Chapter 31
The door slams behind Dani as she returns to her house – a sound so loud that it would have disturbed other occupants in apartments surrounding her, if she lived in an apartment, and would likely have given cause for some strong yelling through much thinner walls. As it is, the strength of the slam shakes the walls around her. One of the pictures on the wall – one of Miles and Flora, ironically enough – drops to the floor with a thunk and a tinkling of shattered glass.
Dani pushes a hand through her hair and takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, but it doesn’t work. She wonders, briefly, if her anger has the same effect on Viola that the ghost’s has on her, if it boils beneath her skin the same way that implacable rage bubbles beneath hers, more recently than it had before, as though the two of them – now past their animosity towards each other – hers very much present where Viola’s was apparently only ever assumed – as though, now that they are on speaking terms, walls that must have been put in place to make things good between them are slipping away – as though Viola was on her best behavior until she believed they were friends and now she feels as though she can regain her fullest, most powerful self – as though Dani would be fine with Viola jumping in and taking over her whenever she wants just because they’re friends now.
They aren’t friends. They are roommates forced to share a body because Dani thought the offer would save Flora (it did), and while it is not always as bad as it could be, today has forcibly shown her that it could easily get that bad – that Viola could, and apparently would, when she thought it was necessary, force her out of the possession of her own body to do whatever she wanted.
Dani might be the deed holder to her body, but it doesn’t mean much to her if Viola can evict her whenever she wants. It doesn’t mean much to her when she has to live in a way complacent to the whims of the malevolent ghost within her to be able to have any control whatsoever.
The only reason she is in control now is that Viola allows her to have it.
The only reason rules might work is that Viola agrees to them.
The only reason that—
You are upset with me.
Dani’s teeth grit together. Her throat tightens. No, she wants to say, I’m upset with me. I’m upset that I have just as much control as I believed I did. I’m upset that I believed your reassurances – coming from you, from Jamie, from Owen. There is no reassurance. Just because you might be good doesn’t mean that this is okay.
But she can’t – won’t – say any of that. It will only lead to more reassurances on Viola’s part, none of which will make her feel any better. It isn’t as though she’d lost anything today. She’d only been reminded of what she already knew.
Viola is still a threat.
She always will be.
Dani?
Another deep breath in. Dani’s hands clench, fingers tightening on nothing. She sits on the couch, closes her eyes, and returns to the empty void behind her eyes, hating herself for doing it.
But before she can say anything, Viola begins to speak. “I am sorry,” she says, although nothing in her posture or positioning suggests this is the case. “I knew that you would not like me interfering, but I have dealt with people like that Emilio before. You were not listening to me.”
“You don’t know that.”
It’s true, but there’s no way that Viola could know that for certain.
“Dani, I am stuck behind your eyes, seeing things through them for most of my stay here. I know when you are paying attention and when you are not.” Viola clasps her hands in front of her, appearing very much as another image of Emilio, albeit feminine. But there is still that surge of power – of presence – that Dani knows she doesn’t have. No one looks at her and is intimidated.
Maybe they should be.
“That doesn’t matter.” Dani’s lips press together, hands still clenching into fists. “You don’t…you don’t just tuck me away because you think you know better than I do. This is my body – not yours.”
Viola keeps her eyes on her, but otherwise does not move. “You chose to share it with me,” she says, her voice soft. “I did not steal it from you the way you believe Peter Quint did with Miles. I did not coerce you into allowing me to stay. You chose this. You offered it to me.”
“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” Dani snaps. “Your being here has no benefit. If anything, it has only made my life worse. Spending all of my time being afraid that you’re going to devour me and then finally being convinced that maybe, just maybe, we could live together like peaceable people, and you go and do that.” She can’t help but glare at Viola, one hand thrown out in front of her. “That’s not peaceable, Viola. That’s abusive. I can’t do anything to you, but you can tuck me away whenever you want, lock me in that little room of yours, and throw away the key. That’s not good. That’s not healthy.” She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “And it’s not worth it.”
Viola remains standing. Her expression doesn’t change. Her posture doesn’t change. Nothing changes. It feels as though whatever Dani has said is just hitting her and disappearing, as though none of it matters at all.
Of course, it doesn’t. Viola’s the one with the control here.
“I’m sorry that you feel that way,” Viola says, finally. Her lips press together, and she gives a little nod. There is nothing complacent in her stance. Nothing Dani can read at all.
“I wish,” Dani starts, voice soft, “I wish you would just leave.”
A normal person might regret that as soon as they said it, might regret the pain they cause the other person when they do. But Viola – as much as she might have once been a person, as much as she might still be one – is just a parasite. Taking and taking and taking and giving nothing back in return.
Dani takes another deep breath. “I can’t stand to look at you.”
And she leaves.
You remain in that space behind her eyes.
There are moments, and then there are moments.
You are not sure yet which one of them this is.
Nothing is completely irreparable. You know that. You believe that. Your host is a creature of compassion, and no matter how angry she is now – at you, at her situation – she will, eventually, come around. As long as she is aware that you are a person with thoughts and memories and feelings just as much as she is, she will come around. She might not apologize for what she’s said, but neither will you apologize again for acting in the way that you did.
It was necessary. You wouldn’t have done so otherwise. Of course, your host will not believe that. In her place, you think you would react the exact same way. You wouldn’t believe yourself either.
So much of this relationship – such as it is – must be based on trust. You know that. Your host does not trust you. You know that, too. And what little bit of trust you had garnered from your previous interactions might have just been destroyed by your actions. You know that, as well.
Still.
She’ll come around again.
Eventually.
She will.
She has to.
You keep telling yourself that as you return to your side of the gate, but you don’t quite believe it, and since you didn’t notice that there was any change in the rusted key at all, you cannot notice that it is the same as it was when you first saw it. You cannot know that what little progress you made has been hopelessly reverted.
Hope is your curse.
Perhaps it is better that you don’t know.