I wondered if Faith would recognize me. I was twenty-six when she knew me. Now at thirty-eight I was a hardened veteran, battered and bruised. Faith would be thirty-two. She’d been twenty when I knew her. Everything that happened between us was a lifetime ago. Maybe I was fooling myself, thinking I could go back after so long.
The Jackal, a Mexican drug runner with a scar across his face four inches long, was my last target. He was the last Lobo I had to kill, the final member of Wolf’s inner circle who’d ever known anything about Faith. Now he was dead, and there was no one left to threaten the people I loved.
I’d spent twelve years trying to forget the feeling I got from Faith, trying to get the pain of her memory out of my mind, but I could never do it.
Being without Faith, knowing she was out there and that I couldn’t go back to her, it was a constant torture. I tried to dampen that pain in any way I could. Violence, alcohol, adrenaline, I tried everything.
The only thing I didn’t try was sex.
I was tempted. Sure I was. Many times. I even made a habit of going to strip clubs and watching the girls dance. But I never fucked them. I didn’t fuck a single woman. Not in all that time. I didn’t even let them touch me. From the moment I laid a finger on Faith, I hadn’t been with another woman.
What kept me going was the memory of Faith. I thought about her constantly. I fantasized about her. Sometimes I’d flirt with other women, but only because they reminded me of Faith. I used them to trigger my own memories, to bring to life the images I held in my mind of Faith. But I never crossed the line. Not once. I remained loyal. And that was the only thing that gave me the courage to go back and find her now.
Maybe she’d hate me, maybe she’d spit in my face when she saw me, but at least I knew I’d been true to her. I’d done what needed to be done, I’d kept my promise, and now I was back to take what was mine.
Some men live for glory. Others live for gold.
Me? I lived for the memory of Faith Shepherd. The images I’d formed in my mind of her during those few days we spent together were my obsession. They were my drug, my passion, and god knows, they would be the death of me.
I found a seat near the back of the bus. I had it to myself, but across the aisle was a woman in a provocative black dress. If I had to guess, I’d say she was a hooker. She was alone, sitting quietly, her nose buried in a book. My habit was to find something that reminded me of Faith, some hint of the woman I’d lost, in every woman I came across.
This woman had Faith’s lips.
She noticed me. She looked when I threw my pack on the luggage rack, checked me out. Even after all I’d been through, the injuries and scars, the years of neglect, women were still drawn to me. If anything, they flocked to me even more now than when I was younger. They could tell I was a real man, a man who meant it. They knew I’d fuck like I meant it too. And they could sense my loneliness.
“Is this bus going all the way to California?” she said.
I nodded. I wasn’t interested in talking but she kept going anyway.
“Is that where you’re headed?”
I looked up and smiled.
“You ain’t ever seen a man as homesick as me,” I said.
She smiled back and then looked away as if she was busy. She wasn’t busy. She had the same long bus ride ahead of her I had. She was bored, and I knew already she was going to look to me for some entertainment. The bus pulled out of the station and hit the highway.
I looked across at her, at the lips that were like Faith’s. It was a strange habit, seeing Faith in the features of other women, but when you’ve been separated from your love as long as I had, you resort to anything. I’d have preferred if she was a little older, closer to Faith’s age. Age brings confidence, and confidence is everything.
I knew I should look away but my eye kept wandering back to her lips.
My heart yearned for company. It was so long since I’d known intimacy that I sought it everywhere, in all the small interactions of life.
I didn’t say a word to this woman. It would only bring trouble.
She looked at me and caught me staring at her lips. It wasn’t her I was thinking about, it was Faith, but she took it as a signal.
“This is a good book,” she said.
I nodded.
“I wish I read more, but I only seem to have time on buses.”
Ashamed as I am to admit it, I was horny. I can’t deny it. My dick was rigid as a piece of wood. But I belonged to Faith, I’d promised her that, and there was no way I’d break that promise.
“Listen,” I said, “I’m returning from a very long trip.”
“I get it. You’re tired.”
“I’m bone tired.”
“I was just wondering,” she said, “if you have anything to drink. Something to help the time pass.”
I shook my head and, disappointed, she looked back to her book.
I thought she’d leave me alone then, but she spoke up again.
“What were you doing on your trip?”