Finding Faith (4 page)

The following Sunday, after taking
out the trash and digging out a flower bed for Sister Francis, I
went to the single church bathroom to clean my hands and face. I
swiped at my pants with my dirt-covered hand before grabbing the
doorknob. After pushing the door open, I ran right into Faith.
Except this time she was sitting on the floor with her face down
and her fist clutched to her chest as if her life depended on it.
Her long skirt was hiked up over her knees, exposing a long,
shapely leg.

I’m not sure what I’d expected to
be lurking under that god-awful skirt, but I surely hadn’t expected
a set of gorgeous legs. A perfectly shaped thigh worked its way up
under her skirt. I couldn’t help myself. My eyes followed its path
and begged the skirt to go away.

She moved and the bathroom light
shifted across her leg, allowing me to see they weren’t as perfect
as I’d originally thought. The creamy skin was slightly tarnished
with thin scars and welts. One thing I knew about was welts. One of
my foster dad’s favorite things to do was pick the perfect switch
on a tree and use it on me. I’d gone to sleep many nights with
welts that looked like that asshole’s belt, his perfect switch, or
better yet, his shoe.

My eyes were stuck on her legs as I
pushed the door farther. Tear-filled eyes looked up at me, and she
gasped. She quickly adjusted her skirt and swiped at the wet paths
on her cheeks.

“
I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone
was in here.” I leaned over and snatched a tissue from the tissue
box on the counter and handed it to her.

I bent down on my knees to look
directly into her sad brown eyes, and it felt as if a large hand
was squeezing my heart. I wasn’t a naturally emotional guy, but
pulling the wings off of a butterfly wasn’t my thing and this girl
was hiding wings, just a different kind.

“
Are you okay?” I asked
softly.

She attempted to smile, but it
never reached her eyes.

“
Yeah, I’m okay—just having a
moment,” she said with an uncomfortable smirk.

She reached up with her free hand
and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, while her other hand
remained clutched to her chest. A brown strand of hair escaped, and
without realizing what I was doing, I tucked it behind her ear and
out of her face again. She jerked at my touch and my heart shifted
in my chest. It was the strangest feeling.

“
What happened?” I
asked.

I had the strongest urge to protect
her.

There was once a little girl named
Emily who I shared a foster home with. She was so sweet and small.
I was with her for three months and during those three months, I’d
been her protector. Faith reminded me so much of a grown-up
Emily.

She opened her mouth to talk, but
before she could answer, her father was at the door. His eyes beat
into her and again, she shrank in his presence.

“
That’s enough playing around,
Faith. Sister Francis is looking for you.”

His eyes skimmed my face in
aggravation. I turned my attention back to Faith, who was standing
and adjusting her skirt. The way we were sitting alone in the
bathroom couldn’t have looked good, but I didn’t care. I knew we
were being innocent and that’s all that mattered to me.

“
See you around,” she said as she
stepped around me and out of the bathroom.

The pastor looked at me again and I
saw a flash of anger in his eyes. His lips tightened in disapproval
before he stepped away, letting the bathroom door slam. The noise
seemed to shake the whole church.

I wasn’t sure what it was, but
something was off with that man and his daughter. I couldn’t put my
finger on it, but I knew a screwed-up family when I saw one. No
matter how perfect the preacher pretended to be, something about
him rubbed me the wrong way.

Three

Faith

“
Spare the rod, spoil the child.”
My dad quoted the Bible as he put his belt back on.

I was sure it was his favorite part
of the Good Book since he said it to me every day. It was easy for
him since every day he found a reason to take his belt to
me.

I clutched the silver cross lying
against my chest. I’d had it my entire life. My mom’s mom gave it
to me when I was six and I’d never taken it off. It was usually
hidden beneath my clothing, and it made me feel safe.

I used to pretend when I was
younger that I could hide my soul in the cross so no one could ever
take it away from me. My dad spent my childhood instilling in me
the dangers of having a tainted soul and having it ripped away by
the devil. It was my biggest fear. So when I was afraid that I’d
done wrong or that something was going to hurt me, I’d imagine I
was pouring my soul into the cross and I’d be guarded by something
holy and good. It was how I made it through—my survival
mechanism.

Years later, knowing it was
impossible to tuck your soul away inside a silver charm, I still
held strong to my cross and it still warmed my palm every time I
felt like things were too much, when I thought I’d just about met
my limit on the things I could take.

Once my dad left the room, I
reached down and ran my fingers over my thigh. The thick welts were
already starting to form. My skin felt hot to the touch and sore,
but getting whipped with Daddy’s belt didn’t hurt anymore—not like
it used to anyway. Instead of crying because of the pain, I’d shed
the occasional hidden tear because of how degraded I
felt.

