Faithless #2: A Tainted Love Serial

by Nelson, K. B.

  “I’m calling bullshit,” I say loudly and grab the cards out of his hand.

  “Language, Faith,” Luke says, imitating the way I had just chastised him.

  I ignore him and scold the guy sitting closest to me. “What are you doing, Noah?”

  He bites his lip and pushes the bottle of soda to the side. “It’s just a game,” he says, shaking his head.

  Luke throws his cards on the table, landing on top of the fresh deck. “What the hell are we even doing here?” he questions. “Why are we pretending that we still give a fuck about each other?”

  “Luke…”

  “Do you want to know why I’m here?” Noah asks with a raised voice, his attention focused squarely on Luke.

  Luke crosses his arm. “Not particularly.”

  “I’m here because I’m worried about you,” Noah says. “I’m worried that I’m going to wake up to find out that you’re dead.”

  A visible gulp trails down Luke’s throat as the contours of his face tighten. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Underneath the table, my right foot leads an assault on Noah’s shin. What he’s about to reveal was told to him in confidence with a distinct promise that passed over his lips—he wouldn’t say a word.

  He continues on, unaffected by the bruise that’s shaping on his leg or the guilt that comes after breaking a promise. “I’m talking about you and this addiction that is consuming you.” He points a finger to me, highlighting the pangs of guilt written across my face because I, too, had made a promise I wouldn’t say a word. We’re all Judas. “Faith and I won’t always be around to bail you out of trouble. So, the next time you want to stick a needle in your arm, think about someone other than yourself.”

  Luke laughs nervously, then stands up and pounds his fist against the table. “Go to hell!”

  “Come to church!” Noah yells as Luke storms off and out the front door.

  I bury my face in my hands, torn between killing Noah and chasing after Luke. “Did you have to play the Jesus card?” I ask through the cracks of my fingers.

  He shakes his head. “I’m worried about him,” he says softly. “And I don’t know how to save him.”

  I push myself back in my seat and fold my arms over each other. “You’re not going to save him with a sermon.”

  “Then tell me how to save him.”

  “I’m a stripper, Noah. We’re not even close to being on the same morality train so any advice I could give you would be tainted.”

  “Tainted or not, I need your help. I’m scared we’re going to lose him.”

  “He needs you,” I say softly. “He needs his brother, his friend, his God-what-would-you-even-call-it. You don’t have to be all of those things, but pick one and stick with it.” I raise a glass of water to my lips and take a long drink before continuing. “That’s my tainted advice.”

  “That’s good.” He nods his head, letting my words of wisdom penetrate. “Do you think I made the right choice?” he asks with a bowed head, changing topics on a whim.

  “Becoming a preacher?” I know him well enough to know what he’s talking about. “The rational part of me says that you’re an amazing man, and you can make a real change in this world. The selfish part of me doesn’t care and wants the old Noah back.”

  “I’m afraid,” he whispers, “that I don’t know the difference anymore.”

  Who does?

  5

  PRESENT

  Noah stands on a ladder, elevated about ten feet above me as he twists a new light bulb into the socket. The ladder vibrates to the beat of rock music that also shakes the walls. With one final twist, the bulb lights up shining down upon the ten-foot tall wooden cross that stands behind the podium.

  It’s gargantuan and is always present—a symbol that still means something, even to the most faithless of people in the world.

  Noah climbs down the ladder and hands me the old, blown-out bulb. He places a hand on each side of the ladder and collapses it into itself and shoves it against the wall. “You would think fears would go away,” he sighs, “but they never do. They’re always there in the back of your mind.”

  My brow arches. “Still afraid of heights?”

  “Among other things.” He pats his hands together, dusting them off. “Everybody’s afraid of something.” He smiles as he passes me, skipping down the steps. “Still afraid of the dark?”

  I shake my head. “That all ended when I came to the realization that the most terrifying things don’t discriminate between night and day.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “Death. Dying.” I brace myself against the banister overlooking the pews and stare down at Noah. “Being alone.”

  He bends over and rolls back the volume rocker on an old school boom box that’s hooked up to the speaker system. “We’re all afraid of something,” he says quietly.

  “You said that already.”

  He walks up to the banister so that he’s directly below me. “It’s worth repeating, like everything else in the world that’s true.”

  “The sun rises in the West and sets in the East.”

  That brings a honest laugh out of him. “I think you have that backward, but even the valedictorian sometimes gets her geography wrong.”

  That word—valedictorian—is nothing but an echoing reminder of my past and who I used to be. A tiger can’t change his spots is a popular proverb that doesn’t take regressing behavior into account. My spots have changed. I’d say they’ve been eradicated almost completely.

  I take a deep breath and move to take a seat on the steps, preparing myself for a conversation neither of us wants to have. “Are we going to talk about last night?”

  He scratches his head and shifts his weight onto one foot. “That came out of nowhere.”

  “If you think about it, most conversations start with silence, which is the same thing as coming from nowhere.” I throw my hands outward and clap them back together. “Am I right?”

