Free Because He Possesses Me by Hannah Ford

BECAUSE HE POSSESSES ME
    A DRIANA

    M y heart sank hard and fast, sliding from my chest all the way down to my stomach.
    I closed my eyes tight and then opened them again, hoping that once I did, Callum would be back, lying in bed, his strong arms wrapped around me tightly, holding me close the way he had during the night.
    But of course it didn’t work.
    When I opened my eyes, Callum was still gone.
    The apartment seemed even starker in the daytime, only serving to highlight the fact that it was just a place he went to fuck.
    And I was just a girl who had fallen for it.
    The sadness rolled out of my body slowly, like it was being taken out with the tide, replaced with a scorching anger.
    At him.
    At myself.
    There was a line Maya Angelou had made famous.
    “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”
    It meant that if someone showed you who they were, that you needed to believe them. You couldn’t go convincing yourself they could be something they weren’t, couldn’t go believing that you could change them or make them into something they were incapable of being.
    My mom had recited the quote to me when I was in seventh grade, when I was desperate for the popular girls to like me, before I’d learned that the jungle of adolescence was dark and twisty and impossible to climb, that even when you reached the top your position was precarious and temporary.
    I didn’t listen to her, and it had cost me dearly.
    Believing that people could change is what had led to the incident that had taken place my first year of college, the year I had to start taking my Ativan. I hadn’t thought about that for a long time, had used the soft fuzz of the drugs and other distractions to keep my mind from going there.
    But now I was repeating those same patterns with Callum, trying to convince him I was worth it, and to convince myself that I was the one who could change him.
    It was a losing fight and I was old enough to know better.
    The thing about pain and hope, though, was that they didn’t discriminate. They did their best to try to trick you. And it was easy to fall for it. Even if you knew better.
    I took in a deep breath and got out of bed, picking up the dress I’d worn the night before. It was a dirty mess, the fabric twisted and wrinkled. There was no way I could wear it.
    I crossed the room to the dresser and opened the drawers, pulled out one of Callum’s t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. They were way too big for me, but they would serve to get me home until I could shower and change for work.
    Work.
    Crap.
    I was going to be late.
    There was no way I was going to be able to get all the way to my apartment and then all the way back to Midtown by seven.
    It was already six.
    I had to hurry, I had to call Kiersten and –
    There was a pounding knock on the door of the apartment, and I froze, Callum’s sweatpants halfway up my legs.
    My heart soared in spite of itself. Was it Callum? Was he back?
    No.
    Why would he be knocking on the door to his own apartment?
    Maybe it was a doorman or a maintenance worker. Or a solicitor, or a –
    “Callum!” a girl’s voice called. “Callum, open up. Please, open the door.”
    Shit.
    Who the hell was that?
    I crept softly toward the door and peered through the peephole.
    Rose!
    The girl from the restaurant, the one Callum had been talking to on the phone in Florida. She was standing outside his door, shifting her weight impatiently from foot to foot.
    “Callum!” She knocked again, and then, to my horror, I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.
    The door opened before I could figure out what to do, and then there she was, Rose, standing there, dressed in jeans and a red sweater, her long hair in a tangle around her shoulders.
    “Oh,” she said when she saw me standing there. Her eyes racked up my body, taking in the fact that I was wearing Callum’s clothes. She didn’t seem surprised. In fact, she only seemed exasperated. “Who are