Taking Faith (5 page)

She pressed her lips together and sat down. His lips were parted as he panted through the motions. It looked like hard and daunting work, and he was already sweating. He wiped his forehead with his arm and puffed a breath before looking at her. "There's a
refrigerator behind that table with some drinks in it. Will you grab us a couple?"

She did as he asked and went back to her seat with
her Coke. She didn't even like C
oke. It hit her that she'd probably never drink her favorite soda again. He wouldn't care
what it was
.

"What do you like to drink? I assume by the glare at that can that it's not Coke."

She eased her gaze to his cautiously and stared at him. How did he do that? He chuckled and shrugged before taking a huge gulp, setting the can down on the edge of a chair and starting his work again. They sat just like that
for a couple of hours before he announced that it was time to head home. Mike and his wife were coming to dinner, he said, and she needed to figure something out for dinner.

Amy didn't nod or speak. She just followed him out to the truck. When they arrived, he made a show of locking the door and went to take a shower.
She tried the back door, but it, too, was locked. She tried the window in the living room, but it was glued shut. He knew there was no way she was getting out, that was why he went and took his showers with such little worry about her. She stomped her foot and leaned against the wall.

Was this all just a game to him?

She wiped the tear away angrily. She couldn't get through one day without crying
anymore. Every
time he told her she had to do something that made him
more like the wife he wanted her to be, it seemed to rip a little piece of her soul right out of her. She didn't know how long she could go on like this. She heard the water shut off in the bathroom and almost panicked. She was
supposed to be doing something.
He was teasing one minute and then boiling mad the next. She couldn't read him and had no idea how he'd react if he caught her standing there like that.

She make a quick path to the kitchen, just in time, too, as he opened the bathroom door and emerged wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He had quite a few scars on his hips and belly that she hadn't seen before. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from them as her thought
s ran wild as to where they had come
from. She didn't have to think very hard. His father did that to him
, she knew it
. She glanced up to meet his eyes and saw the look he was giving her. He wasn't happy about her eying his scars apparently. Mean Roger was back.

"Take a shower," he barked and turned to his bedroom…
the room where she
slept. "You can wear some of my sweats until we can get you something," he called back to her before slamming the door.

She jumped. He got so angry so fast.
She did as
he said and went to the bathroom, the steam hitting her, giving her chills on her cool skin. She stunk, that was a fact. She'd been in that dress for days now and a shower, even with everything else that was pounding her brain, was the only heaven she could think of right now.

She peeled the dress off and threw it in the hamper. She made the water hot, but not as hot as last time. She hated having to use his soap. She was going to smell like him. She wrinkled her nose and washed, not bothering to shave
her legs
. What was the point in that?

Once she was done she wrapped herself in a to
wel and debated her next move; g
o out and ask him for some clothes or wait for him to
get
angry enough to come and ask her what was taking so long. She opted for option one
, but when she opened the door, there was a pile of gray sweats by the door. She sighed in relief and took the pile into the bathroom. There was no underwear or bra, obviously, so she just put them on. She was a small chested girl anyway, always had been. It used to bother her and she'd complain t
o her mother that she was nineteen
and hadn't reached puberty yet.

But thinking about her mother made her chest ache so she stopped that in its tracks.

She pulled her hair back again and dreaded the ponytail. She hated to wear them, but did not want to show any effort of making herself look good in front of him. She came out and walked back into the living room. He had settled himself into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that said "Mitchell's Supply" on the back and was looking through the mail, tossing som
e on the table. His feet were b
ar
e
. She looked away and waited.

He glanced up at her and she saw his eyes soften. His voice however did not. "Well aren't you just scrubbadubbed?" He looked away. "You need to get some supper started. They'll be here soon."

She went into the kitchen without a word. She
pulled some potatoes out and started to peel them.
She noticed the larger knives had been pulled from the block, leaving only paring and small knives behind.

She didn't even know what she was making, she just wanted to be doing something. She chopped fast and it became an angry rhythm to take out her frustrations on. She wasn't surprised when she sliced her finger, but she kept right on going, the knife banging on the board as she began to breath
e
heavy.

She felt him beside her, taking the knife and moving her to the sink as he held her finger under the cool water. She refused to look at him, just stared at the wall behind the sink. "So, you're going to just hurt yourself, huh?" He looked back at the potatoes. "And ruin supper in the process."

She glanced over quickly and saw blood on the potatoes she'd chopped. Oh, well. Good riddance.

"Stay there," he ordered and left. He came back with a band-aid and ointment. He dried her hand and wrapped her finger. Then he brought the trashcan over and took his hand to slide all the potato pieces off the counter into the bin. He turned and sighed. "Well…let's see what else we've got."

He opened the pantry and took out a Hamburger Helper box. "No knives involved with this. Wanna try again?"

She shook her head…and didn't stop. She crumpled to the floor. Whatever she did, good or bad, was going to either be met with meanness or this strange behavior where he acted like they were actually a happily married couple. Her tears were hot on her cheeks and she even pushed his hand away when he moved to touch her arm. "Amy," he said softly. She shook her head harder.

