Page 6 of Possession

Forgive her.

Hate her.

Love her.

Gone.

Useless. Useless. Useless.

The train had finally passed, but the pounding in my head remained. I shut my eyes tight and pressed the heel of my palm into my temple. When I opened my eyes again, I was knelt down on the carpet, still naked; my canvas laid out before me. My hands were covered in whorls of color, and my fingers gripped a paint brush. I glanced at the red numbers on the clock. It was just past two in the morning. I shook my head. Time, time… I continued to lose it. I continued to fall into black holes. It didn’t matter how many fucking pills I popped, I belonged to the abyss, and no chemical on Earth would drag me from its depths. These… blank moments were few and far between, but lately, I welcomed them.

The smell of paint saturated the air. I didn’t remember getting out of bed, I sure as hell didn’t remember creating this. I took in the painting in front of me. It was the brightest thing I’d painted since Paige. Since the after that had swallowed me whole. The buttery yellow glow of clear Christmas lights spilled across the canvas, two twisted figures, one black and one gray, embraced. A bulky pine tree lit with tiny balls of ghostly light sat in the corner. It wasn’t an exact rendering, the color was off, it was truth mixed with a false understanding, but if I stared at it long enough… I could almost taste her.

It wasthe dream I’d had. The one that had woken me, the one that chilled my skin with beaded sweat, the one that now came to life with oil and pigment. But the memory, that real thing, it played behind my eyes.

Red, green, white, and blue… the spectrum bounced off the white walls of the dimly lit and narrow hallway. Her smile pulled her cheeks into dimples, and I leaned in as she rested her back against the surface of the wall. Her hand trembled as she pulled the soft strands of her blonde hair behind her ear. I breathed her in. She smelled like rain, like comfort, like warm hues of light. My eager inexperienced lips found hers. The taste of candy canes spilled over my tongue, and her quiet sigh fueled my wavering control. We were too young to feel like this. I was too young to believe in forever and always. My mouth with hers forever. My hand fisted in her hair always. This rare moment… it felt as if I’d never wake up.

The pressure built as her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling our bodies together. Her breasts flush against my chest. Her kiss stopped the voices completely, stopped the sound… stopped time.

The loud laughter from the kitchen startled her and she pulled away. Paige’s lips spread so slowly into the sexiest grin I was sure I’d ever see.

“Merry Christmas, Declan.”

Her voice was velvet, gold, bright savage colors against my wet lips. She kissed me again, a lazy tease, before hiding her face in my neck with a giggle.

“Merry Christmas.”

I was fourteen when I kissed Paige in the hallway of her childhood home. We’d only been together a month. It was the beginning of everything. The beginning of something I thought would save me from myself, from the demons that possessed me. Little had I known, four years later Paige would destroy everything.

A pornographic, female moan ripped me from sleep. A loud bang, a grunt, and another moan, another breathless sigh. Shit.The sun was up and baking the open paints I’d left out overnight on the floor. I got out of bed abruptly, grabbed my sweats and slipped them on. I quickly picked up a few bottles of paint and closed the lids, setting them on my work table.Shit.I tried not to look at the painting I’d created last night. I tried to push back the memory I’d had, and the time I’d lost, but it was pointless. The scene I’d masterfully placed on display spit curses at me.

Tear it up. Cut it up, Declan.

Destroy it.

I didn’t let my eyes linger as I stepped over the canvas. I rummaged through my dresser drawer and grabbed the first t-shirt I could find. The sounds of my brother, Liam, fucking some chick just a wall away was starting to piss me off.

You’re jealous.

Listen. Listen. Listen.

You’ll never have it, never feel it.

