Faithless #3: A Tainted Love Serial

by Nelson, K. B.

  I press deeper into the house, being careful with every step against the hardwoods. “Noah?”

  I turn left into the foyer and brace my hand against the railing of the steps. There’s a light on upstairs, so I begin to ascend to the top. With every step, there’s another creak. If anyone’s up there, it won’t be a surprise when I show up.

  There’s a long hall on either side of the stairs with light coming from Luke’s bedroom. My room is on the other end of the hall. When I’m just outside Luke’s room, I lean against the wall and listen in, but there’s nothing to hear.

  I push the door open and find Noah sitting on the bed with a half-empty glass in his hand. He takes a sip as his eyes zone in on me.

  From within me, for no other reason than to release the weight of the world from my shoulders, I feel a need to drop the last truth-bomb that’s left to drop. “I ran because I was pregnant with Luke’s baby.” I say it so quick that I’m not even sure he understood me, but the weight is lifted. But it’s also still kind of there. Maybe it never goes away.

  I expect anger, but am met with a beautiful smile. “That was a stupid reason to run.”

  It’s like he’s not connecting the dots, and I’m tired of playing games, so I’m going for checkmate—dealing my own fate. “I had an abortion.”

  His smile is flipped, turned upside down. He runs his fingers along his mouth. “Did he know?”

  I shake my head and bite into my lip. Hindsight often changes everything. It’s one of the most powerful tools for observation, but we’re never handed the key to the toolbox until it’s too late. Luke’s gone, and now more than ever, I wish I had his baby here with me so I could feel close to him again. “There’s no way I could have done it if he knew. But Noah, I couldn’t be like my mother. I didn’t have a choice.”

  He shakes his head, letting my words soak in and I can’t tell if he’s angry or disappointed. Or both. Whatever he’s felling, he’s not giving me the satisfaction of knowing, and all it would take for confirmation of his feelings is to look me in the eyes. But he doesn’t.

  “I don’t understand this world anymore,” I say dryly and wipe my thump against my watering eye. “Maybe I never did.” I shrug and take a seat beside him, staring into a mostly-empty closet. All that’s left is a plain-white t-shirt and a plaid shirt. “I don’t understand the people in it, and I can’t trust myself to do the right thing because of the choices I’ve made.”

  “Faith…” he says softly, but still can’t bring himself to look at me.

  But I’m not finished yet. “Every choice I’ve ever made was the wrong one. Every choice but loving you.” His face is like a classroom blackboard before the morning whistle—blank and glossy. “I’m so sorry,” I cry. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for leaving you behind.”

  My feet tap against the floor, and I follow them until I reach the window. I stare out into the distance, over a line of trees where the sun is threatened by impending shadows. “I came back for the wrong reasons,” I continue, wiping my hand across my dampening cheeks. The floodgates have been open, full of sadness and truth—which so often is the same thing. “I came back because the Eastwoods left us money, but we couldn’t cash it until yesterday. We put the check in a safe. I created the combination and he hid it somewhere so that we would open it together when the time was right. We found it when you were out of town.”

  “So that’s why you came back,” he muses aloud.

  “It wasn’t just for the money.” It’s the truth, but I won’t face him. I won’t let him see me cry like this. I won’t let him see the tears crawling down my lips and into my mouth. “I really believed that I could come back here and start over. Start a new life or some other equally naïve bullshit.” I bow my head against the window. “I’m… so sorry.”

  “That’s an apology?”

  “It’s a try for one,” I mutter through tears.

  “You don’t need to be sorry.”

  Now, I face him. I’m vulnerable, shaken, drenched in tears, and dealing in absolute honesty. But I face him because I don’t understand the words that are coming out of his mouth. “All these secrets…” I shake my head in disbelief. “How can you forgive me?”

