Taking Faith (6 page)

              He lifted and hesitated for just a second before laying his lips to her forehead in a barely-there kiss. Then he left, the belt dragging the floor in his fingertips.

              She lay back on the bed and pulled her knees up to her chest. She heard the voices out in the house for a while afterwards, but she just stayed and stared at the wall. She barely blinked. Her eyes hurt from not closing them for so long, but she needed to keep them open. She needed to make absolute certain that this was real.

              About an hour or so later she heard the door open. She didn't look that way for fear of what was coming, but it was Roger. He knelt right next to her head that was lying on the edge of the bed and laid his head next to hers, but not too close. He seemed exhausted in more ways than one, the rings under his eyes dark and telling. He hadn't been sleeping, she'd known that.

              "I'm sorry," was all his anguished voice said before closing his eyes.

              She didn't reply.

              She knew he wasn't comfortable, half on the bed half on the floor like that, but she wasn't about to invite him in the bed with her. Not that she was in it. She hadn't slept
in
the bed under his covers since she'd gotten there. Always rebelliously on top.

              She knew he was sorry, it was written all over his worn face. But did that make up for it? Did that make everything that had happened all right? She didn't think so, but she did feel sorry for him. She hated to see people struggle and this man…this monster was struggling with himself.

              Most of all, she hated that she was feeling anything for him. The monster was making it very hard to hate him.

~ ~ ~

              The morning light streamed in and lit her gorgeous face. Roger stared at her from his point where his head was beside hers…kind of. He was afraid she was going to throw a fit when he came in last night and knelt down, but he just had to be with her in any way that he could. He'd thought fast last night, but if Amy didn't at least start trying to make an effort, he wouldn't be able to protect them forever. They'd place her with someone else if he wasn't deemed fit to be her husband. And the man they would place her with would gladly be the man that they wanted him to be for the chance to get a wife. Roger closed his eyes at that, but opened them up again quickly. This was the only time he had to look at his wife, in the mornings when she slept so peacefully. At night while she tried to fall asleep, she was restless and anguished, but in the morning…it was as if she was waking up and expecting this all to be a bad dream. Until her eyes opened she was a peaceful little oval faced girl whose world was normal and brightly lit. When her eyes opened, she realized the hell she was in. He hated that he was the cause of such change in her. If he could find a way for her to be happy somehow…he'd risk just about anything, but it was impossible.

              He was a monster and she was just the princess locked in his tower.

~ ~ ~

              Amy stretched and leaned, but stopped quickly when she remembered that she'd let the monster sleep next to her. Well, not really, but kind of. She didn't want to run into him with her arm, but when she opened her eyes, she was alone and grateful for it. She needed to take a step back and rethink things. It was obvious to her that Roger was trying, for reasons not clear, to keep her safe to some extent. She needed to put forth some of her own effort if she wanted to stay alive. Smothering herself in the pillow and never waking up just wasn't an option anymore. It was the strangest thing.

              It felt like Amy had been asleep for days and was finally awake.

              She lifted from the bed and inched her way to the door. She smelled coffee and…bacon? She made her way down the hall through the dining and living room to the kitchen door. He was dressed for the day in jeans and his work shirt once more. He was sipping his coffee and staring out the window in a way that told her he was long gone somewhere.

              She decided today she would be bold. "Hi," she said and he jolted so hard, he spilled his coffee all over the counter. "Oh, I'm sorry."

              She jerked the hand towel from the oven handle and ran to clean it up. He held his arms wide sporting a big spill on his shirt, too. "It's all right," he said and laughed a little. "I can't believe I did that."

              "You were pretty gone," she mused and finished the job. She turned to him and saw the spot on his shirt. She wasn't touching that spot, uhuh. She turned away and went to get some coffee. He pulled his shirt off on the way out the door and returned quickly with a new one already on.

              She sipped her black coffee and couldn’t help but grimace. He laughed, the smile sitting on his face. "There isn't exactly any chick food here is there?"

              She glanced over at the three slices of bacon on the counter on a plate and back to him. No, there was definitely not chick food here. He seemed to understand her glance and nodded. "Store, today. We'll get you some clothes, some of the food you like, shampoo, whatever."

              "You can do that?" she asked softly.

              "You're my wife," he said wryly. "It's my job to clothe you, right?"

              "In a chauvinist world, I guess that would be true," she answered back and sipped more coffee. His eyes laughed at her over the hand he had placed over his mouth. He was in a much better mood today. She wondered why?

              "Regardless, I think it's time I got you some clothes."

              She nodded, looking down at his sweats she was still wearing. Yes, new clothes, like now.

              She showered once more and put on more of his sweats, charcoal this time. They went into the office and he showed her how to answer the phones and take orders. She wrote whatever the person said they wanted along with their name and number on an order form. It was pretty simple, but the thing she hated was being stuck to his side literally all day. She wasn't allowed to be left in the office, dirty as it was, so she had to sit in the shop with him once again as he worked.

              It was hot, so Amy wasn't surprised when he took his shirt off again, but it still made her uncomfortable. After a repeat of the same work day they went home, or so she thought. She'd forgotten about the shopping trip he promised. It was her first trip into a public place and she tried not to stare, but it was awfully hard. The women were nothing but shells of their former selves in this place; zombies, numb, lifeless. So this was what Amy had to look forward to.

              And she had almost forgotten that with Roger's happy attitude this morning and his protective spirit. But that didn't mean her life would be any different that these women. She felt the little spurt of light that had begun to grow within herself die out into nothing.

