Page 15 of Possession

At least today I had some luck on my side, The Gallery was empty except for the artist in the back. His music breathed through the walls of the store and it was the only thing holding me together. I loved this album and I’d used to paint to it. I turned and stared at the studio door. Chandler had said only to disturb him if I thought it necessary. I was curious. It wouldn’t be so terrible if I wanted to see what the guy was working on. I loved art and I missed it. I’d take a quick look, possibly offer him some water. Maybe he needed more paint. Besides, it would be a nice distraction from reality. My stomach flipped and I bit my lip. It was settled. I’d let myself have a peek.

My hands were clammy as I moved toward the door, and I rubbed them on my jeans, feeling more nervous than I’d felt in a long time. I’d been sheltered by my husband’s perversions of God, being immersed in this world of art again, as much as its beauty swallowed me whole, it scared the heck out of me, too. Because all I’d had before was art and Declan, and what if I’d forgotten how to create? What if Clark, the church, had sucked every last bit of who I was from my veins? I’d never have Declan again, but I still had hope in the smell of paint, and the feel of a brush in my hand. After what I’d done, I wasn’t sure that I deserved hope, but as my fingers touched the cool metal knob of the studio door, hope bloomed inside me like a sterling rose.

The dream-like quality of the music fed my heartbeat as the door opened. I took a few timid steps and realized no one was there. The place was empty. The lights were on and there was a stool holding a palette filled with paints, but it was covered, as if he’d finished. Maybe I missed him leave while I was counting out the register with Chandler. I noticed an iPhone plugged into the stereo, and wondered why he hadn’t shut off the music. The door shut loudly behind me and I jumped.

A nervous giggle erupted and I shook my head. “Hello?”

Nothing.

My feet felt weighted as I took a few more steps, and once my eyes landed on the canvas, my chest tightened with each erratic beat of my heart. Gorgeous swaths of color filled my vision. Purples and oranges mixed to create a stunning sunset effect behind a pair of blue eyes. I stepped closer to the painting as the hair on the back of my neck stood, and goose bumps pricked at my skin. The sensation in my fingertips tingled as the familiar color, set, and brush strokes stared back at me from the canvas.

A whispered gasp spilled from my lips. Those were my eyes.Was it possible?I was about to take a step back, take a better look when I felt something touch my hair. My scream caught in my throat as I spun to see what or who had touched me. My eyes widened and the strangled scream came out as a loud, breathy gasp.

“Declan?” My voice sounded fake, like I hadn’t been the one to say the word. Like looking at him, in the flesh, was just a dream. I was stuck in a dream. My hand shook as I brought it to my lips.

He just stared at me in horror. His light blue eyes filled with insecurity, as if he wasn’t sure I was really there. His shoulders were too broad, much broader than I remembered. He had a full, but trimmed beard. The dark blond color of it was appealing. He looked like a stranger, but the confused, sad sheen of his eyes made me ache to touch him, to soothe him.

I took another step forward and he backed away. The movement bringing everything into pristine clarity.

“No.” His deep voice stabbed me. I’d lost the quality of it years ago and hearing it almost brought me to my knees. “How—”

He closed his eyes briefly and his jaw clenched before the full bore of his hatred hit me in the chest.

This wasn’t the Declan I knew. The Declan I knew was a boy on the cusp of manhood. His eyes had been kind, his body had been strong, but lean. His facial features had still held the softness of youth. This Declan… he was a man. Etched and stark. His body was built and full of cut muscle. His arms were covered in full sleeves of tattoos and they flexed nervously under his paint-splattered, white t-shirt. He was worn, weary and absolutely beautiful. My stomach knotted as the silence grew. His eyes scanned my body and I wondered what he was thinking. There was no happiness on his lips, no joy in those crystalline eyes.

“How did you know I was here?” He shook his head again, his eyes closed, and he brought the heel of both of his palms to his temples.

“I-I work here.” My stutter caused his eyes to flick open and lock with mine. His arms now hung at his sides, his hands balled into fists.

Declan’s lips moved, but nothing came out, no words and no sound. My heart hammered as I watched the man transform into the boy I had loved, that I still loved. He was sifting through that noise in his head and every nerve ending in my body wanted to reach out to him like I used to. It was what I’d always done. The urge to console him won over self-preservation. My hand touched the twitching muscle of his bicep and it was surprisingly soft. His eyes darted to where my fingers rested. My blank skin against his ink. It didn’t match… not anymore.

He shrugged away from my touch. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

The threat in his voice gripped my spine and I stumbled backward. “I’m sorry.” The terror in my tone registered and his eyes softened.

How did I proceed? What could I say? The last time I’d seen Declan was a week after we’d both decided to abort our pregnancy. He never wanted to do it, it was against everything he’d believed. He would have married me, he would have lost himself inside of some crappy job, given up everything he’d ever wanted to support us just like his father had for his mother. I was young, scared, and his dad had turned into a drunk.

It didn’t help that my parents had started attending that damn church and had told me to leave Declan several times. They’d begun to plant seeds of doubt even back then, and when it looked as if I wouldn’t comply, they’d threatened me, told me I’d have nothing if I stayed with him. And when I found out I was pregnant, instead of celebration, all I felt was agony. My parents would have sent me away if I’d chosen to keep the baby, and I would’ve never seen Declan again. At the time, terminating the pregnancy, it felt like the only option.

Declan hadn’t originally said it, but he’d hated me for asking him to agree to it, hated me for making him take me to the clinic, and hated me for actually killing our child. It had taken exactly seven days for our entire world to end. Declan had never looked at me the same, and that last night we were together… everything we’d loved about each other had been laid to ruin. As I gazed at him now, anger rolling off his shoulders, with each rapid breath I knew, he still hadn’t forgiven me. He still hated me and had every right to. I was a murderer, and I’d killed everything.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated and the tension in his shoulders eased as tears poured from my eyes.

He swore under his breath and turned toward the stereo. For a moment, I wanted to bolt. Leave the studio and the store behind. I wanted to run and jump in my car. Flee, get as many miles between me and my past as possible. Instead, I stood still. Trapped by his smell and how it mixed with each unsteady breath I took. I missed it. I missed him, and howheused to make me feel. There were so many things I wanted to tell him, that he should know, but the room went silent and he pocketed his phone. He turned and made a move to come forward but stopped. Nine years was an eternity compared to the fifty feet between us now, but as his eyes clouded over, I felt him slip into the darker side of never again.

“Declan, I don’t know what to say.” My voice cracked and he stepped backward.

“There’s nothing you can say, Paige.” He winced at the sound of my name just before he turned and disappeared into the back hall.

The blaring, overhead alarm went off. The emergency exit door had been opened and a hard sob burst from my chest.

He was gone.

Liar

Her palm singed against my ink-stained skin.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

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