"Why?" she heard herself yell. "Why did you take me?"

He seemed taken aback by her outburst
and wobbled on his haunches. She saw him swallow and moved her eyes back to his. She would wait for her answer. She had to have some answers.

"Amy, I'm sorry that you're having a hard time-"

"Don't patronize m
e," she yelled again. "You're not
sorry and don't act like this is something I should just get
used to
. You kidnapped me! You stole me from my life and my family. There is no justification for that!"

He stumbled to try again. "I…I needed a wife-"

"So date someone! You don't steal people from the street!"

He scoffed, but not in a humorous way. It was a way that told Amy he was actually surprised. "Well, y
ou've gotten brave, haven't you?
"

"I've gotten tired," she confessed and didn't even t
ry to hide the
tears or wipe them away. Let him see. Let him feel guilty for what he'd done to her! "I miss my family. I can't imagine the worry they're going through." She locked her gaze to his. "You know they have the whole state looking for me, don't you?"

"Yeah, probably," he admitted softly. "But it won't matter, Amy." He slumped all the way to the floor on his butt and leaned his head against the cabinets across from her. "The community is very thorough and hidden. Everyone in town, even the law enforcement, is involved with this. There…isn't an out for you."

"So, even if I had ran…"

"We would have caught you…and it would have been bad for you."

"What made you this way?" she growled as much as she could through her tears. "What made you so heartless and callous?"

"I wasn't made this way. I was…" he shook his head, "forced to be this way. I wasn't lying before." He steeled himself, his chin raising and his jaw hardening. "I don't want you here. I had to take you as my wife because that's what we're expected to do in the community. But I don't want some woman I have to look out for
, and make sure you don't step over the line where someone can see and
…discipline. They want m
e -
my father wants me
-
to hit you. To teach you that I'm your master and you'll do what I bid without question or concern for anything but getting it done."

He shook his head hard and continued,
"I don’t want that. I don't want to be that, but it's all I know and all I've had drilled into me, sometimes drilled literally into me." He touched his stomach absentmindedly. "They don't let people leave here, Amy. Not even me and I was born here. I've only ever been outside these town walls
a few times in my entire life.
They think…"
H
e scrubbed his hands through his hair and sighed. "
They think wome
n are here for one reason: to be at
a
man's feet wondering what he wants her to do next
. T
hey take all that stuff in the B
ible seriously
about a woman obeying a man. They focus on all the parts they want to believe and tune everything else out. Look," he said a little harder
,
"
y
ou're here, that can't be changed. There's no sense in pining for a life that you no longer have. The sooner you get over it, the better you'll feel and the more we can try to just be…normal."

"You expect
me
to be your wife?" she asked in all seriousness. "Have kids, the whole bit?"

"One day," he said, his voice breaking, "we'll be expected to have kids."

She didn't know what to say to that. She'd know
n
that answer was coming, but it still stung down into her bones. She could tell he was struggling with everything, as if he was truly being forced as he had said, but she could also tell he had every intention of following through with his plan. She would be his wife, in every way one day, and would be forced to accept this as her new life.

She started to say something, her brain hadn't even worked out what yet, but there was a knock on the door.

Mean Roger was back. Or
scared
Roger, Amy realized. Was he more scared for her or himself?

"He's here," he said loudly
and
banged his fist on the floor before scrambling up. "Get
up. Get up, Amy!" He pulled her to
her feet and looked her over. "Remember what I said. You've got to cook something. Do you hear me? No moping around
while they're here
."

She stood
until he ran out t
o answer the door on
her useless legs. What had they done for her so far? They hadn't fought back, they hadn't protected her and most of all, they hadn't run.

She was disappointed in herself.

She heard a noise and turned to see a very unhappy woman. She was not
one of
the timid and scared girls from the warehouse. This woman was older and had been here for much longer. Her ornery arms were crossed over her chest and she had hair escaping the tight bun at the back of her head. She glared at Amy, as if she were the enemy and not in the same class with her.

Amy, already emotional and exhausted, turned her back on her to brace herself on the counter to think. She needed to get herself together. She had to cook, she knew that, so she opened the pantry and tried to ignore the heated glare of the strange woman behind her.

Chapter 5

The bland pasta she made wasn't exact
ly going to be a hit, she knew, but it was
her
lack of caring that got in the way. Even though Roger was being…weird and almost caring, that didn't mean she wanted to please him.

She just wanted to survive and be left alone.

The woman started to set the table for them. Amy hadn't even thought to do that. It was then that the sounds
o
f her n
ew life permeated her mind. The
men were in the other room, laughing and talking about mundane things such as work and the weather.

The weather, Amy scoffed.

Before she even knew what she was doing she had slammed the dish of pasta on the table and stood there glaring at the wall. She was kidnapped, didn't even have her own underwear anymore
,
and they were talk
ing about the freaking weather?

"Well," the other man laughed from his comfortable perch on the couch, "I guess dinner is served."