Faithless #2: A Tainted Love Serial

by Nelson, K. B.

  “Luke,” I say and comb my fingers through his hair before I continue with, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I’m going to be late for work.” He stands up and runs his hand over his mouth. “You’ll call?”

  “I’ll call.” I glide to my feet and he throws his arms around me, nestling his head against my neck. “I promise.” That’s another lie. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t, but promises are best kept to the lips of liars—like myself.

  “I love you,” he whispers. His breath landing against my neck sends cold shivers down my spine.

  “I love you, too.” That’s not a lie, but it’s a truth that burns through my soul. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love these two boys, but this is something I have to do. “You should get to work.”

  It’s his third week working at the local Burger Shack. It’s not much of a job, but it has the potential to keep him out of trouble. They say change comes slow, but I’ve already seen the colors of the leaves changing—he’s turning back into the fine young man I used to know, before tragedy sent him down a dangerous path of drug addiction.

  He hugs me once more, wrapping his arms around me so tight that I’m unable to breathe. It’s the most comforting hug on this side of graduation day. He rubs his palms against my back once more before releasing me from his loving grip. He smiles, but I know it’s a façade.

  “See you soon,” he says and then pats me on the shoulder as he walks away.

  A few seconds after he’s left, I spin on my foot and call out to him, needing to say a proper goodbye. But he beats me to the punch. “Don’t say goodbye,” he says while walking backward. “It sounds too permanent.”

  I give him a nod and a wave, but as soon as he’s out of sight, my palm melts against my face as I slide into my seat. I’m not concerned how strangers look on, watching me as I break completely. To them, I’m just a pretty face with a broken heart. They don’t care about the story, just about the way it makes them feel. Some people stare, some people turn away in their own private grief. Some people lie and tell themselves that I’m just fine.

  I dig into my pocket and pull out my phone. There’s one last thing I need to do before I leave this life behind. Seven clicks of my finger against the pad later, and the phone began to ring. I sniffle and wipe away a river of tears, preparing myself.

  “Faith?” Noah asks through the phone. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, Noah.” I try to greet him with the pretense that everything is okay, but my sobs in between words betray me. “I need to tell you something.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You have to take care of him,” I cry. “You have to take care of Luke.”

  “Faith,” he says softly. “What’s wrong?”

  I rush my forearm across my face, wiping away a combination of snot and tears. “I’ll be back someday. I promise.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Goodbye, Noah. I love you more than anything in this world.”

  “Faith, you’re scaring me.”

  “It’s okay. I’m going to be all right,” I say, unable to discern if my own words are lies. I end the phone call and hold the power button until the screen fades to black. Leaning down, I grab a duffle bag and sling it over my shoulder.

  Walking away from Old Town shouldn’t be this hard. I’ve always hated this town. Leaving behind Luke and Noah? That’s another story entirely, but this is the life I have to lead. The choices I shouldn’t have to make. I went from being accepted to Harvard to being a stripper—a whore for hire.

  And I’m terrified where this road goes. For the longest time, I loved her—my mother. And then one day, I learned that loving her was too hard. It was easy and more appropriate to hate her. But now, I fear I’m becoming her.

  I can’t be a mother. Not today. Not in a year. This kid inside of me will grow to hate me. It’s a cycle I can’t repeat. If Noah knew, he’d make me keep the baby, even while knowing that it’s Luke’s child. If Luke knew… I don’t know what he’d do, but I can’t take the chance that he’d want to keep it, too.

  So this is the life I have to lead, and I can’t do it here in Old Town. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to come back. There’s too much hurt. Too much pain. Too much confusion.

  A hundred fractures will eventually lead to a broken heart—that’s what someone once told me. That would imply that my heart isn’t yet broken, just fractured.

  I can’t begin to imagine the pain of a full-on break.

  7

  PRESENT

  Nightmares—a form of unbreakable reality, where the darkest imaginings are brought into the light and given the wings of life. Nightmares—there’s no other way to describe it, the horror swimming through my veins and constricting around my heart to the point where breathing becomes a luxury.

  “Get out,” Noah says from behind me, his voice trembling.

  I shake my head in defiance and follow the only course of action I can wrap my head around. I turn and slam the door in Noah’s face but have already forgotten that it’s broke. He pushes through the door and grabs me.

  “Let go of me,” I scream and jerk away from him. For the first time, I notice the rest of the contents of the room. There’s a second chair parked against the back wall. A camera is perched atop a tripod and aimed squarely at the man. Along the wall beside the door, an array of tools—hammers, scissors, wire cutters, knives. “What the hell is this?”

  Noah chews on the edge of his thumbnail, his hazel eyes turning feral. His lips move before he’s prepared to speak.

  “Answer me!”

  “Revenge,” he says dryly and reaches behind him, pushing the door against the frame. He turns and kicks his boot against the bottom of the door, lodging it into the corner of the frame so that it stays shut. “That man doesn’t deserve your sympathy or your whining.” He looks over his shoulder, his eyes hunkered down with a certain weight of sadness, of darkness. “He’s the one who killed Luke.”

