What Deceit Looks Like | ✓

29: maddox

"I don't see why I should. I have no purpose for the room, and I don't want to get rid of all of her things." I reply stubbornly to my therapist, Dr. Alonzo.

She sighs, "I'm not saying you have to pack the entire room up. I just suggested a box or two to start."

I look at her incredulously, "You did not say box or two, you said 'I think a good exercise until our next session would be to pack some of Paige's things away.' Things as in plural."

"You're right, I worded it incorrectly. Maddox, you've made great progress, but you also have a long way to go. Start with one box and see where it goes," Dr. Alonzo replies, refusing to drop the topic.

I stand up and run my hands through my hair, "I'm not going to pack anything up."

The smile on her face tells me that she doesn't believe me.

I've at least opened the door. It seems to be a good place to start. Every part of me screams to shut the door and pretend that I hadn't even considered the idea of packing some of her things.

But sometimes the right thing to do can be the hardest.

I take a deep breath and enter the room flipping the light on. When I showed the room to Cassidy, I was terrified. I hadn't even opened the door since we got the news that Paige had disappeared. It was too hard. I was afraid it would hurt too much to see everything. What surprised me more than anything was that I'd do anything for Cassidy. Including going in a room that I'd ignored for years.

This time I'm terrified for a completely different reason. I'm terrified of forgetting. I've tried so hard to hold onto the pieces of Paige I have left because I don't want to admit that when I watch videos from when she was alive, her voice sounds foreign. She's slowly fading from my memory, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

I start slowly in the corner with all of her paints. One by one they go in the box. From paint I move to brushes. It takes almost three boxes total to pack all of her art supplies up. I fold the tarps up and set the ladder in a corner.

I replay memory after memory of sitting in here watching her paint for hours on end. This room made her so happy. As happy as Paige and I were together, we had our moments where nothing seemed to make sense.

The sweater I'm gripping in my hands has faint traces of her perfume, even after three years. The last time she wore this we were arguing. It was quite possibly our worst argument ever. I've tried for years to block out that conversation, but it's always one of the ones that comes back to haunt me.

"You are being ridiculous," She snorts, packing another t-shirt into her duffle bag.

"Paige I'm not being ridiculous. I don't want you to go."

"I'm sorry, but you don't get a say in the matter."

My jaw drops, "I thought this relationship was also a partnership. I like to think that includes getting a say in you leaving for six months."

Her packing stills. "What exactly do you expect me to do Maddox? Call my commanding officer and tell him sorry, I can't come on this deployment. My boyfriend doesn't want me to go."

"Fiancé," I correct quickly as my temper is starting to get the better of me. "It's not your responsibility anymore! Your life is here, not in some third world country."

"I don't know what part of this you don't understand! I told you very early into this relationship that I had enlisted. This isn't something new. We've always had to prepare for the possibility that I'd have to go back." Paige says angrily, pulling her curls back into a bun.