I mumbled the lyrics of my favorite band,Brand New,in an attempt to ignore the antagonistic hiss of voices playing through my head. I slipped my phone and earbuds off the top of the dresser. I turned on some music and placed the white buds in my ears. The deep bass, the angry rhythm, I closed my eyes and drowned it all out. The painting, last night... forgotten. My bathroom wasn’t connected to my room, unfortunately, so I skipped my normal morning routine in effort to give my brother some privacy. My pills were in the kitchen anyway, I could shower later. There was a small part of me that wanted to make as much noise as possible, let Liam know I was awake, but I wouldn’t do that… not to him. He’d given up so much for me, for our family, he deserved a piece of ass every now and then.

I snuck out to the kitchen, quietly passing his door. The oblivion the music provided was a nice veil. The hallway led to a large industrial space. The kitchen opened to the living room. Metal beams and supports ran the length of the entire apartment just below the ceiling. The floors were a dark brown wood, and the only delineating line between the kitchen and living area was the beige, oversized throw rug. The apartment was cold with its metal beams, black furniture, and my dark, fucking thoughts that hung from the brick walls in frames. The wood floors and the tan rug were the only warm tones Liam had allowed during the renovation. The floor of the kitchen was cold against my feet as I poured cereal into a bowl. The stainless steel fridge door was heavy, the industrial feel flowed, even in the kitchen. I grabbed the milk and shut the fridge with as much ease as possible.

After our drunk of a father passed away six years ago, Liam took the small amount of money he’d been saving, got a loan, bought Avenues Ink from his boss and renovated the apartment just above the tattoo shop. Our dad had been diagnosed with cirrhosis a few years before he died, but still he’d chosen to drink himself to death rather than provide for his family. He’d had to quit his job at the oil refinery and had lived off his vet benefits. Our mother had never worked, she’d been a stay-at-home mom all our lives.Liam had taken it upon himself, as the eldest son, to drop out of school at the age of sixteen to help supplement our father’s income. He’d gotten a job here, at Avenues, cleaning and running the front desk, but always watching, and he’d learned fast. His talent had always rivaled mine when it came to art, but he didn’t have voices holding him back, so he’d fucking flourished. Just after he’d turned eighteen, he’d become one of the best artist’s at the shop.

He’d been working there for eight years when Pop had died. He’d been saving, running our house, paying the medical bills, Liam was the man of the house. He was there for me when I’d tried to kill myself. He was the one who finally took the initiative to get me the help I needed. If it wasn’t for him, if left to the devices of my overly Catholic mother and drunk father, I would’ve never made it past thirteen. I swallowed down my first bite of cereal, and it was dry as it scratched my throat. I owed Liam everything.

I carried my bowl to the granite breakfast bar and sat down on a stool. It wasn’t until after our dad died that Liam finally felt safe enough to move out. Being home, all the memories, fed the monster, so I moved out with him. Kieran, my baby brother, was still studying theology when we’d left and it had been agreed upon that he’d stay and take care of Mom. We all had taken care of Mom, we still did. Avenues Ink became a family business, the original owner wasn’t the best businessman and had almost lost the place. If it hadn’t been for Liam, this tiny little empire would have crumbled. Avenues was now one of the most thriving ink shops in Salt Lake City. The original owner retired, bowed out, and we took over. Liam and I were the top artists out of our small staff, and Kieran had put his hopes of becoming a priest on hold to help us run the books. Eventually, he gave up the dream, and worked with us full-time.

A movement in my peripheral vision caused my thoughts to pause. The minute I lifted my eyes from the bowl, I wished I hadn’t. Liam was half naked with just boxer briefs on as he entered the kitchen with the girl, the porn star, scuttling behind him. I removed one ear bud as I watched Tana, one of our regular customers, squirm under my glare. My brother ran his hand through his dark hair; he looked more like our Pop than any of us did and he hated it. Liam’s arms, legs, his chest, neck, and hands were his pallet of color, his disguise. His entire body was covered in ink. He looked just like the owner of an ink shop should; muscles, gages in his ears, piercings in his nose, his right brow decorated with a barbell, and enough tattoos to cover who he really was, who he really despised.

“Hey, Declan.” Tana’s spritely voice was sweet and it bugged me.

I nodded.

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