Finding Faith (17 page)

If John had to pick the lock to get me out that would add to my humiliation for the night. Done fighting, I sighed. “Fine, give me a minute.”

I went over to the sink and started to rinse my mouth out with water, clinging to the sink with one hand. As I watched my pastier than normal reflection, I was thinking how everything turned in the matter of hours. One minute John’s flirting with me, trying to look up my dress, and the next I’m on the floor trying to hide from two guys.

“I have a brand-new toothbrush in the linen closet if you need one. Do you need some Sprite or ginger ale?”

“Thanks. No, I’m fine, really.” I meant it. I never understood how he could be furious with me one minute and then the very next calm and sweet.

Tomorrow was the day I met with the committee at work. That was probably the reason my stomach was so upset. I wish someone could go with me, but Grace was busy and there was nobody else I could ask.

Once I knew I was safe and alone in the bedroom, I crept out of the bathroom doing my version of the walk of shame, thinking of poor Mike.

I peeked my head out into the hall to make sure John wasn’t waiting and the coast was clear. It made me wonder how big this place was and how he could afford it on a firefighter's salary? I took a better look around now that the lights were on and felt a sense of calm. The entire main living space was painted a tawny brown color screaming guy. I would love to give it a splash of color with flowers.

Thinking I wasn’t speaking loud enough to be heard from that corner of the condo I said to myself, “How do you afford it here?”

Totally not expecting an answer I jumped when a sexy voice answered me. “My parents paid for it.” The somber tone made my stomach churn.

As I came back out to the living room, the entire place was transformed. All the candles had disappeared and the display that was on the floor was now out of sight except for the vase of flowers and the brown journal that sat on a side table near his balcony doors.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything to drink but I want you to put something in your body. I don’t work tomorrow and I don’t want any of the other schmucks taking care of you if you end up dehydrated,” John said as he handed me a glass of clear liquid.

I could tell he felt miserable about the outburst from earlier. Should I tell him my getting sick wasn’t his fault? Screw him. He can suffer along with me.

I reached out and stroked one of the petals on the flowers I loved so much. Calla lilies used to be my favorite flower. They still were, but when I moved here I stopped buying them because they reminded me of a place I didn't want to remember. It hurt too much. A smile tried to form on my face with no success.

“Those are for you to take home. You didn’t get to take the first ones I bought with you. And that’s for you, too.” John’s eyes fell to a faded brown leather book. The book made me curious, wanting to sneak a look, but I felt shy so I held back.

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say. He was so sad. A deep breath escaped me. “So, what do you want to know?”

A boulder appeared in my gut.

“Never mind,” John shook his head adamantly. “I don’t want to upset you anymore. It doesn’t matter.”

He wouldn’t make eye contact with me. We were at a stand-still on opposing sides of the kitchen counter.

“It does matter, John. I just didn’t want to face what I did to you. I’ve lived in a world pretending that no one was hurt by what I did and I realize that’s not true.” I moved away from the table, giving John my back. I could feel his eyes boring holes into me.

I plopped myself on the couch, letting my body go to Jell-O, resting my head back. “Ask me anything and I’ll tell you. I owe it to you.”

I kept my eyes closed because I couldn’t handle looking at his wounded expression anymore.

“Why?” he asked almost so quietly I didn’t hear him.

“Why did I leave?” This time I had to look because John wasn’t answering me.

When I met his dull hazel eyes he gave me a slight nod along with a frown that didn’t look at home on his face.

“It’s such a long story I don’t think you want to hear it tonight. This is a great couch by the way.” Maybe I could sidetrack him.

“I’ve waited seven years to hear it and I don’t want to wait another day. Even if it takes you until the sun comes up I want every last detail.” His eyes turned dark as he watched me from the kitchen. “I need to know why you left me.”

“John, I keep telling you, I didn’t leave you. I left because of my mother. I couldn’t live with her anymore.”

“So you left all of us because of her?”

I was well aware of who the “us” was and that was a wound I wasn’t sure I could tackle tonight with him. Actually, I was positive I couldn’t.

“They were supposed to come out here when they were ready,” I answered.

“What happened? Why didn’t they? There isn’t one single thing in your place that shows you have sisters. No pictures, nothing.”

He was wrong. There was something, only it was another one of my lonely secrets.

“That’s the one thing I will not talk to you about. Anything else, but I’m not talking about them tonight. I can’t,” I said quietly.

“Well, you have to tell me something, dammit!” John demanded. His fists clenched, turning his knuckles white while resting on the counter. I knew he was holding back. He didn’t scare me, though.

“Because your mom was on your ass about what to do, you leave? Guess what, Faith, that’s called being a kid with a parent who cares.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t know? You honestly had no idea what I was going through with her?” I asked astonished.

“There’s more?” That caught his attention. He pulled a beer from the fridge and he made his way over to me, walking like he was setting off snappers by a little bunny who was about to run.

“You weren’t sexually abused were you?” He came and sat gingerly next to me, resting his hand on top of mine. The pressure felt comforting, reassuring.

I didn’t chase his hold away because that contact was the only way I would be able to get through what I was about to tell him. He obviously needed to hear it. All these years he’d thought I left him.

“Before you freak out, no, I wasn’t sexually abused. You’re right, though, when you said my mom was on my ass about every little thing I did.” I cringed saying the word mom.

Taking a deep breath, and letting it out with a strangled sigh I asked, “Didn’t you ever wonder why I always had bruises?”

