Hope and Faith

TWENTY-EIGHT: HOPE

Hope remained still, but life around her continued to move.

She sat at the dinner table, her mother to her left, her father to her right. They were discussing something. Hope couldn't quite identify what it was exactly that they were talking about. Her mother was smiling, laughing. She looked at her father. He had a grin on his face and was passing her the brussel sprouts.

It was always so fascinating, watching the two of them. They met when they were teenagers. High school sweethearts. They say that love dulls overtime, but not with Joana and Gabriel. They were just as in love as they were in the beginning.

"You okay?" she heard her mother's voice, breaking her from her thoughts.
Hope looked at her, dazed. "Pardon?"
"I said, are you okay? You look a bit white."
Hope cleared her throat and reached for her glass of water. She took a sip, then realized she was parched. She chugged the entire glass.
Gabriel eyed her. "Thirsty, kiddo?"
"May I please be excused?"
"You're not getting sick, are you?" Joana asked, reaching forward to place the back of her hand on Hope's forehead.
Hope pulled away and stood up, pushing her chair back. "I have to go."

Upstairs in her bedroom, Hope sat at the edge of her bed, hands on her knees. She was trying to focus on her breathing. Trying to calm herself down, lower her heartrate. Her entire body was shaking. She felt both cold and hot at the same time and she was wondering how that could be.

Her stomach was in knots. She felt nauseous, but she also hadn't eaten anything all day. She took in another breath. Inhale, exhale. Yet still, the shaking persisted.

She got up and walked to the bathroom, turning on the tap to splash ice-cold water on her face. She grabbed a towel and dabbed herself dry. Then she looked at herself in the mirror. Really looked at herself. She could see what her mother meant: she was white as a ghost. And it was at the very sight of her own reflection that brought a wave of heavy nausea over her.

She ran to the toilet bowl and hunched over it, but nothing came out. Instead, she sat there, dry-heaving and coughing up saliva, until her body was finished. She sat back against the wall, eyes closed, her head resting backwards. She tried to breathe again. Inhale, exhale.

Hope was petrified. She had no idea what was going on, why she was feeling this way, why her emotions were taking such a toll on her. It was all her fault, Hope thought in that moment. She was feeling this way because of Faith.

Faith, the new girl in town. Faith, her companion and confidant. Faith, reckless and crazy, yet caring and charismatic. Faith, who had kissed her.

This was so wrong. So wrong and immoral on so many levels. Hope knew what God thought about those people. She didn't even want to conjure the word. Homosexuals. Sexual deviants. And apparently, her friend was one of them.

How had she not known? How did she miss the signs? Had Faith been coming onto her this entire time? Was she in love with Hope? Why did she kiss her?

Hope's head began to spin again and she leaned over the toilet. Nothing came out. She wiped her mouth with toilet paper, flushed, then stood. She would take a shower. That always made her feel better.

She peeled off her clothes, folding them neatly on the counter. Then she set the temperature to cold and stepped inside. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, feeling the cool water run down her body. Washing away her sorrows, her pain, her impurities.

Just when her mind was almost blank and clear from any thoughts, an image of Faith appeared. Hope's eyes shot open and she gasped for air.

She needed to stop this. She would eradicate Faith from her mind, from her life, once and for all. She would stop talking to her. End their friendship – or whatever it was.

What Faith had done was a terrible thing. And Faith needed to understand that. But right now, Hope couldn't fathom talking to her again. She didn't want to see her, let alone speak to her.

She knew what she had to do. She would rid Faith Everett from her life. Continue on living as though she did not exist. Continue on living as though their paths had never crossed.