taken one. I was so close to death, so close to ending it all after I’d left Declan.His name, twice now I’d let it slip through. It stirred something inside of me, the sleeping monster’s eyes opened, and I asked, “Do you ever see him?”

“Who?” Lana glanced over my features. The fear must have drained my cheeks because she whispered, “Declan?”

I nodded.

“On occasion.” Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine.

“How… how is he?” It was a stupid question. I had no right to know, and when Lana let her gaze meet mine, I wished I’d never asked.

“I heard it was rough for him, Paige, I mean… I’ve only seen him a few times, at this place called Bellows. I go there sometimes with friends from school. He looks… good,” she added with a chipper beat. “But, if I’m being honest, how you left things, I’m not sure someone like him could recover from that.”

Lana always wanted to be a social worker, help kids like her, but she always said the system was broken, and she’d have to figure out a way to fix it. Child psych, it was her thing.

“I know.” The guilt ate holes in my stomach every day. “Where’s the restroom?”

“Down the hall. Second door on the left. You alright?”

I didn’t smile, but I nodded. I was grateful for the short distance and the plush bathroom floor rug as I kneeled and emptied bile from my throat into the toilet. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead as I wiped my mouth with a piece of toilet paper and threw it in the trash. I took several shaky breaths as I bowed down and started to pray. The hushed words rushed from my lips as I let myself remember, remember him—remember Declan.

I mumbled, “Heavenly Father, please forgive me, forgive my sin, forgive my sin, forgive my sin, please help me, help me… help him, please… please… please—” my voice broke, and I rocked back and forth as I brought my right hand to my womb. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Black, white, black, white, bright blinding flashes flickered through the open blinds. It wasn’t the train rumbling past that had woke me. The grating sound of steel on steel was a welcomed friend. It created certainty when I couldn’t decipher between dreams and realities. Sweaty, naked, wet sheets, clammy skin, each breath I took was a desperate choke of air. Gray sheets, black blanket, large, framed murals, art, my art, I was in my room. I lifted my hands to my face and rubbed my eyes as I sat up. My fingers raked through my hair. It had been a dream that pulled me from peace. An idyllic morbid fantasy. I pulled the sheets back and sat at the edge of the bed, watching the flashes of light, letting myself remember, letting the voices eat me alive.

She’s gone.

You ruined it, you let her go.

She’s dead to you.

Forget her.

“No,” I said to the void in a tight whisper.

---