Storyteller

Chapter 18

Faith POV: 

I sit in the makeup chair, staring at the massive brunette curls that surround my face. My face is slathered in dark makeup, and the black dress is still tightly holding me together. Nobody in this room knows besides me, and I intend to keep it that way for tonight. I need to just shut up and sing... shut up and sing. 

My entourage follows me all the way onto the stage, before dashing away at the final moment, after deciding my makeup and hair are permanently cemented in place. They scatter like ants backstage. 

I walk on stage, feeling the energy change from how it felt when the place was desolate. It's a sold out show tonight, so every seat is filled as I look up toward the sky. The band starts to play I Ain't Gonna Take It, and I sing along as directed.

"You've worn the soles off both your shoes, walkin' on me like ya do... This ain't what forever's for, and I ain't gonna take it, I ain't gonna take it anymore... I've cried and begged and cursed and prayed, but nothing's worked, nothing's changed. No way I win when you keep score, and I ain't gonna take it, I ain't gonna take it anymore..." I sing, as I hear a pop from the side of the stage. I jump, and turn toward backstage, to see Tim standing there with something in his hand. He walks closer to me, tears streaming from his eyes as he points something at me. 

A loud bang turns into high pitched ringing in my ear, as I fall back hard against the stage, my back slamming against the wooden planks. I look toward Tim, and watch him press the gun against his head before squeezing his eyes shut. He fires, a bright flash before blood spreads everywhere. 

I watch him in horror, before looking at the crowd which is scattering in the masses. I look down to see a massive hole in my stomach. It hurts, and is bleeding profusely. The wound is large, and a dark red color. It's soaking my black dress with blood as I try to coax myself into moving. 

A woman screeches from backstage, causing me to look back toward Tim's direction. He's managed to get the gun back in his hand, and is pointing it at me. 

"Please, Tim..." I start to plead, tears streaming from my eyes as panic overcomes me. He looks away when he squeezes the trigger, firing another round. 

My head falls back, feeling as if this is it. The last round hit me in my lower stomach and is bleeding worse. This round burns like fire. My eyelids are growing heavy as I'm starting to feel cold. 

"It's okay, you'll be fine." I hear Carrie as she runs to my side. She sees my wounds, and rips off the bottom pieces of fabric off her dress. She wads them up, and applies pressure. Chris runs out behind her, kneeling on my other side. 

"Shit..." She mumbles. I feel myself struggle to breathe as my sight grows a little blurry. "Stay with me, Faith." She says, squeezing my hand tightly. Her fingers are trembling around my hand, making me feel a little afraid. 

As I feel myself grow lighter, I force myself to look back toward Tim... 

He stares at me with tears coating his face. There's blood everywhere, as he squirms in discomfort. He lets out little groans as he tries to scream. 

"Help him..." I start to shout. Chris looks at me with disappointment. 

Something grows tight inside of me, causing my eyes to roll back. I hear Chris and Carrie start to scream as I black out. 

This is a dream... It has to be. He's younger, and covered in the scars. He lays beside me in bed, facing away from me. I run my fingers across the raw skin, lashed without any hesitation. Something drives me to kiss the wounds, and to wrap my arms around him. 

He turns over to face me, and wraps his arms around me in response. He lays his lips on my forehead, and pushes my hair behind my ear. He takes a deep breath, and resumes sleeping, holding me tightly. 

I look around the room, and realize this is my old bedroom. We must still be teenagers in this dream. 

"Tim, we gotta get up." I whisper, kissing his chest. He groans, and slowly turns onto his back. I stand up, and out some clothes on. Once I'm decent, I turn back toward Tim, to see him lying in bed still, staring up at the ceiling. "You need help?" I ask cautiously. He nods, swallowing hard. I walk to his side of the bed, and help him stand. His legs give out quickly, causing him to grab onto me desperately. 

"Shit, Faith it hurts." He grunts, scrambling to get back onto his feet. I help him stand, noticing how thin he is. He looks emaciated... 

Once I manage to slip some of his clothes on him, I help him walk downstairs. My father sits in the family room, watching us stumble down the stairs. He stands, and helps Tim onto the couch. I head into the kitchen to make eggs while my father speaks to Tim. I think this was the first time they ever saw eye to eye. 

"How long has this been going on?" My father asks, as the eggs sizzle in the pan. Tim stares at the coffee table, remaining silent. "Tim, if you expect to be welcomed into my household, you answer me when I speak to you." His rough voice orders. I've always been a was Daddy's girl. I never had to hear him scream at me. 

"As long as I can remember." Tim answers, his voice sounding small. 

"So what happened last night that made it different?" My father questions. My dad grew up in an abusive household, and remained in that household for eighteen long years. He always told me that if a man ever treated me that way, that I hold every right to kill him. 

"He wouldn't stop, sir." Tim explains, sounding as if he were about to cry. It breaks my heart hearing him sound so small. 

"Was my daughter in danger coming to get you?" My father asks, causing Tim to freeze. I pray he lies. If he told my dad about how I put myself between Tim and his father, he'd kill him, without a doubt. Tim looks over at me, searching for an answer. I shake my head. 

"Yes, she was, sir." He answers, making me cringe. My father narrows his eyes at Tim, and then looks at me. 

"Tim, if something ever happens to my daughter under your watch, I have every right to kill you." My father warns, making me cringe. Tim nods slowly, and breathes carefully. My father stares at him, and then looks toward me. "Faith, you're burning the eggs." He says, still using his intimidating booming voice. I jump, and quickly stir them. 

I jump awake, waking up in a strange surrounding. I'm shaking and cold, while the room is dark. My chest hurts, as I slowly sit up, and lift up my hospital gown. My entire torso is an odd green-yellow color. There are large patches of gauze covering where the wounds had been.

"Hey." Carrie says, slowly walking in with a coffee and a pudding. She hands me the pudding cup, and runs to the sink in the room for a little cup of water. She places the water on a tray beside my bed. "You sore?" She asks. I nod, slowly peeling off the top of the pudding cup. I'm starving. I take a bite of pudding, and sit for a moment, debating whether or not to ask Carrie what's honestly weighing on my mind. 

"Is Tim dead?" I spit out. She frowns, and takes a deep breath, before shaking her head. She looks down at the lid of her coffee, and bites her lips deciding what to tell me. "Where is he?" I question. 

"He's crazy, Faith." She says, shaking her head again. 

"You didn't answer my question." I force out, my stomach aching as I speak. 

"He's in the mental ward." She answers, leaning back in the chair she sits in. "Don't you dare go back to him, Faith. He wanted you dead. You understand that right?" She falls silent for a moment, and then looks at my stomach. "You're pregnant. Then ran paternity tests and found out it's Tim's." She releases, making my chest tight. 

"I need to talk to him." I request. She shakes her head, and crosses her arms, disappointed in me. "Carrie, I need to speak with him." I reinstate. She nods, and walks out to a nurse, informing her.