Hope and Faith

SIXTY-FIVE: FAITH

It had been just over a week since the abortion. Abortion. It felt weird saying the word aloud. As though she were committing a sin by simply saying it. Yes, a sin. Faith Everett thought she was sinning.

She hated that. She hated that Hope had gotten into her head and convinced her of something she would have never believed before. Faith had been fine with the idea of an abortion. But every now and again, she could hear Hope's lingering words: murder, sin.

It wasn't murder, Faith told herself. The thing was barely a thing. It was hardly even an embryo. It didn't even have eyelids or fingernails. It was simply an assortment of atoms that was created as a result of her and Sebastian's egg and sperm.

But now that thing ceased to exist, and Faith was okay with that. It was for the best. There was no way that she could have carried through with the pregnancy. She knew better than to let someone talk her into something so foolish.

No one could force her to carry a baby to term. It was her stomach that would hold the baby. Her body that would experience morning sickness. Her feet that would throb. Her boobs that would stretch. Her back that would ache. No one would experience that except for Faith, so nobody had a right to tell her what she could or couldn't do with her body.

She had spent the majority of the week in bed, telling her mother that the flu had worsened. Fortunately, the last few days had been better. She was feeling well, both mentally and physically. The psychological trauma that she initially experienced after the abortion was beginning to dwindle and she could almost feel herself getting back to normal.

That was when she received the phone call. She hadn't thought much about Hope that past week. The only thoughts of Hope were the words running through her head: murder. But when Hope asked to meet at their spot, Faith somehow agreed.

Later that evening, the two of them met at the lake. They sat there in silence for a very long, uncomfortable period of time. Both of them having a world of things to say, but neither of them quite knowing how to start. It was odd, sitting beside Hope and feeling speechless. Faith always knew what to say. They were always conversing about something. But not on that day.

"Listen," Hope finally spoke, breaking the silence. "I know this is difficult. It's hard for both of us. But I couldn't not see you. Couldn't not talk to you. Can we please just talk?"
"Hard for both of us?" Faith nearly laughed. "Tell me, Hope, how was this hard for you?"
"You know why. You know how strongly I feel about that. And especially after what my mother went through."
"No offence, but you can't compare my decision to get an abortion to how you feel about something. It doesn't work that way."
Hope remained quiet, not knowing how to rebuttal, but not wanting to either. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "I'm sorry, okay? Can you please just talk to me?"
Faith looked out towards the water and took in a deep breath. "There's not much to say."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean exactly that. There isn't much to say. I don't know what you want from me."
"I just want to talk to you! To sit with you. Be with you."
Faith turned and looked at her then. "So that's what this is about," Faith nodded. "You honestly think that can happen. That we can just go back to how things were before."
Hope stared at her, a look of pure horror growing on her face. She didn't respond.
"Well, we can't, Hope. We can't do that. Don't you see it? We don't work together. We clash. Our personalities, our beliefs, everything in our lives doesn't match up. We were stupid for ever thinking otherwise."
"What are you talking about!?" Hope cried. "What are you trying to say?"
"What I'm saying is... we can't do this anymore."
Hope opened her mouth, but no words came out. "What?"
"I'm bad news, Hope. All I'll do is drag you down with me. My life, my decisions, my beliefs – everything I do counteracts with what you stand for. My entire existence is counteractive to yours. And I just don't see this going to a place where neither one of us ends up broken."
"That doesn't matter!" Hope cried. "None of that matters! The only thing I care about is you!"
Faith was quiet for a minute. Then she reached out and placed her hand on top of Hope's. "You're a good person," she said, looking up and meeting her eyes. "You are so good. So perfect and pure and happy. How can you not see that I will only ruin that?"
Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she didn't bother trying to wipe them away. Hope pulled her hand away from Faith's. "Don't you dare do that," Hope said. "Don't try to push me away. Because I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere."
"I'm no good for you."
"Don't say that!" Hope cried again. "Don't tell me what's best for me. Because what's best for me is you!"
Faith stopped and stared at her for a long time. Contemplating everything, the entire world and their existence within it. She thought about that very first day in the field, how happy and chipper Hope was, so full of life an optimism. Thought about walking through fields, sitting down by the water, laying in bed, talking for hours on end. Holding Hope's hand, sneaking around with her, quiet whispers in the dark. Kissing Hope, holding Hope, longing for Hope. And finally, leaving Hope.
"I'm sorry," Faith said. "I'm so sorry." Then she stood up and left.