It started when I was six—he caught
me in a lie about eating an extra piece of candy—and it continued
over the years. I never lied again from that moment on. It was
beaten into me and it remained there. Lying was a sin, and if I
lied, I was a sinner and I was going to burn in hell.

I was seventeen and afraid of any
and everything, but mostly afraid of getting a spanking from my
daddy like some elementary school child. How sad was I? No other
girls my age even had to think about it. They were out living their
lives, leaning and growing the proper way—by experience.

My home life was anything but
exciting, which was why I almost hated going home after school each
day. I suppose it was also the reason I’d do stupid things like
burst out in tears randomly in the church bathroom. It wasn’t the
first time I’d done it, but it was the first I’d been
caught.

I couldn’t believe I’d done it
again. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t, but I felt like I was
disappearing. It was as if every time his belt met my skin, it was
erasing me. When I felt that way, the only way I could feel alive
was to pinch myself, or better yet, clutch my cross and cry my eyes
out in the bathroom.

It didn’t make any sense to me.
Crying, feeling any emotion in general, hurt and felt good at the
same time. It was like I couldn’t help it. I rarely did it anywhere
but my bedroom at night. Only then could I have silent tears on my
cheeks without anyone knowing about them.

Everyone had a breakdown every now
and again. At least that’s what I’d tell myself. I already felt
like I belonged nowhere, that I was different from everyone else.
Telling myself everyone else did it, too, made me feel a lot
better.

Deep down I knew I had a depression
problem and I needed to talk to someone, but what would my mother
and father think if I asked to go to a therapist? They’d have me at
the altar and have the entire congregation praying over me. Healing
was God’s job. That’s what my dad would say to me. So instead of
asking for help and risking another beating or having myself
embarrassed in front of everyone, I hid it.

I usually locked the door. I
wasn’t sure what had possessed me to
not
double-check the lock before I
let myself go, but when the new boy walked in on me my humiliation
was on the severe side. I doubted he knew what I was in there
doing, but still it wasn’t fun. It’s not like normal people sit
around and cry for no reason. I was probably the only person in the
world who did something so stupid. Not to mention, the last thing I
wanted him to see were the ugly welts from that afternoon’s
“lesson” about obeying my mother.

I skipped the movies the following
Saturday night, but somehow Amanda talked me into going off with
her, Kevin, and his cousin after church on Sunday. I had school the
following day, but after being busted in the bathroom, sobbing like
an escaped mental patient, I thought sneaking out and getting a
little freedom was becoming necessary.

It was the first time in my life
that I’d done something so careless, but I was about to break. I
was getting the belt regardless of what I did these days, so why
not at least give him a good reason. I ran that thought through my
mind as I waited for Amanda to quietly pull up outside.

When she finally came, I climbed
out of my window like a juvenile delinquent. The windowsill dug
into my stomach and pinched the soft skin beneath my belly button.
My heart was already in my throat from fear, but the windowsill
pressing into my chest didn’t help matters.

I stretched my legs out more until
finally I could feel the grass beneath my tippy toes. Pushing up
with my palms, I slid the rest of the way to the ground. My beige
sweater snagged on a piece of cracked wood on the window frame and
it ripped a tiny hole.

I still couldn’t believe what I was
doing. I never thought in a million years that I’d actually sneak
out with Amanda, but I needed to get away. Things were getting
worse emotionally and I needed a break away from my life, or the
lack thereof. Even if it was just going on a stupid drive for two
hours with two strangers and my best friend… that was enough. I
wasn’t stuck in my house, or school, or church, and that alone felt
amazing.

I slid my window down quietly and
waited for any sounds from inside my house. My heart remained
jammed in my throat as I imagined my mom or dad bursting into my
room to catch me in the act of breaking the rules.

“
Come on, Faith,” Amanda whispered
from behind me.

I ran behind her to a waiting car,
my simple white tennis shoes sinking into the damp grass. Without
thinking twice, I jumped into the back seat. My mouth was dry and I
could barely swallow. The fear of getting caught was so strong and
I was getting about sick and tired of feeling afraid all the
time.

My stomach rolled with nerves and I
began to shake as if I were freezing. No one around me seemed to
notice. Once the car pulled away from my curb, I was afraid I’d go
into a full panic attack and have to be rushed to the emergency
room. I was thankful when the tense feeling slowly started wear
off.

It was dark out, so dark that I
couldn’t see the guy in the seat next to me. That alone was
frightening in itself, but I trusted Amanda. She was trouble, but I
knew she’d never do anything to put me in actual danger. At least I
hoped she wouldn’t.

“
Feels good, doesn’t it?” Amanda
said over the headrest of the passenger’s seat, her eyes wild and
excited.

She didn’t wait for my response.
Instead, she flopped around in her seat and leaned over to kiss who
I could only guess was Kevin.

Again, I looked over at the guy in
the seat next to me. Occasionally, some light from outside would
flash and I’d actually see him and not just his
silhouette.