  My head spins and I chuckle nervously. The only thing I can force myself to say is a simple ‘shut up’ as if I don’t believe him.

  He wedges the bolt from the broken deadbolt into a crack between the door and frame then shakes the door to make sure it won’t budge. “I lied last night when I said I arrived too late.” He refuses to face me as he speaks, and I’m stuck in between the two of them, still unsure which direction the truth will come from. “I was in my car waiting for him when I saw him exit the bar.” He turns around and paces toward the man lying on the floor, aiming a finger at him. “A second later, this man came up behind him and bashed him in the head with a brick.”

  “No, no, no,” the man stutters. “He’s lying,” he screams. “He’s lying!”

  Noah pulls his foot back and kicks the man in the stomach, causing him to cry out in pain. Causing me to flinch and back up against the wall, searching for a sense of safety or comfort in this nightmare. Noah bends down and grabs the gag that sits around the man’s chin and forces it back into his mouth.

  “If true,” I swallow a thick cluster of air, “why not let the police handle it?”

  “At first, I thought the police were just terrible at their jobs.” He grabs the back of the chair railing and wraps his other arm around the man. In one fast movement, Noah pulls the chair back into a sitting position. “Then I realized it was something else. This town is corrupt.”

  “I can’t be in here right now.” I turn to flee, placing my palm on the knob and forcing it open. The door swings and slams against the wall and I hear footsteps padding after me. I rush faster, sweeping down the center aisle of the church and heading for the oversized, double doors. There are chains wrapped around the handles, explaining why I couldn’t get in earlier through the front doors. I spin around to find an alternate exit, but Noah is blocking my path.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that, but trust me when I say this is the only way.”

  “What are you hoping to gain?” I shake my head. “Justice?” />
  “That’s a part of it, but…” He’s unable to look me in the eyes. Instead, he opts to stare at the floor—it’s less confrontational. “It’s mostly about revenge. If he doesn’t confess, he dies. A part of me is hoping that he doesn’t.”

  I reach for his face and make him face me—making him look at me while he says all of these monstrous things. Hoping somehow that I’m able to bring him back down to Earth. “You are not a monster.”

  “Newsflash, Faith. You don’t know me anymore.”

  I duck under his arm and tighten my fist. “No. That’s where you wrong. I know you too well.” I spin around to him. “This isn’t you.”

  “You need proof?” He asks before marching down the aisle and disappearing into the back room.

  I lean against a pew and wipe my palm across my face, then slick my fingers through my hair. The temperature of the thick air is spiking and I’m finding it increasingly hard to breathe. Sweat trickles down the side of my face.

  “Here’s your proof,” Noah yells, pushing the man down the center of the aisle and then finally, onto his knees. He crouches to the floor behind the man and reaches for the collar of the man’s t-shirt, ripping it down the center. Exposing long, bloody cuts trailing down his chest. “Is this proof enough?”

  I turn my head and look away as I try to focus on anything but this man knelt before me. There’s a rage building from within, the kind that is only matched by a conscience fortified by years of difficult choices—even when I didn’t make the right choices.

  * * *

  FOUR YEARS AGO

  My naked legs dangle over the edge of the bed, rocking back and forth while the rest of my body—and mind—remain motionless. The nurse said the doctor would see me in a few minutes, but it’s been at least twenty.

  With every second that passes on the clock, I re-think my decision. I could go back home to Luke and Noah, and we could have this baby. We’re not in any position to do so right now, but things could change.

  But they never do. It’s the same cycle over and over. A cycle that I have to break. I’ll leave here in a few days when this is over and board the bus to Florida, where I’ll start a new life. A life hopefully void of tragedy.

  The door is pushed open and I’m hit with a breeze of warm air. “Hello, Faith,” the Doctor says as he shuts the door behind him. He’s an older gentleman with pepper hair and glasses perched across the crux of his nose. He takes a parting glance at my file, and he must notice the confliction spelled across my face. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I know if I surrender an ounce of doubt, I’ll be enrolled into a series of ‘Do you really want this?’

  So instead, I lie. “I’m sure.” And of all the battlefields that I’ve seen in my life, this one is the hardest. Holding back the tears becomes a war, and the outcome of success is guilt.

  8

  PRESENT

  The man has been given a name—Ben—and denying his humanity is no longer an option. Before, when he was simply the man being held hostage, it was easy to pretend. Now I know there’s a soul in there, no matter how far gone. No matter what he’s done, we’re not in the position to decide his fate.

  We’re back in the square room, the same room where Ben’s been held captive for God knows how long. Noah stands behind the camera, framing the scene.

  Ben sitting in his chair with his hands chained behind his back.

  I stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame and alternating between looking at Ben and looking out the small, square window in the back. It’s snowing again and the trees are already colored white.

  Noah holds his fingers up, all five of them. “Five minutes, Ben.” Then he steps toward me and places his hands on my hips. “It’s going to be all right.”

  I give him a nod, and turn. He follows me out to stand beside the pulpit. “Say you get a confession, what comes next in your brilliant plan? How do you come back from this?”

  “That’s not currently a part of the plan.”

