I lean forward and kiss her forehead. And then I inch down and kiss each eyelid, they’re wet with tears like I knew they would be. It breaks my heart. “When you cry, I want to erase from existence whatever brought you sadness.”
“I don’t remember much of my last night with them. She was gone, and he and I got high while the other kids slept. Cocaine. It was my drug of choice. He wanted to go to the park a few blocks away, even though it was past midnight. Normally, I would’ve said no, we didn’t hang out. But he insisted, and I was antsy, so I agreed. I drank an orange soda he gave me while we walked. The last thing I remember was sitting on the rusty, old merry go round listening to it squeak in protest with each revolution.” Her grip on my hands is tight, so tight, by squeezing it’s releasing the hate and hurt that’s building inside her.
I tell her something she told me months ago, “Give me your hate, Faith.”
She’s crying. “I can’t, Seamus.”
“Give me your hate, Faith,” I repeat. My voice is rising, begging her to purge this admission. “Please. You need to get it out. I can take it. Yell at me if you need to. Give me your hate.”
It’s several seconds before her hate shatters the silence in ragged, hurried, whispers, “I hated him, Seamus. I hated her. I hated myself. I hated my addiction. I hated my life.” She pauses before she blasts the next sentence in angry sobs, “I just hated; it’s what I did to survive.”
The words tear me apart. She’s not hate. She’s not her past. Damn them for tainting her. I release her hands and hug her. She responds immediately. The hug is a mutated version, strength driven by rage from both of us.
Just when I think the adrenaline coursing through her is going to grant her the strength to split me in two, her grip lessens to her normal loving squeeze, and she sniffs. “We. You and me. We should be standing on your doormat, Seamus.”
I smile through the anger, eyes still closed, and kiss her on the forehead. “We should. Later,” I add because all I want to do is take her home with me and never let her go.
She hugs me tighter and sniffs again. “Promise?”
“Always,” I promise.
“It’s your turn, please. I need something good before I finish this. The end isn’t pretty.”
“Your hugs have the power to change people. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. You have a genuine kindness about you that’s so rare and pure, it brings me to my knees. I could live in your arms forever.” I rub her back and hold her, willing her to relax. Her story is housed within her muscles creating tension. She needs to relax to let it out.
It’s quiet for a long time before she begins. Her voice sounds tired like she’s already exhausted from the secret she’s about to share. That’s the thing about secrets, they’re heavy. Getting out from under them requires strength and work. It’s not easy. “The doctors and detective filled me in when I woke up in the hospital. It explained the pain and fear I felt. Along with the drugs I’d willingly ingested, they also discovered Rohypnol in my system.” Her voice is calm, too calm for the knots in my stomach. “He knocked me out…and then he stripped me and raped me. We were found under a tree like discarded trash by a man walking his dog at dawn. I was naked, and he was dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”
I wait for her tears to come. They don’t. But mine do. I hold her tighter because I don’t know what else to do. I’m trained to receive bad news and make it better, more manageable. This isn’t bad news. This is horrific. The things human beings are capable of are incomprehensible. “I’m sorry, Faith. I’m so sorry.” I know it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t help. But I can’t sit here and not say anything.
“Do I disgust you now?” It’s the most timid whisper I’ve ever heard. It’s a question that only fears the worst and has already accepted a negative response.
“No. Never. Thank you for trusting me enough to share your past with me. Him, on the other hand? He absolutely disgusts me. Only the vilest type of person is capable of something like that.” It boggles my mind that people can willingly inflict harm on others. “When did you get clean?”
“That night. No drugs since. Though, I almost stumbled when I came back to California. It’s what led me to the shelter and meeting Benito.”
My eyes pop open at her mention of the shelter, and I release the hug. Hers are still closed over tear stained cheeks. It’s dark now, and the beach is empty around us. “Faith, open your eyes.”
Wet eyelashes cling together, but separate slowly to reveal glistening, deep blue eyes.
“You were living at the homeless shelter?” My heart just broke for her. Again.
She nods. “My lease was almost up. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have much money. I didn’t have a choice.”
She didn’t have a choice? Why wasn’t I a choice? “You could’ve come to me. You should’ve come to me.”