  “Last night was a moment of weakness,” he says, jumping feet-first into the conversation. “A welcome relief from the weight of the world, but it was a mistake.”

  “Did it mean anything to you?”

  “Sometimes I’m distant.” He takes one step toward me. “Sometimes I’m cold.” He takes another step. Reaching the end of the banister, he braces his elbow against it. “The only constant in my life, even with three years missing, is you. It’s always been you.” He takes a sharp exhale and shakes his head. “So, it meant the world and it reminded me of whom we used to be, surviving on passion.” He takes a seat beside me as he bends his knees, resting his palms on them. “But I’m conflicted. I’m compromised, and you hit the nail on the head—I’m surrounded by darkness, and I’m not good for you right now.”

  “I remember…”

  “Remember what?”

  “The words,” I say softly. “When all the crows crowd the skyway…” I begin to sing, tapping my fingers to the beat of Luke’s song. The lyrics and the melody flow through me, bringing a smile to my face even as I recite the haunting lyrics. “And night falls down on men. They play a game with their lives, of which they all must die.”

  Noah squints and pinches his eyelids—a tragic display of turning off his emotions.

  Still, I continue singing softly. “Hide and seek. You and me.”

  Noah’s lips betray him, caressing around the lyrics even as he doesn’t verbalize the words. In the dark. In the light. Hide and seek. You and me.

  I close my eyes and tilt my head into the melody between verses. Hums slip through my lips. Aching, wrenching, beautiful hums, made all the more beautiful when Noah begins humming along.

  Noah’s hand falls onto mine, his fingers tangling with my own and I’m taken back to more than a memory. Memories are distant, on the edge of your mind and out of reach. But this is different. There are sounds, sights, and tastes. Luke playing the piano one chord at a time, his fingers lost in a dance I couldn’t begin to und
erstand. The scent of fresh air flowing through the open window, the curtains blowing in the breeze, Noah’s fingers running through my hair while I lay in his lap.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” I ask Noah.

  “I don’t know what I believe anymore,” he says, repeating the exact words Luke had told me Noah would say in my dream earlier.

  I’m stunned—a deer in headlights as I reflect on what it could mean. Within the confines of time, the mere passing of a second, I re-evaluate everything I have ever believed. “Luke told me you’d say that.”

  Noah throws me a nonverbal ‘huh?’ His eyes go wide, waiting for an answer that makes sense. An answer that would vindicate any notion that I might be crazy. “Luke came to me in my dreams. He also said that I would find you here.”

  “I’m always here,” he says matter-of-factly. “What else did he tell you?”

  “Answering that question would mean that I understood him, but the truth is that I don’t.”

  “Well,” he licks his lips, hesitating, “it was probably your mind playing tricks on you. Showing you what you wanted to see and telling you what you already knew.”

  “It felt so real…” I shake my head slowly, trying to reconcile the difference between reality and dreaming. “Do you know anything about a safe Luke used to keep?” I turn my head to face him.

  “No,” he replies and I believe him, if for no other reason than the honesty we’ve been dealing each in the space between these holy walls. “Why?”

  “No reason.”

  * * *

  FOUR YEARS AGO

  Mike pounds on the wooden door, sending splinters through my pounding head. “Give me a minute!” I scream and throw the lid of the toilet down. I push my face into my palms as I take a seat under the neon-red lights of the employee bathroom.

  “Your ass better be on that stage in five minutes,” he hollers through the door. “If you’re not, you’ll be looking for a job on the corner of Market and Main.”

  “Go the fuck away,” I mumble to myself as I place a palm against my shaking leg, trying to force it into a resting position.

  “Fucking whore,” I hear him say to himself as he walks away, his shadow disappearing from under the door.

  When he’s gone, I stand back up and spin around in the tight space. On the back of the toilet is a pregnancy test. After a few shallow breaths, I reach for the test and almost faint when I notice the results.

  This changes everything.

  6

  PRESENT

  I lean against a pew, my palms braced against the wooden back as Noah sweeps the floor between a row of wooden benches. “I met this girl on the bus ride into town, and I saw so much of her in me, and I saw so much of me in her.”

  “Yeah?” Noah asks with his attention focused on a growing pile of dirt.

  “She was scared and running. But for the first time, she was running home. She was like me in every sense of the word.”

  He reaches behind himself, scratching his back while he takes a break from sweeping. “I don’t know about that. You’re one of a kind.” He smirks and plants his chin on the grip of the broom.

  “Except that she had this resolve about her,” I continue, “as if she knew what she was doing was the right thing, even though it was hard.” I shake my head and bow my head, staring squarely at my feet. “I don’t have that in me. I don’t know which way is up and which way is down.” I take a deep breath and turn my attention back to Noah, who now listens intently. “I can’t decipher between lust and love, and where you fit into the impossible equation.”

