Page 22 of Possession

He shook his head. “She’s got some issues, and I don’t like to talk shit, but I’m pretty sure she’s promiscuous.”

I wanted to laugh at the word. He was only twenty-six. He should be drinking, sleeping around, and living life, living a life I sure as hell would never have. “Always the saint.” I slapped him on the shoulder and gave him a sideways smile.

“Just stay away from her, Declan. She’s an alcoholic. She was hitting on those assholes I went to high school with the other night, then came right over to you and flashed her smile. She was drunk. I should’ve said something then, but you seemed interested, and it’s been so long since… don’t buy into her, Declan, you’ve waited too long to just—”

“Don’t worry.” I hated that he did. “Kate’s not for me. She’s not my type.”

She’s not Paige.

I gave him my practiced chuckle and he smiled.

“Good.” He nodded toward the back of the room. “Let’s play a game of pool.”

It was easy for Liam and Kieran to make believe I was normal inside the confines of the bar and the tattoo shop, but I was tired of pretending. This day wouldn’t end in laughter and fake smiles. It would end with smears of paint as I sullied the eyes that haunted me from the canvas.

“Nah, I’m going to head to the studio. I’ve got some energy to work off. See you at work tomorrow.”

“You sure?” The creases around his eyes deepened with concern.

I nodded.

“Chandler finally gave you the key to the place?”

“Yeah, I guess when you pay for two weeks of studio time he figures you’re good for it. Tell Liam I left?”

“Sure thing, Declan.” He shook my hand and pulled me into a side hug. “See you in the morning.”

I tried to ignore that the tone of his voice hinted at a question as I turned to leave. It was a fact, my brothers, my mother, they watched me like I was a bomb and my clock was winding down and, at some point, I’d reach my detonation and rip our family to shreds.

His room was small with aged paint and brown shag carpet. His twin bed was pushed into the corner, the handmade quilt was oversized and threadbare. The whole space was covered in drawings and paintings. Declan’s talent showcased on every wall and spilled from his desktop. It smelled like paper, citrus, and the slight scent of soap lingered in the mix. His space was warm, inviting, and I liked how the lamp on the table cast everything in a creamy light.

“You’re pretty far from the bench.” He took my hand, led me to his bed, and I sat down.

The bench of the mountain was where the rich kids lived. The doctors’ sons and daughters. The accountants and finance gurus. Me.

“I always wondered why rich people build in such dangerous places. You know?”

I shook my head and pressed my lips together trying to fight my smile. I liked listening to the way Declan thought. He was so smart and most teenagers didn’t care about the little things, not like he did.

“Beachfront property, mountain sides, it’s crazy, think about it. Hurricanes, earthquakes, floods…” He noticed my small smile and smirked. “What?”

My lips curled of their own accord. “I like that you think of this stuff, Declan.”

His smile fell and he sat next to me on the bed. I lifted and entwined his fingers with mine. “I’m fucking weird.” His stare landed on our hands.

His fingernails were covered in paint; yellow and red and blue crusted under his nails and in the creases of his hand. His skin was rough and worn, like a real artist, and mine, it was soft and underused. Together they clashed, but I loved the feel of him. I thought it was a perfect fit. “I don’t think you’re weird, and my house, it’s cold, Declan. We have all these big windows to look out over the valley, but the curtains are always shut. Sunsets hidden, starlight concealed… your house… it’s a home, mine…you’ve seen it… it’s staged. Always on display, but never part of life.”

He raised our joined hands to his mouth and brushed his lips over my knuckles. I shuddered and closed my eyes as his hot breath tickled my skin. “I’m sorry I waited so long to bring you here, I was… embarrassed.”

My eyes opened. We’d been together for almost eight months, and this was the first time I’d been invited to his house. I wanted to ask him why, even though I knew the answer. He was poor. His dad drank too much, from what he told me, and his brothers were rowdy, but he always spoke well of his mother. “Don’t be. I’m excited to finally meet everyone.” I turned and faced him fully, unlinking our hands so I could hold his face between my palms. His pale cheeks filled with color as I leaned in. “Thank you for letting me in. It feels… more official, for some reason.”

He licked his lips, his blue eyes never leaving mine. “Just ignore my dad, okay? Anything he says… just forget about it.”

My stomach dropped and I was sad for him. I could see the fear and rage behind his irises. “It doesn’t matter what he says.” I kissed him once and then again and he exhaled in relief. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed me, this time at his own fevered pace. Declan’s mouth claimed mine as he leaned me backward onto his bed. The soft scent of him encircled me and each kiss he took pulled me deeper in—in love with him. I was in love with him.It was absurd, and juvenile, but I wanted to spend every minute in this tiny, ramshackle room with this boy who thought like a man, who painted like a god, and who made me feel like I was special… like I’d always be his.

It was dark in my room. The overcast sky gave little light and it didn’t help I refused to open the blinds. After seeing Declan again, after seeing the hate in his eyes, I hadn’t been able to go back to The Gallery. The next day I called in sick, and I didn’t have another shift scheduled until this afternoon. It had rained the next day and hadn’t stopped, fall pushed its way into the bowl of the valley. Cleansing the creosotes and sage, feeding the rivers, and bringing the cold of autumn with its crisp touch. Lana had tried to drag me out of bed with promises of food and tea. She’d tried to make me shower, tried to stuff me with Oreos and soup, but I wouldn’t, couldn’t budge. Her classes had kept her busy this week, and I was grateful for the privacy to grieve. I grieved for the loss of my child, for the loss of myself, for the loss of my life, my own person. I’d given into my parents and Clark and the damn church. I’d given up on myself. I lost my palette, my color, my individuality. I’d lost my love, my Declan, and I’d allowed him to fade. I’d fed him to the pack of wolves, to the demons in his head.

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