              She followed him around the store as he picked up some things he needed. Then he began to ask her questions about shampoo and soap. She just said the first thing that came to her mind to get him to stop asking her questions. "Strawberry."

              "You like strawberry shampoo?" he asked and she nodded. He picked her out some and put it in the cart. The clothing department was massive…for men. There was a ton of work clothes and jeans for the men, but the woman's section was bleak and small. Even the store had no inclination to offer the woman more than they thought they deserved. He asked her size and picked out one of everything that fit her. They were all things she would never have worn in her own life, but this wasn't her life anymore, now was it…

Chapter 6

              The ride home was slow, believe it or not. There was a tractor in the road making a short ride a long one. A
tractor.
Amy sighed and pressed her head to the window. Roger glanced over at her and seemed for the first time to see that she was once again sullen. "Hey," he said, his voice smooth and deep. "What's wrong?"

              "Everything," she sighed.

              He sighed, too. "Amy…I thought we were making some progress."

              "Are you letting me go?" she asked with her face still pressed to the cold glass.

              He paused so long she wondered if he was actually contemplating it. "I can't."

              "Then we're not making progress."

              He gripped the steering wheel tighter, Amy could hear the leather twisting under his fingers, and his smooth face was once again lined with concern and anger.

              Once the truck stopped at his house, she was out and making her way inside. It was pretty chilly at night there and the first thing he did after bringing everything inside was start a fire in the fireplace.

              The bags stayed right there on the table. She wasn't about to put anything up. In her mind, it was back to square one. Was Roger only pulling the nice guy act so he could trick her into doing what he wanted and fool the community into thinking that he had her under control?

              If that was the case, then why not go on and beat her?

              He went straight into the kitchen and started banging things around. She inched herself into one of the wooden table chairs, lifting one leg to press to her chest and tried not to flinch. She knew he was angry and she knew why. He thought they could at least cohabitate for a while in peace, but the scene today had shaken Amy. She couldn't do this. She couldn't just have kids and live here forever.

              He was still a monster and she needed to remember that.

              She heard the front knob jingle. She looked over at it and hadn't thought anything of warning Roger until it was too late. Suddenly someone burst through the door and she knew what a grave mistake had been made. She was sitting at the table, Roger was banging around in the kitchen, she assumed making something to eat for dinner, and his father was at the door.

              "What in the hell is going on here?" he roared and came at Amy. She scrambled from her chair and backed into the wall. Roger emerged from the kitchen and bolted across the room for him. He didn't reach him before his father reached her though.

              His grip was full of hate as he grabbed her arm and then let his palm shock her cheek with a slap. She smelled alcohol and knew why the situation had escalated so quickly. When Roger gripped his arm to stop another hit, she was slammed into the wall in the struggle. The back of her head hit so hard she saw spots, but didn't pass out. No, she saw everything.

              Every horrible detail in vivid color.

              She was sprawled behind the table against the wall and could see them struggling on the other side through the table legs. It was like a bad movie seeing their shifty and uncoordinated movements. But one thing was for sure, Roger had no intentions of hitting his father back or defending himself. He let his father kick him in the stomach repeatedly as he yelled things over and over to him. Finally he turned back her way. She heard him say, "It's time your woman learned her place, even if I have to be the one to teach her."

              Roger grabbed his leg to trip him and crawled to hold him down. Roger looked at her with blazing eyes and yelled, "Amy, go lock yourself in the bedroom."

              She shook her head. It was the first time Amy was defiant
for
him instead of against him. If she left, his father could kill him for all she knew! She wouldn't leave him after he had saved her from him.

              He growled, clearly frustrated as he struggled with his father. "Go, Amy." His father gripped him by the throat and started to strangle him. "Father, you're drunk, stop!" he wheezed. "Dad?" When his father wouldn't stop, Roger began to try to pry his hands away, but he wasn't letting go. His father rolled over to be over him and grunted and strained as if to squeeze the life out of Roger forever.

              Amy just reacted.

              She scrambled up from the floor and ran to him with purpose. She searched for something - anything - to use on him. A vase on the fireplace mantel looked like the best bet so she grabbed it. In a move so bold and risky that Amy had never pulled anything like it before, she let the blue porcelain vase fall from her hands to Roger's father's head.

              It broke apart against his scalp and his father lay still. Roger pushed his father off onto the carpet and retched and coughed as he got his breath. She knelt down to pat his back, but he was too busy checking on his father. "Dad?"

              His father groaned and moaned into Roger's shirt sleeve. Roger sighed and slumped as he realized his father was all right. "I'm going to go put him back in his truck. Hopefully he'll wake up there and not remember any of this because he's too drunk."

              Amy nodded and watched as Roger picked his father up and carried him out the door that had been left open. She left everything where it was, all a mess and broken, and went to the bedroom. She opened the closet door and sat down in the floor of it. It was beginning to feel like her own little confessional.

              She stretched her legs out. They almost touched the other side of the closet, but not quite. She stared at the opposite blank wall and tried not to break down. There had been enough of that and she had no idea what to expect when Roger returned. She felt a different kind of numb. The kind that was hard to awake from. The kind that made her wonder if she would ever be the same again.

              She heard the front door close and braced herself. She heard his bare feet pad down the hall and disappear onto the carpeted bedroom. His shadow came into sight and then he was filling the frame of the closet doorway. He watched her for just a second before bending down to sit opposite her in the closet.