I took a glance in John’s direction out of the corner of my eye. He was trying to make sense of things and figure it out, but it wasn’t clicking.

“Faith, you lived and breathed soccer year round. Why would I be curious about bruises you got from a game?” His eyes told me he spoke the truth, shining with curiosity.

He never suspected anything. I knew he saw them, too. There was no way being as intimate as we were he didn’t see the bruises I carried with me on a regular basis. He would even make a point to be extra gentle with me. Maybe my lack of acknowledgment is what spurred his blind eye. It was easier to let people believe what they wanted than to tell the truth.

What he didn’t know is why I lived and breathed the sport. It got me away from her. It was the only way I could get my aggression out without outing the situation, which would make it worse in our house rather than better.

“Dinner wasn’t cooked well enough. The house wasn’t clean enough. The toilets weren’t sparkling enough. Yours are immaculate by the way.”

“Faith.”

He obviously wasn’t going to let me sidetrack him so I kept going.

“My shirts wouldn’t be folded to her standards. At first it was at random times. Not enough to make you think anything about it. Maybe she had a bad day, or was PMSing.

“Then the frequency of the nagging increased. I would try to ignore her, but she would follow me into every room I’d run to. Then along with the nagging came the name calling. Sometimes I’d get something thrown at my head. I was quite good at dodging by the end,” I said with a dull laugh.

I focused on the shadow of a lamp on the ceiling to keep from seeing John’s face. I knew what it would look like, pity. His hand became rigid over mine but didn’t leave, telling me I was probably right about his face.

“What about Joy and Hope?” John’s voice was vacant.

“She left them alone. She wanted me. Don’t ask me why, I never bothered to find out. I mean, does it really matter? Anyway, things got to the point where I was getting pegged with random objects several times a day. A glass ashtray to the head as a wake-up call, a can of hairspray to the middle of my back to work faster at folding her clothes. Oh, you’ll love this, a wire hanger because the toilet wasn’t clean enough. Guess what movie was her favorite?” I let out another dead laugh. If I didn’t I would cry.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Faith? I could have helped you.”

“No. No, you couldn’t have. Not early on at least.”

I wanted to keep talking because if I stopped the story would stop, and he needed to know the entire truth.

“I was broken. I took it because I thought that was what I needed to do. Then, one day I saw her start on Joy. When I cut in to stop her, her excuse was she thought it was me. Nice, huh? The woman beat the shit out of me everyday and gave fucking birth to us and said she got confused.”

My lip curled with disgust. My mother wasn’t dead, but to me she might as well have been.

“After that I watched her. She was always taking some sort of pills. The day with Joy made me open my eyes to the fact that it could happen to them, too. I had never noticed until I had to start watching out for my sisters.

She would usually pass out late morning, wake up and start all over again. So one of the many times she was passed out I found the bottle she always reached for and saw it was Oxycontin. After watching her swallow pills all day I sent Joy and Hope out to buy groceries for dinner before she passed out again. I used that as my opportunity to confront her. If I attacked her she would shut me out, instead I pretended to be ignorant about what she was doing and asked her what she was taking? She denied taking anything, no big surprise. I had a feeling she would do that.”

“Did Joy and Hope have any idea? I mean if you figured it out, wouldn’t they?”

My eyes were still on the shadow and I was feeling hollow retelling the story. It wasn’t me that this happened to.

“No. I always kept them distracted so they never noticed her popping the pills. To them it appeared that she liked to drink water all the time. They never noticed the part where she took something when she drank.

“I would lie for her and tell them she was going through menopause or it was some hormone thing. Hope was too young and wrapped up in her teenage drama to know any better. You remember what it was like to be fifteen, when your twenty-year-old sister tells you something, you believe her. Joy trusted what I said. Why wouldn’t she? We did come from the same egg after all. If I lied to her, that was in a sense lying to myself. Now that I was forced to talk about it I guess I was lying to myself. I didn’t want to think that the problem was that bad.”

As the words came pouring out I was trying to admit things to myself I never had before.

“You didn’t have to leave. Why didn’t you go to your dad?”

“He was in denial, and still is if you ask me. They live together but don’t even talk. What’s the point of being married? But he can’t leave her. He says he loves her too much and she’s sick.”

“My parents could have helped you,” John strangled out. “You didn’t have to go like that.”

He took a big swallow.

“I did. When I first caught on to what she was doing it took a few years to progress. She wasn’t pill popping all day immediately. She’d built up to it. I ignored her at the beginning because it was so minor I didn’t think it would interfere or affect anybody.

“On days that the beatings were at their worst I would lay in bed at night trying to figure out why. Then one night I realized when it all started.”

I couldn’t say the words. I was already having a hard enough time, but John understood what I was getting at.

I couldn’t get myself to look at him. It was too hard.

“Oh, the accident,” he said.

I kept talking, not wanting to get sidetracked for once. Now that I’d started, I needed to get out my reasons so he could understand.

“Then one day it all came to a head.”

“The day you left,” he said.

I looked into his eyes. He didn’t need me to say anything more.

“What happened? Tell me.” John let go of my hand and got up.

I thought he was going to go get another beer because he had downed the first one rather quickly. The hand that was holding mine was raking through his hair as he started pacing. I could see him struggling to control himself.

“I gave her an ultimatum that day.” The first time since I started the story my voice cracked. “I told her she either goes for help or I call the police to help her.”

My voice began to waver uncontrollably, holding back the tears that were fighting to flow out.

John was making me upset with his stalking. I felt helpless watching him this furious.