  “So, what? You surrender your soul because of him? He’s the monster, Noah. Don’t become him.”

  “He killed Luke!”

  “I know that,” I scream, shaking my hands. “And a part of me wants to go in there and beat him to death. But I came back to Old Town to start a new life, and losing what’s left of my soul isn’t a part of the plan.” But when have my plans every turned out the way I thought they would? No matter where I run, everything eventually falls apart. “It can’t be a part of the plan.”

  Noah throws his arm across the banister and swipes his sweaty head against it.

  “It’s us against the world, right?” I plead trying to gain access to his beating-heart, a heart that I know is still in there somewhere. “Well, I’m tired of losing. And this?” I point to the back room, where Ben is. “What’s going on in there? That’s losing.” My lips begin to tremble as I urge him one last time, “Don’t become him.”

  “It’s too late for that,” he says, avoiding eye contact, and burying his head further into his arm.

  “It’s never too late,” I protest, grinding my teeth against each other. “It’s never too late to do the right thing. That’s what separates the good men from the bad. You are not too far gone, and you’re not a monster.”

  “No?” he groans. “You look at me and you see a reflection of who I used to be. You’re so blinded by your heart that it won’t let you see me for who I’ve become.”

  “I am trying to save you!”

  He throws his hands together in a thunderous clap. “You’re wasting your time.”

  “God,” I scream and bolt away from him, turning back to him when there’s enough safe distance between the two of us. “You’re such a coward who is just shutting off your emotions so you can live with your actions!”

  He shakes his head violently, his cheeks rising into his eyes. “Do you think he doesn’t deserve this?”

  “What about Luke?” I question, moving closer to Noah. “Do you think he’d approve?”

  “He’s dead,” he says softly. “He doesn’t get a say in how I avenge his death.”

  I slap him as hard as I can, and instantly recover by throwing my hand over my mouth, shocked and terrified by my own reaction.

  His cheek turns cherry-red with my handprint tattooed across his face. He rubs his skin with his knuckles, grunting through the pain. “I probably deserved that.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whimper through a sniffle. “I was wrong. Maybe we are too far gone.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He sighs. “This is the end of the road for me, anyway.”

  “Now what? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It means that after I get his confession… I don’t care if I live or die. Hell, I might even prefer the latter.”

  The foundation beneath us cracks, and through the earthquake of his quiet delivery, I finally get it. On this merry-go-round of lies—we’re both guilty of lying to each other and ourselves—there’s one fragile piece of truth left—Noah isn’t a monster because he can’t live with his actions. But I’m not kidding myself—this revelation brings no comfort to my tired being.

  “You are unbelievable,” I scold him and take a step back. “That’s your grand plan? To die?” Then I freeze in place, my entire world going cold in an instant. It’s reminiscent of the first day of sunshine after a long winter. “What about me?” I question, my voice shaking and my eyes watering. “What am I supposed to do in the wake of that?”

  “You did fine without me for three years,” he scoffs apologetically.

  “You are so full of shit,” I cry. “Do you honestly believe I’ve been fine? Maybe… maybe I should go back in time and tell everyone who has ever hurt me to cut me with a knife. That seems to be the only way you process the presence of pain—with physical proof.”

  “That’s it,” he purrs. “Let it all out.”

  “I accepted that your faith was shaken, because I never gave a fuck about Jesus or his damn sa
ints! In some fucked up way, it made it easier to be back here with you, because it reminded me of the way things used to be.”

  “We can’t go back—“

  I throw my hand to him, interrupting him. “But if losing your faith means that I lose you to the grave, then I take it back. I take it back because I won’t let you give up on the only thing you’ve ever believed in.”

  “I believed in you.” He approaches me, his weight tilting to one side. “From the first time I laid my eyes on you. But I’ve come to learn that faith has an expiration date.”

  “This isn’t about me and you,” I shriek. “This is about you, you, you.” I beat on his hard chest with every repetition of the word. “You.”

  He shifts his head to the floor, shaking it while pursing his lips. “That’s the problem.”

  I chuckle uncomfortably. “I can’t be around you right now.” I push past him and prop a foot against the steps of the pulpit.

  “Faith,” he whispers and grabs my arm. “Look at me.”

  “No.” I shake his arm off me and gallop up the steps.

  Noah gives chase and I run faster. But he catches me and throws me against the wooden cross. When I try to fight him, to push him away from me, he pins my arms behind my head. “Look at me,” he cries, but I refuse. “Tell me that I’m not a monster.”

  It sinks into me, the stunning realization that I could be wrong. “No…”

  His chest heaves. His hazel eyes fixated on mine. His grip on my arms tightens. His lips press against mine, forcefully. Instinct tells me to pull away, but instead, I give into the kiss.

  His sweaty palms move from my arms to my cheeks and I take advantage of my new-found freedom. I reach for the belt of his jeans, and unfasten it with haste. His mouth sinks against my neck as I wrap my palm around his hardness and squeeze. Feeling his pulse through the thickness of his cock jump-starts my own heart. For the first time since last night, I can feel it beating. I can hear it.