  He chews into cheek and stands. There’s a contemplative look written on his face, but he shakes it off as his eyes go through the motions of deep thought. “It’s because you’re Faith. The only thing I believe in anymore.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me to him. “No matter what you’ve done, you’ll always be that girl that first stole my heart all those years ago.” With his free hand, he wipes a finger slat against my face, erasing the tears. “Even if you were a terrorist, I’d still love you. Compared to that, I think your crimes are nothing more than a grain of sand. So let’s put an end to this right now. I’ll never let you go again.” His smile is pure, throwing the weight of sorrow to the wind. “Without you, I’m incomplete. Always have been.”

  He burrows deep into my soul, his eyes screaming those three fucking words that mean more than anything else in the world—I love you. His lips say it better, though. Smooth and soft.

  He takes hold of my cheeks, and we’re positioned right in front of the window, right in front of the setting sun. The warmth of the greatest star warms my cheek, drying away the tears that have evolved from those of sadness to those of happiness. For the first time in the longest time, I feel welcome in the light and under the eye of the burning sun. But it’s short-lived as the sun disappears beneath the trees.

  And now everything is in reverse. It’s a fairytale, but instead of a happy ending, there seems to be a plot-twist on the horizon—the kind that’s often left unwritten in the book of Grimm. I’ve never known lasting happiness, and it’s with great hesitation that I admit I’d be content to be locked in this room—in this house—for an eternity. Sheltered away from the hurt of the rest of the world.

  I push Noah backward toward the bed. He falls onto his back and I climb atop of him, planting a long, passionate kiss against his lips. His palm traces its way under my shirt and finds my breast.

  His mouth trails to my neck, biting me gently as he continues to massage my breast. Instinct tells me to moan, but it’s a quick realization that sex isn’t what I want. It’s not what I need. “Stop,” I command and grab his hand, pulling it out from under my shirt.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks with a raspy pant.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head. “Nothing at all. I just want to lay here like this forever.”

  “You mean you want to cuddle?”

  I nod in agreement, but elaborate further, “I just want to feel close to you.”

  He throws both arms around me and hugs my body tightly. He drops a quick kiss against the crown of my head and then caresses my back as I roll into his arms. His breath so close to me ignites something within. Since I’ve returned to Old Town, I’ve felt at war with Noah.

  Now I feel at peace, and because of the chance that it might be fleeting, I want to hold onto it as long as I can. Hold onto it—him—while I drift off to sleep.

  * * *

  SEVEN YEARS AGO

  There’s an open but packed suitcase on my bed. It’s filled with just enough clothes and essentials that I could survive on my own—at least for a little while.

  “What are you doing?” Noah asks from behind me, entering through an unlocked door. I give him a smile and a shrug, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity to respond. “You’re running away.”

  “It’s not what it looks like,” I say through an unfettered smile. “Promise.”

  “Do you think this is funny?” He peers behind him to make sure nobody is standing in the hallway then closes the door gently behind him. “I won’t let you do this.”

  “Do what?” I’m beginning to become frustrated. “What are you talking about?”

  “Gee, I don’t know.” He points to the suitcase on the bed. “It sure the hell looks like you’re running away.”

  I crane my head over
my shoulder, take a glance at the suitcase, and let out a light laugh. “I’m unpacking.”

  He throws me a non-verbal, huh?

  “Since those wackadoos we were living with a few years ago, I’ve always kept one bag packed at all times and…” I throw my hands in the air, relieved. “I guess I have no intention of ever running again, thus the unpacking.”

  “You’re serious?” he asks with a raised brow and paces to take a seat on my bed. “This isn’t some trick to get me to leave you alone, allowing you the perfect opportunity to slip out the window when I’m not watching?”

  “Where do you come up with this shit?” I push the suitcase further back on the bed and take a seat beside him. “You know if I had any intention of running, I’d take you with me.”

  “That’s what I’d like to believe,” he says and I give him a playful nudge with my elbow. He drops onto his side and fiddles through the contents of the suitcase. “Oh, my God,” he exclaims and jumps to his feet, holding a diamond ring in his hand. “You still have this?”