  “You’re lost. I certainly get that.” He props the broom against a vacant pew. “But if there’s one thing I can tell you for certain, it’s that you do love me.” He takes a short pause. “And I love you. But there’s this undercurrent of complications and I’m not sure love is enough.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “I’m supposed to be a man of God.” He gestures his hands to the side, referencing the church we stand in where we present the greatest of our sins in one of the last honest places on earth. “That’s nothing but a joke anymore. Everything is so damn confusing.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Noah pats his hands against his jeans and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m out of secrets.”

  If I were a gambling woman, I’d wager that was a lie. I’d bet on my hand even if I only had a pair of threes because, in this scenario, the most he’s playing with is a set of twos. “Do you remember who we were before tragedy destroyed us?”

  He crosses his arms. “What do you mean?”

  I sigh heavily. “I mean I knew exactly who I wanted to be at sixteen, seventeen years old—anything except who my birth parents were. And then our world was ripped out from underneath us, and we lost something we can never get back. But maybe…” I nod. “Maybe that’s the point, the idea that with every tiny loss of innocence, we come to see the world for what it really is. Then you wake up one day and realize that you never had a damn clue.”

  “I think,” he whispers, “that’s the most tragically beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” His lips pull taut and his eyes go wild. I can practically see the canvas of thoughts painting over his face. “Let’s get out of here, okay? Go anywhere else.”

  I laugh softly. “I’m not running anymore, Noah.”

  “We don’t have to run.” He steps to me and grabs my arms. “We just need to get out of this church.”

  I throw him a sideways glance. “Why?”

  “Because I’m afraid of what comes next if we stay.”

  I pull away from his grip and stare into his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  There’s another thump, loud enough that I can hear it over the cloud of emotions that suffocate me. Loud enough that it reminds me why I’m out here standing in front of this cross—to find out what he’s hiding. I twist my neck to face the direction of the thump, but Noah’s quick to grab me at the chin.

  He twists my face back to his and plants a kiss against my lips.

  For a moment, I melt into him, savoring the way his palm glides down my back and pulls me further into his kiss. “Please,” Noah pleads between kisses, “let’s get out of here.

  I push my palms against his chest just before there’s another thump followed by an immediate scream. “Somebody help me!”

  “What the—?” I twist my body and bolt toward the scream. Noah gives chase, reaching out to grab me, but I knock his hand away. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Just stop,” he commands, “and listen to me.”

  I cross through a pair of pews and hear another cry for help. I run faster, knocking my shin against the wood of the bench and then stumble against a wall.

  “Faith,” Noah yells. “Stop!”

  But I have no intention of doing so. I march toward a door that’s tucked into a foyer of sorts, hidden from the openness of the church. When I go to grab the handle and push the door open, it doesn’t budge.

  Noah’s open palm slams against the door from behind me, his arm creeping over my shoulder. “Don’t do this,” he whispers through ragged breaths.

  “Open the damn door,” I say and push back against him, grabbing his arm and twisting it as I turn to face him. “Open it.”

  “Somebody,” a man cries from the other side of the door.

  “I don’t know what the hell is going on, Noah,” I say gravely. “But there is a man in there—”

  “You’re right,” he snaps. “But it’s none of your damn business.”

  “Excuse me?” I balk. “Who the hell are you?”

  He bites his lip and balls his fist. “I told you, I’m compromised.”

  “I’m going in there.”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “Try and stop me.”

  He goes to grab me again, but I counter with a punch against his face. There’s a quick crack—either his nose or my heart fracturing. When he stumbles backward,
I throw the full force of my body against the door. But the door barely budges, so I do it again.

  This time, the door snaps open and I almost drop to the ground. When I recover from my near-fall, I see a man in front of me—lying on the floor sideways, chained to a chair with a gag slung around his chin.

  He’s young—looks to be about the same age as myself—with blood-shot eyes and an unshaven face. Blades of shaggy hair drip across his face.

  He’s terrified. One more thing we have in common.

  * * *

  FOUR YEARS AGO

  The bus station is dead. Luke sits beside me on the bench, tapping his foot nervously against the dirty, green tiles. My head rests on my hand as I drift off, staring into a sea of nothing. We’re both silent and I prefer it that way. I’ve never been good with goodbyes—I question anyone who is.

  To me, running isn’t something you give notice. It’s not like quitting a job and hand writing your two weeks. Running is more in line with a rollercoaster on the verge of crashing. You might be in on the secret that your world is about to crash to the ground even while everyone riding with you carries bliss with them over the next peak.

  Sometimes I don’t make sense. That’s my normal. Sometimes I don’t want to make sense—that’s when I resort to lying.

  “When are you coming back?” Luke asks while staring blankly ahead.

  I turn to him with a broad, fake smile. “Someday.” The truth is I have no plans to ever come back. That’s another rule of running—you’re gone for good.

  “I wish…” he begins to speak, but scratches the tip of his nose while he contemplates what comes next, “I wish you would tell me where you’re going… or why.”

  I lean into him and plant a soft kiss on the side of his head. “You reach a point in your life when leaving seems to be the only thing left to do.”

  “Then let me go with you.”