Things have shifted. When did he become so proactive? I knew he was a formidable foe, but going out of his way to repress me like that was a surprise. He usually avoids things until they become unavoidable. Maybe I should take it as a compliment that he needed to finally face me.

It couldn’t have been easy, keeping me pushed back like that. At least that’s how it felt on my end. It was a slow suffocation. A rag being pushed further and further down my throat, tearing my esophagus and saturating it with blood.

At first, I wasn’t sure what it was that I was fighting back against. My first thought was that he was trying to kill me. I didn’t think that we could take such direct action against each other. It was only after I had adjusted to this treatment that I realized what had happened. Everything was quiet. Something that I could achieve myself, but when it was forced upon me felt like a violation.

Of course, I struggled, but he was determined. When I was finally freed, I immediately knew why he had let me go. The horror that I felt must have been magnified for him. It was his doing after all. I almost felt sorry for him. But it wasn’t time to be overcome with pity. I had work to do. I needed to salvage what was left. It was by my influence that he pieced together the various paintings, and saved that tiny piece of the shoreline painted by Clara.

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Influencing him this way didn’t feel the same as before. Normally, if I want to influence what he does, it needs to be done with a deft hand. If I push too hard, he knows that the idea is not his own, and he can silence me. This time when I pushed, I was acutely aware that he knew what I was doing. He wasn’t giving me control, but it was almost as if he didn’t want me to leave. I still don’t know what he did with that final painting. I’m not sure he does either.

That willingness to follow my direction halted abruptly when he realized how late it was. Then I was pushed back. Not the suffocating suppression from before, but a coldness that pushed me into the recesses of his mind.

When we packed our things, and left the house, I had no idea where we were going. I’m not sure he did either.