  “I’ll never let it out of my sight.” I grab the ring out of his hand and admire it under the incandescent lights. “In the two years you were out of my life, it was a constant reminder that you were still somehow a part of it.”

  Noah places a hand on my leg and squeezes gently. “I’ll always be there for you. You know that, right?”

  “Like I know the sky is blue.”

  A mischievous smile parts his lips and he pulls his head back, furrowing his brow in the process. “You know the sky’s not blue, right?”

  My eyes roll sideways.

  “I’m being serious. The sky is blue because it’s nothing more than a reflection of the ocean.”

  “That can’t be right,” I exclaim and punch him in the bicep.

  “Fine. Let’s go ask Luke.”

  8

  PRESENT

  “I’m scared that I don’t know the difference anymore,” I hear Noah say and begin the process of opening my eyes. The room is dark and my vision is a blur. I’m barely able to make out his figure in the darkness standing beside the window. Moonlight pours through the window, lighting up half his face while keeping the other half in the shadows. “We’re only born with so much fight within us, and I’m running out,” he continues.

  I sit up in the cold bed and clutch the covers around me. “Who are you talking to?” I rub my eyes and flash them, trying to get a clearer picture.

  Startled, he spins his head to face me. As my vision adjusts, my eyes search the room for signs of life, but it’s just the two of us.

  “I see him sometimes.” He swallows a lump in his throat. “Luke, I mean.” There’s an obvious tone of trepidation in his voice, like he doesn’t believe his own words. “He’s just there. Talking to me, guiding me.” He moves closer to the window, out of the shadows and into the moonlight. “He’s like an angel, standing on the opposite shoulder as the devil. Like he’s always trying to save me… and I know he’s not there.” He turns to me and shakes his head. “He can’t be.”

  I want to comfort him and tell him that he’s not crazy, and that I’ve seen him too. Tell him that Luke talks to me, but I’m afraid what it would mean if it were true. Maybe we’re both crazy.

  “It terrifies the hell out of me,” he continues, “because I feel like I’m losing my damn mind.”

  He sulks to the bed and takes a seat beside me. His weight presses against the mattress, pushing us both closer to the cold floors. I place a hand on his shoulder and massage him gently. “You’re not crazy.”

  But he doesn’t seem to hear me as he stares off into the closed-in distance of the closet. “We never said it out loud, but it was always there. I think we all knew it, but didn’t quite understand it. I loved him the same way I loved—” he turns to face me, forcing a smile in the process, “the same way I love you.”

  “I know,” I say softly and caress the side of his face, but the roles seem to have been reversed, and it’s he who is ready to run.

  He stands up and paces toward the closet. “In another world, the three of us could have been happy together. And this world gets harder and harder with every choice, with every decision.” He rolls his palm into a fist and cups it with his other. “Every minute that ticks by since his death weakens the foundation even more. I had faith and because of faith, I had hope that someday it would all work out.” He bites into his lip and rubs a thumb against his eye. “Like so many other things, though—it’s irrevocably broken, and I have nothing but you.”

  I rise from the warm bed and step across the cold floor. With every inch that vanishes between us, I can feel the shift in his heart and the fear in his soul. The loss is thick between us.

  “And in some cracks of time, it’s enough,” he continues. “The first night you stayed at my loft. But most of the time, I’m content to pretend that ghosts exist.”

  “You’re not crazy,” I say with a gentle shake of my head. “And you’re not pretending. I see him too, but when I told you that back at the church, you acted like I was crazy.”

  “I think that’s the point,” he says through a soft laugh. “We’re both crazy.”

  * * *

  FIVE YEARS AGO

  My back arches against damp sheets. My toes curl against the frame of the bed. My heart races faster than I ever thought possible. Noah plants a wet trail of kisses on one side of my neck while Luke bites gently against the other.

  A hand... and I couldn’t tell you whom it belongs to, cuts under my shirt and caresses my stomach. I’m being touched in a hundred different places, and I squirm on the edge of ecstasy.

  Jeans rub against my bare legs on both sides. Hands trail to my panty line. I close my eyes and get lost in every motion of every touch. Hot breaths. Warm tongues. A nibble against my ear sends my foot kicking into the bedframe.

  A moan slips from my lips, and Noah lets out a light, but sexy laugh. Then, in a synchronized effort, both men roll on top of me, each with one knee positioned between my legs. They pull my shirt over my head and free my braless breasts. Noah bites softly against my lip before slipping his tongue into my mouth. He kisses me hard and deep, and his breath seems to dance along the flesh of my mouth spelling the words I love you.

  I feel Luke’s mouth against my stomach, suckling on my skin and making his way down to my panties. His rough, farm-worked hands grab the fabric on both sides of my thighs and pulls them off in one sweeping motion.

  This is vulnerability right here. Being bare-ass naked in between two horny, half-naked men. Their erect cocks pulsate through their jeans as they grind on me. But, for some reason, they’ve decided to make this all about me and I’m not complaining.

  A finger—Luke’s—runs along my opening, writing circles around the lining of my most vulnerable spot. Then slowly, carefully, it begins to spread me open. Slinking into me an inch at a time until my flesh is met with a warm knuckle.

  My back arches further, my head pushed back against the pillows. It takes the strength of God to muffle my would-be-screams, so I place my own knuckle in my mouth and bite down. The parents wouldn’t take too kindly if they were to be awoken at seven in the morning by the noises of sexual deviancy.

  Noah kisses my cheek before moving his own hand to my opening and joining Luke. Two fingers. Two men. Too many sensations.

  Another kiss against my cheek. Another kiss against the other.

  My chest heaves as I begin to pant heavily, my body overtaken with the five senses of ecstasy. The friction against me—inside and out—threatens to destroy me in a blinding fit of intolerable extremities.

  Their pace quickens, but they’re not too rough. They’re perfect as they string me along to their desire. They want this almost more than I do. They want to force my heart to stop beating, if only for a moment, seemingly unaware that my heart skips a beat every time they look at me.

  “Fuck…” I bite into my knuckle and my back arches one last time as I break, coming around their fingers. But th
ey don’t slow down. They finger-fuck me through my orgasm, holding me in place with their muscular legs.

  When I begin to come down from an inexplicable high, they turn their attention to one another and give each other a smile. They pull their fingers out of me and lay their hands on either side of my chest.

  They stare into each other’s eyes as I’m lost staring at the ceiling, connecting all the dots between the stars that have appeared.

  I love these boys. One more than the other, longer than the other, more intensely than the other. But love them both, I do.

  * * *

  PRESENT

  We’ve made our way downstairs, turning on a slew of lights in the process. Back in the warm den, we’re given reprieve from the coldness of the rest of the house. Underneath an old, hand-sewn blanket, I lay against Noah’s chest.

  He strokes his fingers through my hair, and through the silence, I know he’s thinking the same thing I am—absolution isn’t easy, but it’s coming. Like the creeping fog that looms across an open field when the leaves begin to fall, it’s slow, but always inching closer.

  It’s nice here in the fire-lit darkness. Our breaths. Crackling fire. Wind howling. It’s peaceful. Underneath the surface of his skin, his heart pounds to a gentle beat. There are no jumps or lapses. No skipped beats—just a calm and steady rhythm that could ease the most wide-awake person into a deep slumber.

  I crave a glass of water so I sit up and brush the blankets off me.

  “Where are you going?” he asks me with a husky breath.

  “To the kitchen,” I reply. “Do you want anything?”

  He smiles and shakes his head. “Just hurry back.”

  I stand up and exit the den. I head through the dining room where the scenery lit from the porch light outside forces me to pause—at least another two inches of snow in the past hour. Storm of the fucking century.